Safe & Sound

It gets dark quicker than usual tonight. The overcast shadowing the full moon makes the sky a melancholy shade of grey, strategically hiding any color radiating from the sunset off in the horizon. A storm's coming, there's no doubting that. Nevertheless, it doesn't change the minds of the dozens of customers who decide to spend their evening at the restaurant, putting Kennedy through one of the busiest shifts she's had this season. She's been on her feet for nearly twelve hours, forcing smiles and faking enthusiasm. She's taken so many orders on her notepad, her scrawly handwriting has become illegible even to her own eye. The night is never ending, but she sticks around well past her shift for the extra tips. The more money, the better, and that means her utter exhaustion takes a backseat.

After the rush is the first time all day she's had a moment to catch her breath. The restaurant is nearing closing time. She taps her worn fingers on the back counter, patiently waiting for the last pair of customers to finish their meal so she can pick up their dishes and call it a night. Of course, they take their sweet time. She wouldn't mind so much if she wasn't so tired. They're one of her regulars. An elderly couple. Mr. and Mrs. Derek D'Angelo. They come in every week for what they like to call a date night. It makes her smile to see them blush at each other and even more so to catch them holding hands under the table or sharing their pasta. Today, Mrs. D'Angelo complimented Kennedy on her lipstick even though she's not wearing any, gushing over how it brings out her eyes. It's typical of her. The woman always finds something gracious to say about her usual waitress, and when she can't, she makes one up, which would be cute to Kennedy if it wasn't so humiliating at the same time.

After Mr. D'Angelo finishes up the last bit of his chicken Parmesan, he turns his head in search of Kennedy and she promptly jogs over to the table, trying not to drag her tired feet too much.

They send their usual compliments to the chef and tell Kennedy to keep the change when they leave a generous tip. She thanks them warmly and scrapes up the bills as soon as they depart, hand-in-hand, still in love after a baffling 51 years.

After untying the black apron from around her waist and sluggishly pulling on her coat, Kennedy bids goodbye to the few of her remaining coworkers.

''Get some rest, Ellis,'' they tell her, ''And give Addie our love.''

She assures them she will the moment she gets home if she doesn't pass out on her way there. They laugh, but no one offers her a ride or at least an escort down the dark alleys she has to walk through to get home. They care on the surface, but deep down there's no real compassion. She's learned that's true about everyone.

Well, maybe with one exception.

Upon exiting the restaurant and stepping out into the brisk air, she notices a familiar car parked on the street and leaning against the familiar car stands a familiar head of hair she could easily point out in any crowd.

''Harry?'' She notes how he's burying his chin into the collar of his jacket and tensing his shoulders as a shield against the cold. ''What are you doing here?''

''Just in the area,'' he replies cheekily, his hands tucked into his jean pockets, ''Are you hungry?''

She raises a curious eyebrow. ''Are you going to make me dinner now as well?''

''I could,'' he smiles, ''Or we could go and get something, up to you.''

She's obviously hesitant at first, but he doesn't pressure her. If he's being honest with himself, he doesn't know why he's here. It seemed like the better thing to do when his only other option was to sit at home and watch reruns on television. He'll be fine if all she'd like him to do is take her home, but he'll admit part of him is hoping her answer to dinner is yes.

''Alright,'' she nods, deciding quicker than he expected, ''Just let me call Edith and let her know.''

It takes her too long to pull the phone out of her bag with her near frozen hands and he takes that as a sign to swing open the passenger's side door.

''I drive carefully, I promise.''

She smiles at him on her way to the seat. ''I know you do.''

The warmth of the car comforts her. She wonders how long he's kept the engine running with the heat on just so it would be like this when she came out.

After informing Edith she'll be an hour or so late and giving her the green light to tuck Addison into bed, she turns to Harry sitting on the driver's side and makes him promise not to take her anywhere expensive.

''Deal,'' he exclaims as he begins to drive, ''Nando's isn't too posh, is it?''

''It's perfect,'' she laughs.

Once they arrive, she tries not to be self-conscious about what she looks like. She catches her exhausted reflection in the car window and wonders why the hell she lets herself go out in public like this. Being with Harry so casually like this makes her feel like an awkward teenager again, complete with the anxious nerves and embarrassment over tiny things like if she's laughing too much or talking too fast. It's a strange feeling. Frankly everything with him lately has felt strange in one way or another.

