The next morning wasn't the first time George dreaded having to get out of bed. It had happened every other day, but on that morning, there was a very different reason why. Instead of the feeling of the world crushing him, agony erupting from his lungs as his ribs pierced into tender muscle, the most beautiful girl he had ever met was snuggled into his side, the only weight a small hand resting against his chest.

And he felt like he could soar. His heart beat, slow and soft, in rhythm with hers. He could not remember the last time he had felt this happy. It certainly wasn't after... Fred's death. Suddenly, the joy slunk away like a child caught playing with a toy that didn't belong to them and guilt replaced it with a mighty grin. How could even dare to be happy, to consider a future that contained gladness when Fred was buried six feet under. He threw the covers off his lower half and moved to climb out of bed, his lungs aching once more, but a hand held him close. It wasn't a strong grip, but as he pulled away it caught his hand. He glanced down at their interlocked fingers, peace mixing with the guilt.

"It's still early," she muttered, blinking open sleepy eyes. He wanted to make an excuse, a reason why he couldn't stay in her arms, but he couldn't think of one when she was staring at him like that.

"I'm going to make some tea," he lamely replied, and she groaned but let him go. He stepped into the kitchen; aware she was watching from her place among the sheets. His hands were shaking as he filled the kettle with water and searched for the cannister of tea. He had to get her out of here before he allowed himself to settle back into happiness, but that was going to be difficult because the larger part of himself didn't want her to leave. While the water boiled, he leaned against the counter and pondered his predicament, forcing his eyes to stay away from his bed. He was successful too, until she spoke.

"What's wrong?" His eyes snapped to hers and they made him want to fall into her arms. They were soft and empathetic, ready to take anything he had to give, but what they didn't understand is he didn't have anything worth giving.

"Nothing," he lied, and she tilted her head, studying him.

"You know, bartenders are trained in the skill of knowing when someone is upset. It helps us sell drinks. And I know somethings up, and if it's me I'll leave."

"No," he practically shouted, mentally cursing himself. She had given him an out, a glorious opportunity and he had butchered it like some lovesick fool. "I mean it's not you." She smiled and patted the be beside her.

"Want to tell me about it or are you going to make me guess?" He wandered to her side and let her pull him into bed. He sat on the edge, wringing his hands as he tried to decide what to say. He hadn't told anyone, they either knew already and those who didn't know didn't matter. Except her, she mattered more than he could comprehend. It wasn't until she took his nervous hands in her own and offered him a reassuring smile that he was able to untie his tongue.

"I have a pretty big family, four brothers, one sister, and Fred, my twin." he began, taking a deep breath. "We all fought in the war, and we all survived, up until the last battle. I wasn't there when it happened, but Fred, he, he died," he said the lump in his throat growing as tears welled in his eyes. "God, he was my best friend, we did everything together, until that last moment and I wasn't there. I didn't even know until an hour had gone by and I wandered into the infirmary, and there he was, cold and lifeless." He glanced at Hannah and was surprised to see tears falling down her cheeks as well. "It's been awful since, everything I've ever known has been with Fred and now I've got to figure out how to do it alone," he was choking on sobs now, dissolving into the whimpering mess he had feared he would become, but he couldn't stop. "And you're so amazing I never want you to leave, but it feels like a dishonor, like being happy is the greatest betrayal." He buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking as he tried to hold in his sobs. He felt her lean into his shoulder, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he cried.

They stayed like that until the kettle whistled and she pulled away. When she returned, she knelt in front of him and pulled his hands into hers. Her eyes were still moist with tears but there was a determined look on her face, a warrior preparing for battle.

"I never met Fred, but if he was your best friend, I can't imagine he would want you to be sad for the rest of eternity," she began, tears still streaming down her face, "I can't imagine he would want you to take the world upon your shoulders and suffer until the exhaustion kills you. He fought for a better, safer world for you and your family, and me, he didn't even know me, and he fought for me. So, I know I'm biased because I greatly benefit from your happiness, but I can't imagine he would want you to give up now that you are in the world he helped to create." George leaned down and captured her face in his hands, pulling her lips to his. She climbed into his lap and he hugged her as tightly as he could. "I'm sorry, I didn't know what to say," she whispered when she realized he was crying again.

"No, no, it was good," he assured her with a laugh, an overwhelming sense of gratitude sending the second wave of tears. She pulled away and smiled, palms pressed to his cheeks. It was strange that telling her about the tragedy had made him feel better, and it was even stranger that she hadn't left when the tears began. He hadn't felt this good in days, holding a beautiful woman and a slight reprieve from the weight on his chest must have been the greatest medicine ever discovered.

"Let me make you breakfast," she whispered against his cheek, fly aways brushing his lips as she spoke. He nodded but continued to hold her tight, unwilling to let her go quite yet. "George, you have to let go," she giggled, squirming out of his grasp but he rolled over, sandwiching her between him and the bed. "George!"

"Yes?" he asked, burying his face in her hair.

"I have to be able to get up to make your breakfast."

"You could be the breakfast," he muttered a little louder than he had intended. He glanced at her nervously, pleased to see blush blossoming over her cheeks. She smiled through the blush and wrapped a leg around him before flipping them both over and pressing a kiss to his nose.

"How about eggs and bacon instead?" he sighed as she wandered away, pulling his button up over her shoulders and switching on the oven before rummaging in through his fridge. He leaned back against the pillows a dopey smile. Long legs poking from behind the fridge door were enough to make any man go wild, but hers, oh god, for some reason hers made his stomach do cartwheels and his lung do flips.

"You don't have any eggs," she yelled from behind the door, "Actually, you don't have anything more than week old ramen, hot sauce, and a case of beer."

"Do you want to come to work with me?" he asked, and her head popped up and she quirked an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Do you want to come to work with me? I don't have any food, so we can stop for breakfast and then I'll take you to work, introduce you to my brother and his girl, I don't know."

"Where do you work?"

"The happiest place on earth."