What happened?

It had been the perfect afternoon, exactly what Simon hoped for. Almost. Good food, great wine and actual conversation. Mary opened up to him, talked about her life. Then she brought out the raspberry tarts. He couldn't believe she remembered her mother bringing them to him all those years ago. The gesture melted his heart.

She put her hand on said heart and there was that feeling again, a connection he never felt with anyone else. Like a part of him was home, but to a home he'd never known. Like all those weeks ago in the library at his brother's wedding. Mary felt it too. He could tell by the soft lines of her face, the little o her mouth formed, the sparks in her beautiful blue eyes. In that moment he would have given her anything, done anything she requested.

But Mary didn't ask. Didn't lean forward and offer those luscious lips to kiss as he desired, needed her to. The fingers over his heart didn't grasp his shirt, pull him closer, demand he hold her. Words meant to convince him to seduce her didn't tumble out her scrumptious mouth. No, she retreated. Different words burst forth, ones telling him his time with her was up, the date over, wanted to go home. And the sun went behind the clouds, the light diminished, and he was left craving more, having seen the possibilities of nirvana once again but not able to get a taste.

The sweet raspberry flavour on his own lips soured as Mary stood up and put her sandals back on, her tall form blocking out the sun. He followed her in silence back to the truck, drove back to the lake house, reversed the actions earlier, getting further and further away from the connection. With each turn of the wheel, his heart ached more.

"They're back," Mary announced as he parked his truck behind his brother's car. The first words she'd said in what seemed like hours. Once again, Simon trailed behind her as she made her way towards the house. "You're coming in?"

"It's Monday." Simon found his fingers at his temple, drawing a circle to try to relieve the tension. "My night for dinner with them."

"Oh right, Emily did say."

Once again, the foyer was dark and silent, but this time it was not empty. On the stairs sat Finn, a bottle of beer in his hand, looking up only when Simon called his name.

"Where's Emily?" asked Mary.

"She's upstairs... resting. She's not feeling well."

Mary glanced at Simon. "I'm going to check on her." With those words, she flew up the stairs.

Finn turned his back on his brother and slipped into the darkness of the living room. Simon didn't like his body language. Since finding Emily again, Finn had been light and happy. The darkness so often prevalent in his years in the military all but disappeared.

Simon hesitated before following his brother's trajectory. Would he make things worse if he pushed his brother? Should he leave, forget about Monday night dinner? With a glance at the staircase he thought of Emily, her plea for him to be around, her insistence Finn needed family, her statement she was not enough. Simon saw it now. Healthy Emily could work wonders with his brother. Had she anticipated getting ill? The thought sweet, kind Emily might be sick stabbed at his stomach.

Not knowing how to help, Simon did the one thing within his power, he went after his brother.

Finn leaned against the grand fireplace dominating the even grander room. Beer clutched in his hand, head bowed, Finn was giving off 'go away' vibes. Simon pushed through the invisible defences and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. Finn jumped at the contact.

"What happened?" A simple question. He knew Emily had to be the source of Finn's mood. The worst scenarios filtered through Simon's mind. Including images of Emily's mother wasting away before dying of breast cancer. "Is Emily... ok?"

Underneath his touch, Finn's entire body shook. A barely audible "no" escaped his lips. Simon's stomach turned. Not Emily. No. She couldn't be sick.

"She's pregnant," Finn continued.

Simon's head jerked up. Pregnant? He couldn't help the smile from spreading across his face. This was amazing news. A reason to celebrate.

"Man. Congratulations. That's awesome."

Finn took a long draught of his beer. "It's not."

He didn't understand. Finn wanted a family. They'd talked about it on multiple occasions. Finn didn't want just a child, he wanted a hockey team he dreamed of so many kids, filling up the rooms of this enormous house.

"The baby is making her sick." Finn swallowed hard. "Some insane morning sickness thing. But its all day. She can't eat. Can't sleep. Not getting enough nutrients. She could lose..." another hard swallow. "It could kill her."

Understanding dawned on Simon. This fear too real. The desire to pull his brother into a hug overwhelmed him, shield his sibling from the pain like he had after his sister told them about their parent's car accident. Instead, he squeezed his shoulder. "Emily is strong. She will... we will get her through this."