Harry orders for her, remembering what she always used to get and surprisingly getting it right. For the first few minutes, Kennedy is silent. It's no surprise considering how fast she's downing her salad. Harry can only look on, quite amused.

''You're enjoying that,'' he chuckles after swallowing a bit of his chicken.

She eyes him and suddenly realizes how much of her meal has disappeared compared to his.

''Sorry,'' she rushes to contain herself, setting down her fork.

''No, it's okay. Go on.''

She shakes her head.

''Kenn, I'm serious,'' he laughs, ''Eat.''

With a sigh in surrender, she continues, but much slower this time. She's mindful of every bite, suspicious that he's watching her the entire time.

''Can I ask you something?'' he speaks up after some time.

''I haven't had Nando's in a while,'' she tells him quickly and quietly, assuming he's wondering why she's acting like she hasn't eaten in weeks, ''And you know money's tight, so I have to focus on feeding Addis---''

''That's not what I was going to ask.''

She's staring down at her hands, away from his sympathetic eyes. He takes her silence as a cue to continue.

''I was going to ask if you like working at that restaurant.''

She tips her head from side to side. ''It's okay. I never had a preference to what I wanted to spend my life doing, so I guess I can't complain.''

''So you think you'll always be a waitress, then.''

She smiles, but it's not a smile out of amusement. ''What else can I do?''

''You finished school, didn't you? You got your degree.''

''I can't get a normal job, Harry. I have to get something flexible so that I can be home with Addie. I have to sacrifice.''

''No, not anymore,'' he objects, ''I'm here.''

She meets his eyes but only for a brief moment before she's hiding again.

''I can't count on something that's not set in stone.''

''I'm staying,'' he says firmly, ''That's set in stone. I told you that.''

Kennedy doesn't answer. She's not sure how to. She's used to people giving her the cold shoulder. That's just how life is. Everyone does their own thing. No one cared when she was seven months pregnant walking up the steep stairs to her flat. No one cared when she had to take herself to the hospital when she was going into labor. No one cared when they saw her crying on the building floor, holding her infant in her arms and begging her to make a sound so she'd know she wasn't dead. No one ever cares, and now she's supposed to believe that he will. It's hard because he does now. She doesn't doubt that part. But will he in a year? Three years? Ten years? She's changed his entire life in a matter of weeks. She can't count on the hope he'll stick around. Especially after things start to get worse.

''Did you tell Miranda yet?'' she asks him suddenly. It catches him off guard.

He bites down on his lip. ''I tried.''

''What does that mean?''

He takes a deep breath, suddenly very thirsty and taking frequent sips of his soda to buy himself a moment to think of a proper answer.

''I just need more time,'' he says.

She doesn't press the subject. Experience tells her he'll learn that time is never on his side. Soon enough.

''Was it this hard for you?''

''Honestly,'' she says as she pushes away the empty salad bowl, ''Apart from a few excruciating things I've had to do, it was definitely the hardest.''

''What excruciating things?''

''Childbirth,'' she answers casually, ''Leaving home.''

She looks up from her tray and finds him already staring at her.

''Leaving you.''

''Then why did you?''

Her eyes are averted once again. He can't put a finger on why she does that.

''I told you,'' she answers, ''I was scared. And stupid. Very, very stupid.''

He's about to ask her something vital. Something he's been waiting almost four years to ask. Was anything you said in that field true? But she interrupts him, blocking the question just as it was on its way out.

''How are things with Miranda?''

It's become obvious that she brings Miranda up whenever things get far too focused on her own issues.

''Good,'' he tells her, ''They're good.''

''How did you two meet?'' Kennedy doesn't seem genuinely interested, but she does want an answer for the sake of conversation among other reasons.

''She was one of Gemma's friends at uni. Gemma figured she'd play matchmaker.''

She nods, finishing up her water bottle and tightening the cap before crossing her hands on the table and looking him square in the eye.

''I want you to know,'' she tells him, ''I'm happy for you. I'm glad you have her and you're happy and you've found someone who treats you well.''

