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Author's Note: Written for [community profile] fic_promptly's Any, any, workaholic Featuring H.P. Lovecraft and Sonia Greene

A wintry night in a cabin in the Catskills which a friend of Sonia's had given them loan. Sonia turned over under the bedcovers, finding Howard's side of the bed empty, though he'd thought to turn the covers back down. She sat up, peering through the open door to the main room: he'd stirred up the fire and now he sat in the circle of flickering light that it cast, his long, lean shadow angled across the worn floorboards. He'd draped his topcoat over shoulders and angled a pad of paper toward the light, scribbling on it with a lead pencil.

She shook her head. She understood catching inspiration when it flew into your head, but they had come up here for some quiet time. She loved him for his gentleness and his intelligence, but sometimes, he never knew when to stop and let his mind rest.

"Howard? she said, trying to get his attention. He paused, then scratched something out. She sighed and called a little louder, "Howard..."

He paused in his scribbling and lifted his head, looking toward her, the light carving out his profile, that patrician forehead and the jaw he thought hideous but which she found a sign of manliness and strength. "Sonia, I hope that I didn't disturb you. I got up with care so that I wouldn't awaken you."

"No, you didn't, I just woke up and found your pillow empty," she said, reaching for her robe and pulling it on.

He glanced to the pad in his hands and looked back to her, that shadow of a smirk crossing his face as it did when he was making one of those dark jokes. "Did you fear that a night gaunt had snatched me away?"

"I'm more worried about the night gaunts on that page you're scribbling on," she said, coming to his side and kneeling down. "You work too much, Howard."

He looked to the page before him. "When inspiration catches fire..."

"Yes, you need to contain it, I know that," she said, slipping an arm around his shoulders. "But sometimes, I want it to burn in *other* ways," she added, stroking his hair with her free hand.

He leaned in toward her, the pad sinking between his knees. "I have been stuck on that tale of a house shunned by the citizens of Providence, and the notion as to the nature of its lurking horror only just presented itself in my sleep."

"Howard, we came up here to get away from the city for a few days, not for you to get lost in your writing," she said, gently, nuzzling the side of his head, but the word 'again' stuck in her head. Long memories of their honeymoon and how he lost the typescript of the revisions he was making for Houdini.

He leaned against her, the pad slipping to the floor as he turned his face to angle it into her shoulder. "I have the bulk of it written, and even here, I've gotten cold."

"Then let me warm you up again," she said, slipping a hand inside of his coat, pulling herself closer as he pressed himself against her...

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