A/N: Integrity-verse. Post Albatross. Very slight implied Ashleigh/Brad.
They stand so close, shoulders brushing. The spring air is heady, slippery through her hair. He leans his weight against the fence, braces everything on his forearms as he stares out at the paddock and its occupants, at the mother and her filly foal.
She knows that he is far more excited than he lets on. This is the culmination of years of interest, sloppily packaged, all done without his saying a word. She wants this to be the right decision.
He knows she is trepidation defined, exhausted, perplexed, all sorts of synonyms rolled into the puzzle that can only be her. There is an itch in him that cannot help wanting to take her apart, to fit her back together so she is whole.
They are both right, in a way, but they are also experts at avoiding truths.
Instead he says, "Do you have a name for her?"
And she smiles.