There's so much he wants to object to. No, he's not happy. He's just not unhappy. He's just there. Just Harry, never moving forward, constantly in the same place. Constantly doing the same thing day after day with the same person who thinks she knows him but really can't tell the difference between his hair before and after a haircut, something Kennedy can spot a mile away and he knows it.

''You treated me well,'' he says, but his voice is so quiet he admits it's not even slightly believable.

She shakes her head. ''I treated you like shit. I hurt you. I'm still hurting you. But it's just like when we were in that field, Harry. You can't see it.''

Her eyes are impossible to read. They're a mixture of sadness and disbelief and shame, all rolled together into quite a pitiful concoction of emotion. And yet there's something raw and revealing about them, and he can't figure out why.

The waiter comes by to pick up the plates and even when he leaves, there's silence at the table for far too long.

''God, why does it feel like we have to get to know each other all over again?'' she asks, leaning back in her chair, ''Why does all of this feel so different now?''

''Because we're different.''

''Not when you think about it,'' Kennedy refutes, ''You're still the same. Caring. Responsible. Damn near adorable. You haven't changed.''

''Near adorable?'' he asks cheekily.

''Okay, right on adorable.''

''You're different, then,'' he tells her when his rosy blush wears off, ''You've been through a lot. It's natural.''

Her head shakes again. ''I'm still hard to manage. Perfectionist. Insomniac. Thoroughly mental. My parents got what they wanted.''

''Have you spoken to them at all?''

''They don't care about me, Harry. You know that. I haven't heard from them longer than I've been away from home. We were under the same bloody roof and still didn't speak.''

''They don't know about Addison?''

''I called them the day she was born,'' she says quietly, ''Left them a message. Told them they have a granddaughter and that she's beautiful. And that if they wanted to see her, they could and I would explain everything. But they never called back.''

''Maybe they never got it.''

Kennedy subtly thanks the waiter who delivers the check and scurries away without wanting to interfere in what seems like an important conversation.

''Maybe,'' she sighs, digging into her oversized bag, ''But ignoring me is more likely, wouldn't you say?''

She pulls out her wallet and Harry rushes to wave it away.

''I can pay for myself,'' she assures him, ''You don't have to do that.''

''I want to.''

She's about to object and push her way into paying for her meal, but he's already tucked his card into the holder. He keeps it in his grasp, pressed against his chest and away from her reach until the waiter returns for it.

''This isn't a date,'' she tells him bemusedly.

''Doesn't mean I can't be polite.''

''Why do you do that?'' she asks.

''What?''

''Take care of me.'' Her eyes are staring back at him incredulously. The fact that he treats her so well is beyond her comprehension. ''I was awful to you. I don't deserve this.''

''You were awful,'' he says simply.

She didn't expect the words to cut like knives.

''But we were kids,'' he goes on, ''I know I keep telling you that I wish you would have told me, but honestly, if I was in your shoes I would've done the same thing. I would've run.''

She shakes her head. ''No, you wouldn't have. You're not a coward.''

''Neither are you. Listen, I know you've been through shit. I know you were taught that you have to be perfect and anything shy of it isn't worth anything. I remember that luncheon we had. Your dad said it all.''

Her memory recognizes that day too clearly for her liking. All the yelling and screaming in front of half of her class, Harry included. Her father made it clear to everyone that he resented her. She cried in her room all night.

''But Kenn, listen to me. You don't have to be perfect. It's okay to make mistakes. It's okay to ask for help. You have to remember that.''

''It's hard for me,'' she admits quietly, ''I can't, and I know it's a shitty message to send to Addison, but I can't change who I am and what I've done. I hurt you, Harry. Badly. Heartlessly. Stop trying to pretend it didn't happen.''

''I'm not.''

''Yes, you are. You make me breakfast and take me to dinner and spend time with me like everything on that field was just erased from your memory. You got down on your knees, Harry. You begged me. I think about that every day and I can't live with myself.''

He's quiet for a moment, letting her get a hold of herself and properly bottle in her feelings like she always seems to do, especially now. He doesn't say a word to the waiter when his card is brought back. He merely nods, never removing his soft eyes from the woman coming apart across from him. She knows he's pitying her and that's the worst part of it all.

''I forgive you, Kenn.''

She wipes across her bottom lashes and laughs at him humorlessly.

''I don't deserve your forgiveness.''

