a continuation of sorts of the Twelve days of Christmas story arc.

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She knew every inch of her lover’s body now. Knew where he was ticklish, where he was soft and where he was hard. She knew every scar and some of the stories that went with them. Some stories she might never hear, but that was alright. She knew he had trouble talkin’ ‘bout some things.

She knew he slept like the dead and snored when he was tired. She knew he woke up grumpy, and the only thing that soothed him was her.

She knew and understood now why Wash was always anxious when his lover was out on a job. She knew it because she felt the same, the cripplin’ anxiety all the time he was gone, the terror that he might not come back at all.

She knew the overwhelming sense of joyfulness when he did come back, arms wrappin’ round her, holding her close. She knew the fear and worry when he was injured and the chokin’ happiness when he opened his eyes.

She knew the expressions on his face, an open book to her, expressionless to others. She knew when he was hidin’ somethin’ from her, when he was concentratin’, when he was lustin’ after her, lovin’ her.

She knew he got hungry after sex, after a fight, after exercise, anytime really. She knew he would eat anythin’ put in front of him, especially if she cooked it.

She knew the sound of his voice. The growl that meant he was tired and impatient, the snarl that meant he was angry, the quiet deadly killin’ tone that meant trouble ahead. She knew the harsh and anxious voice when she was hurtin’, the tender voice when he was comfortin’ her. She knew the groan when he was needin’ her and the big cat purr when he was satisfied.

She knew the professionalism he bought to his job. The care he took of his weapons, his enjoyment of a fight with weapons or fists. She knew his skill in huntin’ and trackin’ and the pride he took in doin’ them well.

She knew he was slow ‘bout some things and quick ‘bout others. She knew his frustration when he