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“You’re going to be great, hon.”
A warm, steady hand fell on Mal’s shoulder and the bed dipped as Karin settled down on the edge beside him. When he didn’t immediately respond, she leaned a shoulder against his, her presence a familiar weight. Slowly, she rubbed her hand in gentle circles on his back, the same soothing motion that never failed to get Shaun to drop off to sleep, or settle down when he started to cry.
Mal might’ve been embarrassed at how easily the same trick worked on him, if it hadn’t felt so nice. He sighed, let his head tip to the side and fall carefully against her shoulder. Her hand continued working it’s magic, gradually easing some of the tension out of his back and shoulders.
Worried he might actually fall asleep if they kept this up, Mal finally spoke. A thousand thoughts and worries hummed at the back of his mind, but he settled for an old standard. Something easy. Simple. An everyday, childish fear, and one that sounded even stupider when he finally voiced it out loud.
“I still dunno why they picked me for this,” he said. “Speeches and rallies aren’t exactly my thing.”
And wasn’t that the understatement of the year? Even if his feelings about his service hadn’t been a complicated tangle of mixed emotions, the fact still stood that Mal just wasn’t a public speaker. Words weren’t his thing, crowds weren’t his thing, and the thought of anything riding on his ability to face either had his stomach tying itself in knots.
Karin hummed. “Maybe that’s why they wanted you? Pretty words and empty promises aren’t what anyone needs right now. A little honesty can go a long way.”
“I guess.”
But — what did people need? With the world falling apart, and war crouching at their door, it already felt too late. Too big.
“I’m just glad you’re gonna be there,” Mal admitted. Leaning closer, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the familiar mix of smells. Soap, sun-kissed skin, the light floral notes of perfume lingering on the necklace she almost always wore, and the softness of baby powder that had clung to everything in the house for the past year. The smell of family. Of home. “I mean it. I dunno what I’d do without you. I don’t — I don’t think I could do this alone.”
Karin laughed then, so full of fondness Mal knew every problem in the world could be solved if they’d just figure out a way to bottle it. “Well. Good thing I don’t plan on going anywhere then.”
He hummed in wordless acknowledgement, and pressed a line of gentle kisses up the side of her neck. Took comfort in the warm beat of her pulse, a steady lifeline tying him to something real and solid and present. “Promise?”
A breathy laugh filled their small bedroom and the hand rubbing his back slid up, threading gently through his hair. He melted into the contact, sighing.
“Of course I promise, Mal. No matter what happens, we’re in this together. All three of us.” Karin pulled away briefly, and he considered protesting, tugging her back because the last thing he wanted right now was for her to stop, but she rearranged herself, straddling his lap so they were face to face.
Ah — well, that worked too.
But instead of pushing him back like he anticipated, she cupped his face gently in her hands, thumbs brushing feather-light over his cheekbones and tracing the dusting of freckles she’d always seemed to like so much. Karin tilted his head back so she could look him in the eyes. The corner of her lips tugged up in a crooked, familiar grin. “You’re home now, hon. And this — all of this, everything — it’ll work out eventually. I love you, and I am never, ever going anywhere. I promise.”
“Yeah,” Mal breathed, and for that moment let himself believe that everything she promised was true. Would be true. Because it had to be. “Love you too.”