Over the years of marriage, you and Will had developed a system. When he went fishing, you'd come along too and play with the dogs on the bank of the river. He loved hearing you laugh and sing, when he wasn't completely zoned in on fishing.

Then, once he caught a fish, you'd walk back up to the house and you would cook it. You were a good cook, always had been, Will thinks. Not like Hannibal, you didn't only ever cook fancy things, and host dinger parties. You were more homely than him. Will would sometimes go out to play with the dogs, sometimes he made fishing lures, but mostly, he watched you.

He watched you work, you fingers moving as you prepared the fish, and eventually cooked it. Sometimes he'd just sit at the kitchen island opposite you, but more often than not, he'd stand behind you, his hands rubbing soothing cirles on your abdomen under your shirt.

Like now, Will's chin was rested on your shoulder, his arms around your middle, as he watched he'd you work.

"That smells good."

Will comments, but he wasn't too focused on what you were doing. He was looking at it, but he had more focus on you.

"You smell good."

Will smiled, rubbing his face against that curve that turned your neck to your shoulder. He could tell his beard tickled you, could feel the little, giggly intake of breath as you held back a laugh.

He loved you so much. From your lovely smile, to how you helped him so much. Before, work used to be the only thing on Will's mind, wherever he was. Now, hus home life and work were separated. One had you, one didn't. He started to enjoy spending time at home when you moved in. He could sleep through the nights with the comforting thought of you being beside him. More often than not, you were wrapped tightly in his arms.