The moon hung proud and white in the clear night sky as he arrived home, walking the footpath to his front door. The information wasn't publicly available, but many would likely be shocked to find that he lived in a rather humble duplex; the other annex taken by his mandated security team. He had little interest in the luxury of one of the recently rebuilt Arcologies, preferring something closer to the home he grew up in, though his actual family home was long gone by this point. Standing with the key to his door in hand, he put away the stress of the day as best he could, pushed up his glasses, combed his regretfully thinning hair with his fingers and took a deep breath. Of course, his key didn't even touch the lock before the door swung open, and the warmth and light of his home spilled out atop him.
His wife lets out a put upon huff, before smiling, a fleck of paint lodged into a laugh line at the edge of her left eye. "Well James, are you just going to stand there on the doorstep or are you going to be even later home than usual?" She teases, drawing a faint smile from him.
"Well, it is rather cold. I'll come in I suppose." He says, stepping in by her and putting down his briefcase as she closes the door. She has him wrapped in a gentle hug before he can turn back around, her ear pressed to his back to listen to his heartbeat. He rests a hand on hers, and simply exists for a moment before breaking the comfortable silence. "Did you get much done on your project, Irene, my love?"
"Never you mind, I can show off after we've eaten, let me just get some of the leftovers out of the freezer and I'll warm them up." She says, letting go of the hug and hustling off to the kitchen.
"The fish stew?" He calls after her hopefully, though he knows he won't get an answer until he's changed out of his work clothes. He can hear she's already put the kettle on for a cup of tea, so he kicks off his shoes, leaving them by the door before he heads for their bedroom.
He sighs in relief as he pulls off his suit and puts on something more comfortable. He'd honestly prefer one of the old Tib encounter suits he used to wear rather than the awful suits he has to put on to keep up appearances in the office nowadays. Something he didn't think he'd ever really be comfortable with, though the new cuts and designs coming out were at least a victory over the tyranny of ties. Something he was glad were firmly planted in the dustbin of history, along with the cravat and ruff. A quick glance in the mirror and he looks away; the years weigh especially heavily on his face when he hasn't slept properly, and some small part of him can't bear to acknowledge that he's closer to the end of his life than the start. Where did the years go?
On the way back to the kitchen he pauses briefly in the hall. A small space, but one lined in photographs collected throughout the years and paintings Irene had made, he reaches out to one in particular, straightening it unnecessarily as he looks up at the face of his son. Smiling and looking so proud and sharp in his navy uniform. A rote little gesture, though one done in all seriousness; pressing two fingers to his lips, and then to his sons forehead. "I'm still doing my best. I love you, Son."
He reaches the kitchen, feeling a little lighter, the ritual always giving him strength. His wife is already sitting at the small dining table, nursing her own cup of tea as one sits waiting for him, fish stew slowly heating back up on the stove. "How was your day, love?" She asks as he sits down beside her, their shoulders brushing as they lean against each other. He doesn't answer right away, running his finger around the rim of his mug. "I almost made a mistake again." He finally admits. "The Favela I mentioned before, it was due to be overrun, but I managed to get enough resources diverted in time... I won't lie, it was a close run thing. Too close."
She rests a hand on his, giving it a little reassuring squeeze. "But you didn't. You got it right." He lifts the mug to his lips, taking a sip. "This time, I managed to get it right this time." She kisses him on the cheek. "It's a little early, but let me show you my latest project." She says, standing up and pulling her easel out of its designated corner in the sitting room, placing it in the kitchen before pulling the cover off with a theatrical 'tah dah!'.
A beautiful landscape of the Lake district. A place untouched and unsullied by Tiberium. "I was thinking you could bring it to the office with you, a nice little counterpoint to your 'wall of doom.'"
He shakes his head, tutting in amused annoyance. "You put up a few informative charts and everyone loses the run of themselves." Standing up, he pulls her into a hug, kissing her softly, before resting his forehead against her own. "I think I will, it might be nice to have a few more pictures to remind me of the brighter side of what I'm working towards." The smile she gives him is as beautiful as the one she wore the first time they met. She gives him another peck on the lips, before slipping out of his arms to check on the stew. He looks again at the painting, eyes tracing the sparkle of the sun hitting the water, the gentle curve of hills, the small white blotches of pre Tiberium houses, and the beautiful green of plant life. He thinks of his Wife, and his Son, gone too soon, and the world he fights for. The world he will always fight for.
