When Titus first wakes up crying, Xavier thinks to himself, This will be a cinch. He probably just needs a glass of water or something.

But when he walks into the bedroom, not turning on the light, but leaving the door wide open to let light in (he's not an idiot), Titus cries louder.

"Titus.....want.....mama....." his little body pushes out the words between his sobs, and Xavier tries to calm him down.

"Titus, buddy! It's me. Xavier. Your friend. Remember?"

"TITUS....WANT....MAMA!!!!" the boy yells a little louder.

"Mama had to go out for a few minutes. Do you want some juice?"

"NO!" Titus screams as he continues crying.

Xavier is getting a bit worried. Maybe the boy really does want something to drink. Rushing back into the kitchen, X finds a sippy cup in the cupboard. Filling it with apple juice he discovers in the refrigerator, Xavier screws on the lid tightly, carrying it back to Titus.

Holding out the juice, Xavier is astonished when Titus knocks the cup out of his hand, sending it flying across the room as he screams louder. "WANT MAMA!"

Scratching his head as he picks up the sippy cup, relieved that the top held, Xavier tries to figure out what else the child could want.

"Need to go potty, little man?"

"NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!" comes the giant scream, followed by hiccuping as the boy tries to catch his breath, his tears running down his cheeks as he sits up in bed.

At a loss, Xavier worries that the neighbors will call the police. He'll get arrested for sure, and then his mug shot will be in the papers, and no one will hire him after he's charged with torturing children. Ugh. What can he do? He contemplates his options as Titus continues sobbing and crying and kicking at the covers.

==============

As Meg leaves, Minnie steps closer to me, wrapping her arms around my waist and leaning her head on my chest, her cheek nestled so close that she can probably hear my heartbeat. Instantly, my arms come around her, holding her tightly, rocking her body side to side as I rest my chin on top of her head. The weight of her body resting against mine is comforting, and I hope that she can feel the safety I offer seeping into her body, as that is my intention.

"I fed Daisy and took her outside," I murmur into her head. She's no longer crying, and I consider that a good sign. She still appears to be really fragile. I've called Jeffrey as well, asking him if he can do some behind the scenes digging to get a status on Charles. The condition of her former client is still weighing heavily on her, and I know she won't sleep tonight until she has more information.

Daisy apparently hates it when we hug. Her jealousy would be cute if it weren't also annoying. Jumping on us, she whimpers and whines until my girl pats her head and tells her "Hush, Daisy," causing the dog to lie on the floor near us, keeping her eyes on me the whole time as though she's afraid I'm going to steal her girl. After all, everybody wants to steal her girl. Everybody wants to take her heart.....okay. Never mind. Too flippant for the mood tonight. Still, I can't help it that the lyrics run through my head.

Pressing a kiss to Minnie's forehead, I ask, "Are you hungry? I can cook us something or we can order in. Whatever you want."

She nods against my chest, "I'm a little hungry. Can you make something simple? A salad or an omelet or something?"

Standing up straight, I put my arms on her upper arms, putting her away from me so that I can look in her eyes. "Can I make something simple? Do you know who you're asking? I'm the KING of simple!" I inform her, and the twinkle she gives me makes the effort of joking around while my heart weighs heavy on her behalf worth it.

Sweeping into the kitchen, I pull on my pink apron, smiling when Minnie cracks up. I'm relieved to see her jovial side even if only for a minute in these circumstances. With a magnanimous bow, I whip out a fry pan, adding a hunk of butter to it while I turn the heat on. "The best meal I make is a traditional British fry-up. How does that sound?"

Digging out a can of beans, I add them to the pan before pulling out some turkey sausages. These get sliced and added to the mix followed by a tomato and some mushrooms. The pan is getting full, but that's okay. Next I butter some bread slices and add those to the breakfast, turning them over after toasting one side. The last thing I add is the eggs: two of them.

It's the least healthy thing I know how to make without much prep, and my girl has a look of horror on her face at the sight. But when I fill her plate and we sit at the table, her first bite puts a smile on her face.

"Ohmigod!" she exclaims, "What the hell?"

I giggle as I watch her dig into the food, my British background having come in handy for more than my accent.

=========

When Meg puts her key in the lock, she expects to find Xavier on the couch, either watching tv or zonked out from exhaustion. Instead, the living room is eerily silent.

