“I never know when I love you the most. But I sometimes think that these are the times that I love you best.”

This little scene from 5.4 has captured our fangirl hearts. I think we’ll be hearing about it and reading inspired fics for a long time.

“Come on, then.” Shelagh stepped back from her husband. “Bed, and no arguments.”

With a slow exhale, Patrick rose to follow her down the hallway to their room. He lingered as she stepped into the nursery to adjust the covers on their daughter, watching as her light hand felt for the rise and fall of Angela’s breathing. The toddler sensed her mother edging away from the cot and stirred. Shelagh tucked the well-loved bear in the crook of Angela’s elbow and immediately the child settled. After a moment, Shelagh kissed the tip of her finger and pressed it to Angela’s forehead, then moved quietly to the door.

He loved how Shelagh knew instinctively how to soothe their worries. Her touch, her voice, brought a sense of serenity to their home that made the hardest of times bearable. Without her, he knew his current conundrum would consume him. His fears for those poor babies and their families could quite easily take over all of his time as he searched for answers. Shelagh understood, but knew how to keep him centered.

He was surprised when rather than going on to their room, she stopped at Timothy’s door. A light tap, and she slipped into the room. The boy slept at an odd angle, his long thin feet hanging over the edge. Shelagh’s hand twitched, and Patrick knew she held herself back from fussing with the boy’s blanket. A moment spent shifting his books on his desk, and she left, closing the door behind her.

Patrick stepped close, a wry smile on his face. “He’s nearly a young man, Shelagh. I think he’s gotten beyond tucking in,” he teased.

Shelagh blushed, glancing at the floor. “I know. But when he sleeps, he looks so like the little boy who stole my heart, I can’t help myself.”

He squeezed her shoulder lightly, then slid his hand along her arm.  Reaching for her hand he brought it to his lips. “It’s a good thing he did. I’m not completely certain I would have won you if not for him.”

Her blushed deepened at his quick wink. “Patrick–” she chided half-heartedly.

He laughed, and led her by the hand to their room. Shelagh stepped over to her small vanity table and began to pull out the precise pins holding her hair. She ran her fingers through it, and reached for her hairbrush.

“No, let me,” Patrick asked. Their eyes met in the mirror, and he stroked the brush through her hair, smoothing it about her shoulders in the quiet of their room. Shelagh sighed and stood, wearing her “nurse face.”

“You’re exhausted, Patrick. There’s no reason for you to look at me so…hopefully. You need your rest.”

“I’m always ‘hopeful,’ my love.” He pulled her close to him and buried his face in her soft hair. He could feel Shelagh’s body start to relax into his, and pressed a kiss to her throat.

“Patrick,” she demurred. “It’s late.”

He grazed along her throat and whispered in her ear. “Do you think about how you love me often, my love?” His voice was husky. “When? Tell me. Do you think about how you love me when we’re apart, when I’m away?”

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips and felt the soft sigh escape her lungs. The strain of the evening’s work faded, his fears eased as their own private world surrounded them. In the quiet of their room, they found comfort in one another that night, and in the morning, would face those fears stronger together.