The elation that fills him at Timothy's exclamation of "Dad! There's a woman in the wrong clothes and I think it's her!" is resounding, his heart pounding in his chest as he slows the car to a halt, tearing the door open with more ferocity than he intends before he rushes towards her. When he reaches her side he feels her forehead, his doctor's instincts for care overriding what he so desperately wants to do, hoping that the damp air will keep her from noticing the sweat on his palm. She sighs at the physical contact, seeming to let out the breath she's been holding since the second she dropped her cases to the ground, watching him with trepidation as he approached. He feels like he has never truly seen her before this moment – her hair exposed to the weak light amidst the fog, blue eyes sparkling as she looks up at him.
"What if it had started raining? What if you'd got lost?" he manages to ask, concern and affection laced together so seamlessly in his voice that it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended. His tone spoke of their entire relationship somehow, bringing together the trials and horrors of medicine with the joy that could be found in healing and birth. It's as if time stands still around them, the fog so thick that it locks them in their own space, the stilted conversations and worries of exposure, of saying too much, of being too desiring of one another falling away.
"I was lost," she confesses with a bashful look. "I got the wrong bus." He takes his coat off then, wrapping her tightly in it, his hands remaining on the lapels by her collarbones. Her eyes refuse to leave his at the action, filling with something he cannot even begin to fully describe. She looks so small in his coat, something he had forgotten in their time apart. The size difference now, however, is extremely pronounced, the hem of his coat nearly brushing the ground where it normally falls to just below his knees.
"I was on the right road," he replies instantly, feeling like somehow they aren't actually discussing bus schedules and routes all of a sudden. He wants so badly to pull her to him, to crash his lips down onto hers and never let her go. He desperately wants to be barbaric, to ignore the responsibilities that await them both in Poplar, to ignore the fact his son is but a few meters away, that she is technically still a nun, that they're in a public place. The list of reasons he should behave goes on and on in his head, and yet, he still can imagine himself throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her off into the fields that line the road.
"Yes," she affirms and in her eyes he can see that she's swallowing any fear she has before she continues. "I know you so little, but I couldn't be more certain." He feels vaguely faint at the notion, so elated that it is as if he cannot breathe until he manages to respond.
"I am completely certain," he says, unable to help the smile fighting at the corners of his lips. A thought crosses his mind then, making him blurt out the statement before he can rein it in effectively. "I don't even know your name."
"Shelagh." She's fighting a grin now too. For him, the knowledge of her name washes away his last hesitations and worries of her vocation to being a nun. It is her giving herself over to what they already are, and what they can be.
"Patrick." He says his name in affirmation of this path they are starting on, his heart swelling in his chest until he can feel his pulse in every single atom of his being.
"There. We've made a start." She bites her lip slightly as she looks at him then, suddenly coy as they stand on the road. He releases one of the lapels, lifting his hand until he touch her face, unable to control the bark of laughter that escapes him at her shocked look when a fat raindrop lands exactly where his thumb is pressed to her cheekbone.
"This is why I was worried about you walking. Or taking a bus," he grins, unable to keep the jubilation out of his voice. She rolls her eyes, attempting to wiggle her arms into his coat properly. Neither notice Timothy getting out of the car and running to grab her bags, dragging them back as best he can.
"You're going to get wet!" he yells, slamming the car door when he's safely back inside. Patrick chuckles, trying to brush the rain off Shelagh's face as more starts to descend on them, already splattering on the pavement. He notices her blushing then, her eyes focused on their feet.
"What are you thinking?" Patrick asks, tilting her chin up until he can meet her gaze again. She shakes her head slightly.
"It's nothing. Just... just a silly little thing I used to think of as a girl," she says, attempting to dissuade him from his inquiry.
"Was this before or after the stealing of your father's cigarettes?" he teases, loving the flush that increases on her cheeks and the smile that threatens to take over her face. He never wants to stop making her smile like that – it is both indulgent and completely pure, just as she is.
"Mostly before. Perhaps a little bit after as well," Shelagh confesses.
"Tell me?" he urges, stroking her arm through the coat. Now that he is allowed this, he doubts he will ever be able to stop touching her. Whether it be just holding her hand, the appendage that started them on this road together, or something more, he doesn't think he will ever get enough. She swallows before speaking, her voice quiet in the stillness of the road, only broken by the increasing downpour which is quickly soaking into their clothes and skin.
"I... I always used to think it would be... quite romantic to be kissed in the rain," she rushes, the last few words jumbling together. That statement makes him realise how hard this must be for her, to leave a life of chastity and solitude behind in order to pursue what her heart wants.
"You're right, it is a romantic idea," he replies, grinning like an idiot as he finally throws away the last vestiges of his control, dropping one hand to her hip, the other cupping her chin as he tugs her towards him, leaning down and gently pressing his lips to hers. He feels her stiffen against him for a fraction of a second before she completely melts, her fingers managing to escape the confines of his coat until they can grip his shoulders, her left hand threading into the hair at the nape of his neck which is already dripping with rain water. They move softly against each other for a few moments, trying to memorise this first real touch of romance between them, the first time they are able to express themselves.
They break apart when air becomes necessary, both flushed and smiling. Shelagh giggles, ducking her gaze slightly before letting out a surprised yelp when Patrick lifts her off the pavement, spinning her in a circle and making her scream with laughter.
"I love you," he says, blinking water out of his eyes as he takes her in, hair escaping the intricate pins she's used to pull it back, water dripping down her lashes and splattered on her glasses, but looking more elated that he thinks he has ever seen her.
"I love you too," she replies, leaning forward and pecking him quickly on the lips. "But I think my romantic notions should be placed on hold for the safety of your lovely, dry car." He chuckles, letting her feet once again touch the ground before grabbing her hand and jogging back to the MG with her, opening her door and letting her in before moving hastily to his own.
To his shock, Timothy is already passing Shelagh the blanket that had been in the back of the car, making sure she is as warm as possible, despite how they are both soaked to the skin. His only consolation is that she's slightly dryer thanks to the fact she had been wearing his coat. Wiping a hand over his eyes in an attempt to rid himself of the water, he notices the look his son is giving him from the backseat through the rear-view mirror.
"Tim?" he questions, noticing how Shelagh has curled herself into a ball on the passenger seat, warming her hands with the heater in the dashboard.
"Is... is that mushy stuff going to become a daily thing?" the boy queries. Shelagh starts giggling again, her cheeks turning completely red and not just from the cold.
"Probably," Patrick answers after a beat, unable to keep the joy in his heart contained. Timothy scoffs, leaning back and covering his face with a dramatic sigh.
"You're definitely going to have to increase my pocket money if I have to watch that every day."