Where could he be?

There's soft music coming from Titus' room, and Meg wanders that way, pushing open the door to the sounds of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" by Jewel. Curiously, she peers in to find Xavier lying in bed with Titus, the boy's hand curled on the teen's chest. They are breathing in unison. Her heart floods with love for these two boys in her life.

Sure, things are bumpy at times with each of them. But how much better did they make her life?

Now the tough decision: did she wake Xavier or leave him lying there with Titus wrapped around him in the tiny bed? As she debates, Xavier opens one eye, focusing on her. Embarrassed, he shrugs, whispering, "He woke up."

Meg covers her mouth to hide her giggles, "I assumed."

"Can I move?" he mouths, "I don't want to wake him."

Vacillating between the truth and the opportunity to watch her man sleep with her son, Meg finally gives in, "He's asleep now. You'll be fine."

She's incredibly touched that he would crawl into bed with her child who was probably just being ornery and not choosing to sleep. If she were home, she would have closed the door and let him scream for a while until it occurred to him that she wasn't coming in to rescue him. But Xavier couldn't have known that her child can also be a drama king. Even though he breaks her heart with his cries, she does her best to not give in to his dramatic moments.

Standing from the bed, Xavier approaches Meg, walking like a zombie of sorts because his arm and leg have fallen asleep. When he steps into the front room and she's closed the bedroom door, he wraps his arms around her.

"And I thought you had a hard job working for me," he quips.

With a gentle and tender kiss, he lets himself out after promising to call her the next morning.

=========

She refuses to let me clean the kitchen. "You cooked. I clean," she insists, and I don't know how to argue when she's so adamant. I'll remind her of this the next time she cooks, though. Relationships should be a partnership, and I'm determined to make this one.

When my phone rings, my instinct is to ignore it. But then I see that it's Jeffrey, and I answer quickly and efficiently. "Yeah?"

"He's moved to a room. Word is he's going to make it. And they're going to get him some mental health assistance," my miracle worker manager reports.

Thanking Jeffrey, I relay the news to Minnie who sags in relief. She continues clearing the table and adding plates and cups to the dishwasher. Watching her in my sweatpants hung low on her hips and my jumper loosely covering her body, I find my girl is sexy as can be. She didn't put on a bra after getting out of the shower, and I can see the outline of her breasts along with the peaks of her nipples.

Tonight I'm sure she needs comfort and not sex, so I'm prepared to chillax in front of the television. Closing the door to the dishwasher, she places her hand on the small of her back, closing her eyes as she stretches, and I instinctively know she's exhausted. Wiped out from the emotional toll of the day.

But when she turns and catches my eye, I start to wonder if I truly know what I think I do. The smirk on her face makes me curious and raises questions in my mind. She saunters before me into the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes in her wake.

The first thing she strips off is her socks, scraping her feet along the floor to rid her feet of them and leaving them like lost sheep on the moors. Tempted to pick them up, I stop when I'm bending over, reaching for the first sock, and her jumper (okay, mine) hits me in the head as she tosses it over her shoulder. I watch her naked back stroll closer to my bedroom, deciding to leave the jumper where it fell when I stood up.

At the door to the master, I cautiously look around the corner, worried that my sweatpants will come dangerously flying my way next. Instead, I spy nothing. It's like she's vanished into thin air. But then I hear "Another bride, another June, another sunny honeymoon. Another season. Another reason. For making whoopee," sung in Louis Armstrong' voice.

And one bare leg kicks out from my closet. It's a sexy thigh with a pointed toe, and I smile just a little. She's so sexy, and so silly. Emerging while holding onto the door jamb and bowing her torso backwards while her hair sweeps behind her, she dances, swaying her hips in time with the music.

Astounded, I stand still, a stupid grin on my face as she prances towards me, wearing nothing but a pair of my boxer briefs. What a dork she is! When she's finally standing in front of me, she reaches out to unbutton my shirt, rocking her hips from side to side as the song changes to "It's Only a Paper Moon" sung by Ella Fitzgerald. I only know it's Ella because I'd been listening to it earlier as inspiration. Her voice sounds very young, but then I get distracted as my shirt slides off my shoulders and onto the floor of the bedroom.

