Nora sat outside Taffington Boat House, underneath the recently repaired porch, watching the rain streak down through the late autumn sky.
"You all right, doll?"
Nick sat down beside her, watching her brooding silently. "What's wrong, hun?"
She snuggled close to him, ignoring the occasional sharp corner beginning to wear away at his faded coat. Nick was such a dear man!
"It's nothing really," she said. "I'm just- I miss some of my pre-war music."
She tried for a grin. "Silly reason to be upset, I know."
Carefully, h e patted her on the shoulder with the skeletal metal hand. She had insisted time and time again that she didn't mind his metal hand, but h e was still wary with it. Nick thought it would be preferable not to ever go through a repeat of getting her hair accidentally tangled in the hinges of his hand again. H e still wasn't quite sure what all of the words she had used meant, and Nick had been in the Commonwealth for a very long time.
"I don't think I'd put it that way, doll," Nick said mildly. "I used to be pretty attatched to some old records back the day."
She laughed. "Who's cooking tonight? Is it my turn?"
Nick made a noise approximate to clearing his throat. "Curie, I think, and me."
"Oh, really? Well, I won't keep you from your duties any longer."
She gave him a fond kiss on the lips. "I'm going to go shanghai Maccready into helping me with cleaning up the cereal boxes h e and John keep leaving around."
Nick watched her go, a contented halfsmile on his face. If h e could have fallen asleep, Nick would have pinched himself to make sure h e wasn't dreaming. H e would be eternally mystified that Nora, a beautiful, bedazzling, dame like she was, decided to fall in love with him of all things, a falling apart snark macine.
H e lit a cigarette and walked back into the house.