Cold All the Way Through, But Warming

Back in New York

James rubbed his temples as Liz fretted around the house, yet again worrying over tiny details that escaped his notice. This time it was it was a slight stain on the foyer carpet, hardly visible against the pattern. Two days ago it was a slight bit of dust on a shelf that had led to the staff being enlisted to eradicate any traces of dust across the entire house. In the grand scheme, such things weren't worth noticing. But to Liz, it was an emergency that necessitated her kneeling down and scrubbing it herself since even the maids couldn't see what she was pointing at.

He knew it was because the press was hounding the family after Alfred's passing, and that Liz was frantic because she had no idea what was going on and hated being kept out of the plans. It wasn't even her part of the family that was moving forward, by all rights she barely had to wear mourning. Alfred was only a cousin after all, but with the war it seemed like al propriety had been thrown out the window.

James loved Liz, truly and deeply, and he hated to see her like this. It needed to be rectified. So, he took himself down to the foyer, stepping into her field of vision. She glanced up, and he sighed. "You're going to hate this, but I found another stain."

Liz groaned, struggling to her feet. "Where?"

"Our sitting room, I don't know how I missed it."

He watched as his wife ran her hand down her face, "Alright, could you bring the bucket up?" James nodded, grabbing the bucket and rag that she had been using to scrub at the stain. He glared at the carpet as they left, he was confident that there had never been a stain in the first place. And now his wife had sore knees that she complained about as they climbed the stairs to their rooms.

He gently touched her shoulder when she paused on a landing to rub at her knees, "Perhaps a hot bath could help?"

"There's no point to it if I'm going to be scrubbing again." She grumbled, but she gave him a kiss on the cheek. "You enjoy it for me."

James pursed his lips, but stayed quiet until they reached their rooms. He rested a hand on the knob, gently turning it. He was very glad that Liz had not carried the bucket, for a white blur shot out of the sitting room and launched itself at her. Liz gave a squeal, tumbling back onto her rear and saved from serious injury by the plush runner that ran down the hallway.

She was batting at the very stubborn, and affectionate, puppy. "James! James, help!"

He set the bucket down, joining her on the floor. He gently tugged at the puppy's collar. "Now, now, let her up. She's going to be glad to meet you, but she has to be able to see."

Liz was glaring at him as she sat up, flipping her chestnut hair over her shoulder. "What is that?"

"This," James lifted the puppy's front paws up, smiling. "Is your new friend so you stop worrying over everything so much."

She raised an eyebrow, "And you think a dog will help with that."

"You know how much Anastasia enjoys Rigel," He gently shoved the puppy towards Liz. "I thought you might like one of your own."

She held out a hand, still suspicious. "She is rather cute." The puppy, hearing herself referred to, gave an excited yip and her tail began to wag. It was already curling over on itself slightly, and the black nose sniffed Liz's hand before a perfect pink tongue slipped out to lick it. James could see Liz melt at that, her voice a sigh. "Oh, she is precious."

"And she needs a name." James sidled over to sit beside his wife, who had collected the puppy into her lap and was petting her. "Any ideas?"

Liz considered the fuzzy white ball in her lap, "What breed is she?"