Roarke: But I want children with you, my darling Eve. One day.
Eve: One day being far, far in future. Like I don’t know, say a decade when… Hold on. Children is plural.
Roarke: Why, so it is- nothing slips by my canny cop.
Eve: You really think if I ever actually let you plant something in me- they’re like aliens in there, growing little hands and feet.’ She shuddered. ’ Creepy. If I ever did that, popped a kid out- which I think is probably as pleasent a process as having eyeballs pierced by burning, poisonous sticks- I’d say: ’ Whoopee, let’s do this again?’ Have you recently suffered head trauma?
Roarke: Not to my knowledge.
Eve: Could be coming. Any second.

(Source: mythologyjail)

Families, Eve mused. They continued to baffle her. But it was nice to see that, occasionally, they worked.

Relationships had to be society’s most baffling and brutal form of entertainment. Most could make an arena ball playoff game look like a ballroom dance. Still, lonely souls continued to seek them out, cling to them, fret and fight over them, and mourn the loss of them.

No wonder the world was full of whacks.

The glint of her wedding ring caught her eye and made her wince. That was different, she assured herself. She hadn’t sought anything out. It had found her, taken her down like a hard tackle to the back of the knees. And if Roarke ever decided he wanted out, she’d probably let him live.

In a permanent body cast.

His eyes met hers. And he smiled. Her heart did the long, slow roll in her chest that continued to baffle and embarass her.

‘You are, once again, quite late.’

‘Yeah? And you are, once again, really ugly.’ She dropped her jacket over the newel post. ‘Difference is, tomorrow I might be on time.’

He noted that she looked neither pale nor tired - two early signs of overwork. He would have suffered the torments of the damned before he would have admitted - even to himself - that the fact pleased him.