Cold blue eyes snapped to him, studying Simon's face. "I..."

"Don't even think it. Everything will be fine." He remained calm despite the stabbing in his stomach from the blazing fear in his brother's eyes. "I'll have Tim make a batch of his special soup tonight. You know how much Emily likes it. And it's chocked full of protein. And frings. Lots of frings."

It wasn't much, but the tiniest twitch at Finn's mouth made Simon feel he was getting through to his brother. "We'll do whatever it takes."

A slight nod from Finn and he let out a breath. Punching his brother on the arm, he decided to lighten the mood. "You're gonna be a dad."

His words had the opposite effect. Finn's face crumpled. Putting down the beer, Finn placed both hands on the mantelpiece as if he needed the support to stand.

"Finn. It will all work out. You'll see."

"What if I'm no good," Finn mumbled to the floor.

Confusion set in again. "You wouldn't abandon Emily?"

The look Finn shot Simon made him take a step back. The wrong choice of words, old wounds that had just started to heal, split open in an instant.

"Never," Finn growled.

Guilt roiled in Simon's heart, and he raised his hands in appeasement. Finn's eyes widened at the motion.

"Then what? What won't you be good at?" Simon searched for an answer. What had he said? "Being a dad?"

The rage disappeared as quickly as it appeared, replaced by... fear. It was Simon's turn to swallow. Finn was scared he would fail as a father.

Trying to sound lighter than he felt, he berated his brother. "C'mon man, you can't think you will be anything but a great father? You, of all people, will be the best."

Those blue eyes searched his face. "How do you know?" He opened his mouth to continue, but Finn turned talkative. "I had no role model. I barely have any memories of Mom and Dad. No one showed me how to be a father. You... left. Delora's boyfriends were... not interested. How can I be a dad when I don't know how?"

He moved closer to Finn and, after a moment's hesitation, threw an arm around his brother's shoulders. It was the closest the two men had been in years. Placing his mouth near Finn's ear he whispered. "I know your secret. I know how much love you have in there." He poked his finger into Finn's chest, over his heart. "That's all you need."

Finn shook his head. Simon pressed his point. "What do you remember about dad? Hmm? Playing hockey on the driveway. Watching Star Wars on Sunday afternoons. Reading stories at bedtime. Think about those times. How did they make you feel?"

As he spoke, Finn's expression softened. "Right. That right there. You felt it. I felt it. We were loved. That's all you need, brother. To be the best dad ever. And you have enough love in that heart of yours to fill this house with kids."

He saw the effect his words were having on Finn. His arms dropped from the fireplace, his body relaxed a little and he was even leaning into Simon. It felt good. To be helpful, to make his brother feel better. To make up for...

"Finn."

Both men turned to regard Mary, silhouetted in the doorway. "Emily's asking for you."

In a flash, Finn pushed past Mary. "You got this," Simon shouted to his brother's fleeing form.

Shaking his head, he met Mary in the brightly lit foyer. Black-and-white chequered tiles made her blonde hair shine.

"He told you?"

"Yes. About the baby. And the morning sickness."

"It's more than that. It's called hyperemesis gravidarum. She can't keep anything down and she's severely dehydrated. Her body can only take so much before something has to give." A sadness engulphed Mary's expression. "The women in our family are prone to it. My mother had it with me."

Simon sensed Mary wanted to say more. Not knowing what to do, he reached out and pulled her into a gentle embrace. He fully expected her to reject his offer.

Instead, she melted into him, nestling her face into the crook of his neck. As he softly rubbed her back, she wrapped her arms around his waist, tugging him closer. They stood there, holding on to each other, breathing in unison. She was soft and warm. Vulnerable. The Mary he rarely saw. The one he loved the most. No illusions. No expectations. Raw. The real Mary.

Kissing the top of her head, Simon tried to reassure her. "Emily will be okay."

Again, his words had the opposite effect. Mary stiffened beneath his touch and slowly pulled away from him. Simon immediately missed her warmth. He wanted to step forward and reclaim her. But he knew better. Real Mary was gone.