It’s taken them a long time to get to this point. A long time and a lot of arguing and crying and silent treatments and books about reconciling and love and second chances that Ward claims are bullshit and Colleen thinks are sort of fun to read, but they’ve made it. They’re doing it.
Danny’s arm is falling asleep. Colleen’s got her head on his shoulder and it’s cutting off all the circulation to his tingling fingers, not that Danny’s going to move. Especially not because, on Colleen’s other side, Ward is fast asleep laying half on top of Colleen, hair ungelled and spread in a ridiculously adorable fan over Colleen’s chest.
Just the sight of them together, of Ward and Colleen sharing space and looking happy about it, is a small miracle. A year ago, they couldn’t be in the same room without fighting. Six months ago, they couldn’t be in the same bed without Danny between them. Now, Colleen’s got her hand in Ward’s hair and Ward’s fallen asleep with his lips pressed to Colleen’s collarbone and his hand under her shirt (wait, that’s Danny’s shirt—) and Danny thinks he might lose it a little bit every time one of them snuffles or cuddles closer.