calypso had never dreamed of a happily ever after. in all the years of her childhood it was not a consideration, she did not dream of marriage as so many others did. her life was barely her own, slave as she was to the cove she was born to, but still she found snippets of happiness.

moments tucked away with her mother, learning the gift of generations of women before her. stories of those that danced under the moon and whispered to plants to encourage them to grow -- such as she did, when she thought none might hear her.

fanciful imaginings of love were squashed in the blink of an eye, and she had been fine with that. until she found family, and slowly but surely began to care more deeply than was expected of medic and patient.

their story was not a typical one. it did not begin with flowers and sunshine nor with batted eyes and secret smiles. hakon and calypso started their story wounded, broken, tearing marks in flesh and spilling blood on sand. a different kind of healing had begun that day, and yet she still saw glimpse of old injuries in his eyes.

like now, when he practically vibrates with tension and she can feel the uneasy energy between them. for every two steps forward they took one back, but that was okay with her, too.

calypso did not need perfection; this was her happily ever after and she would not change it for anything.

no

it smarts, but she takes a steady breath, releasing it with a quiet sigh. he does not look at her and so she watches him, noting all the tiny gestures and movements that tell her how he really feels. calypso does not immediately speak but waits, patient, knowing him well enough to know that this kind of stuff does not come easy for him.

years of practice had given her the ability to pick up on what isn't being said, discerning needs and separating them from wants. @Hákon did not need her touch, much as she wished to give it to him, and so she sits herself beside him just close enough that when he wants it he can reach for it. she does not push in to his space, but waits, mentally fighting to calm her nerves.

i do.

a tiny smile, then. "we make a good pair, aye? bot' of us afraid..." her words are gentle, quiet, and oh she aches to chase away his fears and hers alike. "ye did not ruin d'em, Hak. ye were dealt a shit hand and ye did d'e best ye could." not for the first time she blamed herself for being unable to bring saga back again. calypso would have sacrificed a thousand happily ever afters to give him the family he had deserved to have.

"yer children are brave and fierce, and i know d'ey will grow up remembering all ye did for d'em." whether or not he believed her did not matter, she would tell him over and over again until he did. ocean storm eyes seek his, wishing he would look at her, see the truth that shines there.

"i want d'at fer us; a family. somet'ing of you an' me." now there is a quiver in her voice, a yearning so deep it makes her bones ache, as she lays it all out for him to see.

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she is quiet in the absence of his own words, and that is… familiar. comforting, maybe, if he could take his brain and force it to think. it gives him time to try ( try being the key word here ) to put all his dark thoughts into line and express them to her. of course, @Calypso is always one step ahead of him — she always seems to know what he is thinking. it used to unnerve him, at first — the idea of being so transparent to someone who did not share the faith.

now, though, it is relief that fills his chest — even if it still leaves him spinning, off-kilter.

you did the best you could, she says, and he does not agree. sending his daughter off with his mother seems to be the exact opposite of a good idea. he does not doubt that idunn would be safe with ofelia, but other than that… he is barely able to suppress a shiver. the twins, at least, are here and hale — he can keep an eye on them, make sure they’re shaping up the way they should be. it does not mean that their childhoods, so far, are anything close to good.

still, and still, calypso continues: i want that for us, she says, something of you and me. again, he does not know what has possessed this woman. this wonderful woman who deserves the sun and the sky it lives in to be willingly shackled to him. if she is the sun, then he is the storm — dark, angry clouds blotting out everything and dimming her light. still, she looks at him with such reverence that it makes his stomach churn.

more than that, it makes him want to believe in something.

if not vellen, then her.

( if not the sea, then the sun. )

i want that, he murmurs softly, seafoam eyes shifting finally from the shoreline before them to look back to her. nervous, fluttery glance but one that ultimately cements itself on her features, teal eyes meeting blue. i want to try. it is a promise, the only one he feels comfortable making at the moment. he has a feeling, though, that will be okay. that this will be the step forward he — they — both need.

what makes you think i'm enjoying being led to the flood?

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calypso had never thought much of the logistics of their relationship. even when it had made no sense she had not questioned the finer nuances. even when he had mated saga and children were born of that union, she did not think much beyond the feelings that she had.

the all consuming, all powerful feelings that had been planted and grown from the very first time her teeth and claws had found his flesh. marking him, then, as hers. in some not-so-small way.

through all the storms they had weathered, through love and loss alike, she did not waver from her certainty of those feelings. calypso might have battled feelings of worthiness, but she knew (always) that what she felt was true.

"okay," she murmurs, and it feels like the sun breaks through the clouds and warms her from the very marrow of her bones, "we cen try." a smile grows, then. tiny at first, the barest twitch of her lips, but spreading quickly. soon it is brilliant and despite herself, despite the restraint she has always tried to show, she buries her head in to the crook of his neck and fights the urge to squeal with a rapidly consuming excitement.

it is joy, pure and simple.

and for now she does not stop to think of how, breathing in the scent of him and her and imagining what a body that is born of both of them might smell like. "i love ye," she murmured in to the plush of his fur, "so damn much."

more than the sun, more than the moon, more than the sea.

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