"It could be; we've all the time in the world, remember?"

Next...next a poem, one Jack was fond of and had picked up during one of his voyages to the Orient. He straddled her legs this time, smoothing his palm over the spot she had chosen. Fair and soft; he touched the point of the pencil against her skin and wrote in his familiar, flowing script:

Barn's burnt down
now
I can see the moon

They both knew about loss. They were going to find ways to make things better in spite of it. It had nearly been a promise. Jack kissed her belly and laid his cheek against it. Finished.

"More?"