Running her fingers over my torso, she slides her hands from my shoulders to my abs, swirling back up to the top until I want to dance with her. Grabbing her hands, I start dancing around the room with her. "It wouldn't be make believe if you believed in me!" I sing along with Ella as I waltz my love around the room.

Caught up in her presence, I barely notice when the music changes to "Like Someone in Love". This version appears to be sung by Old Blue Eyes himself, and she waltzes me straight to the bed, halting our progress at the edge of the mattress. Reaching for my trousers, she yanks them down over my hips, and I'm startled that the move works. Stepping out of the clothing, I'm now standing as clothed (or as naked -- depending on whether you're an optimist or a pessimist) as she is.

Her mouth connects with my nipple, and I gasp at the feel of her tongue circling around it before she applies light suction. I can't help it. My head tilts back, and I moan. Sliding her hand just inside my briefs, she brushes against the head of my cock, and I shudder with the feeling. I'm not fully hard yet, but this is certainly helping me get there. I hadn't expected sex tonight, so my brain wasn't wired for it. But she's so fucking hot with her mouth and her hands and just HER that I know it won't be long for me.

With a whispered "Get on the bed," she observes me as I climb on the mattress, once again admiring how she likes to take charge sometimes when we're fucking. It's incredibly seductive. Using my arms and legs, I crab crawl onto the bed at an angle, and she smirks again. The music switches to Andy Williams singing "I'll Never Stop Loving You" as she folds my pants down, revealing my cock to her wandering hands and mouth.

Within seconds of the pressure of her mouth, I'm fully ready. Cause that's what she does to me. She seems quite pleased with her power as she engulfs my length in her mouth, drawing me deep into her throat as she pumps with her hand. It doesn't take too long before I'm gasping for air, my hips unable to control themselves as they try to force my dick further into her throat. Expertly, she uses her tongue to swirl around me as she swallows, taking me further into her mouth, creating such a sweet suction that I nearly explode in her mouth.

As she releases me, I hear her draw in a deep breath, and I'm worried she's going to do that move again which would be so overwhelming. After the day she's had, I should be making love to her. Not the other way around. She uses her hand on part of my length as her tongue teases my slit, and I'm nearly over the edge.

"Stop, baby," I croak out, even though I am not sure I want her to halt her actions.

Confused, she looks at me, and I make a signal to indicate she should climb on the bed with me. Shrugging her shoulders, she complies, lying down next to me, and we stay that way throughout the duration of "I'm in the Mood for Love" sung by Julie London.

As the song comes to an end, I roll onto my side, facing her. Using just my fingertip, I draw a circle around her nipple. She catches my eye, and I wet my finger in my mouth before I circle the other peak. Her eyes, watching me, darken.

Leisurely, my finger glides down her skin to her core as Sarah Vaughn begins singing "Tenderly". Dipping one digit inside her, I recognize her readiness level. Debating whether to bring her to climax with my mouth before I bury inside her, my decision making is complete when she whispers, "Harry, I need to feel loved right now."

When I reach for a condom, she stills my hand. I look at her closely and curiously. She nods, and I am so honored. So it surprises us both when I respond with the quiet words, "Not tonight, my darling. You've had an emotional day. Let's make that decision when we're both rational."

For a moment, I'm afraid she's going to be angry or hurt. Instead she merely nods and replies, "You're right, of course. Thank you, Harry."

I feel like an adult for the first time in years. Sheathing myself, I roll over onto her. Spreading her legs, and then reaching down between us, she guides me home, and we both sigh as I settle inside her. This. Fuck me. This. I want this. Forever and a day. Just to be buried inside her.

I live for you. I long for you.

We both rest for a minute until the song ends and the strains of the next one starts. "If I Loved You" performed by Jo Stafford echoes in the room as I slowly, but intensely, withdraw from her. Together, we take our time, a fine layer of sweat appearing on our bodies at the measured pace. Maintaining eye contact the entire time, I capture her lips as we react instinctively, movements getting sloppy as our orgasms overtake us.

As her quivering stops, and I start to slip out of her, I press a kiss to her forehead. When I move away from her to dispose of the condom, disengaging our bodies briefly, she grabs my hand, looking deeply into my eyes.

"I love you, Harry Styles," she states with such sincerity that tears spring to my eyes.