''Well you have it regardless,'' he says, ''I forgive you. I mean it. That doesn't mean everything can go back to normal, but it does mean you can stop thinking you don't deserve to be treated well. And you can try to tell me otherwise all you want, but I promise you'll lose this argument. I can go on for days."

She sniffles, looking up at him. He's smiling.

''Now before you say another ridiculous word, let's take you home. You look bloody awful.''

A hot, embarrassed blush touches her face and he laughs.

''You say all those nice things and then you have to ruin it by pointing that out.''

With a chuckle, he rises from his seat and helps her put her coat back on.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Riding in his car takes Kennedy back to their school days. As he turns down the street from the restaurant, he palms the wheel with one hand, obviously more skilled than the teenager she used to accompany on driving practice days. Most of the conversation on the way to her flat is focused on the car itself. Still emanating with that delightful new car smell, the silver Honda seems to be his most prized possession, and she can't blame him. It's a nice car, one he's always wanted.

Much to her surprise, when her flat building comes into view in the near distance, she's reluctant. She hates to admit it, but she'd much rather stay in his company than bid him goodbye so soon.

"Do you want to come in and say goodnight to Addie?" she asks when he parks along the side street.

"Isn't she asleep?"

"She usually pretends with Edith," she laughs, "When I come home after a late shift, she's up the moment Edith steps out."

Harry chuckles and removes the key from the ignition. "She's cheeky," he grins, "Probably gets that from me, sorry."

Kennedy tries to smile at the idea, but her guilt makes it hard.

Once inside, he waits in the living room as Kennedy makes small talk with Edith. Unexpectedly, Edith turns out to be a teenager. Barely sixteen, Harry predicts. But it's obvious she cares for Addison by the way she briefs Kennedy on every single thing she did today. She explains how much food the child ate, how much medication she gave her, and how many naps she took right down to the smallest detail. Kennedy thanks her and, before she mutters her final farewell for the night, she's introduced to Harry. Edith merely waves shyly and departs before he has the chance to greet her in response.

"She, uh," Kennedy snickers after shutting the door, "She has a little crush on you."

His eyebrows raise in realization. "Oh, lovely."

Kennedy continues to laugh quietly, ushering him in the direction of the bedroom. Once inside, Addison seems to open her eyes the moment she senses them standing above her.

"I knew Harry was here," she smiles. It's faint and her skin seems almost translucent this evening, even in the dim light of the room.

"How did you know?" Kennedy asks her, reaching down to brush a piece of hair from her face. Her voice always gets soft when she talks to Addison, and for reasons he can't explain it comforts Harry.

"Just a feeling."

Harry grins and notes the pink rabbit clutched loosely in her hands.

"Are you sleeping over again?" Addison asks him, pausing for too long between each word.

"I can't," he tells her sadly, "But I'll be back to visit soon, I promise."

"Can we play the fruit game again?"

"Absolutely."

"I really like that game."

Kennedy smiles when Addison's eyelids seem to flutter. "Okay, gorgeous, past your bedtime. Say night night to Harry."

"Goodnight, Harry," she whispers.

"Goodnight." He squeezes her hand lightly and waits until her eyes are closed in sleep to leave the room.

Quietly, they leave the toddler to her dreams, keeping the door open a crack as usual.

"We upped one of her meds today," Kennedy informs him as they near the front door out in the hall, "She's usually not so sluggish." Her hand pulls nervously at her neck and it's obvious how scared she is.

"Hey," he makes sure she's listening closely, "She'll be fine, okay? Don't worry."

She nods even though it's impossible for her not to worry about such a thing.

"Get some rest, Kenn. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Okay," she says, turning the knob, "I'll walk you out."

They stride past the landing and reach the main door of the building, but before Kennedy can open it, Harry speaks up.

"I meant what I said before," he reminds her, "Remember that."

She doesn't want to because she's still fully convinced she doesn't deserve even a sliver of the faith he seems to have in her, and he'll realize that soon enough.

"Thanks for dinner, Harry."

He catches her off guard when he leans down, kisses her cheek, and pulls back like there was nothing to it. With half a smile, he wraps his hand around the door handle and pushes it open, but behind it is something he surely did not see coming nor is he prepared for right now.

Clad in her brown trench coat and skinny jeans with her hair as platinum blonde as ever.

"Miranda?"