As always: not mine (wish they were!), all copyright c/o BBC, Neal St Productions, Heidi Thomas McGann, Jennifer Worth.
No infringement or harm intended, just playing.
It was the familiar clunk of the letter box which finally broke the silence. Shelagh glanced up from the porridge which she had been stirring aimlessly since Timothy had left for school a few minutes earlier.
"I'll go," she said without looking at her husband.
As she left the room Patrick raised his eyes from the newspaper article he had been failing to read throughout breakfast. He let out an audible breath and dragged his fingers through his hair. He was only too well aware that his wife was still hurting, and it was eating him up to see her this way. She seemed to be consumed by a pain so deep that he doubted even Sister Julienne had been able to assuage it. And he knew it was partly his fault. That was what hurt him the most; that in seeking to protect her he had caused such distress to the most precious woman in his entire world.
All attempts to talk to her since she had returned from Nonnatus House the previous evening had been met with bland reassurances, blank stares. Even worse, in the early hours he had woken to the sound of her softly sobbing into her pillow. Instinctively he had reached out to comfort her, only to hear her breath hitch and feel her body stiffen when he laid his hand on her arm. "Patrick," she had whispered in a ragged breath. "Please don't? I love you. But I don't know how to live with this. Not yet…"
She had rolled further away from him then and he had recoiled mutely, retreating back to his side of the bed, his mind reeling. He had listened helplessly, tears silently trailing down his own face, as she finally cried herself to sleep. But he could find no such peace. The words of the Adoption Board chairwoman echoed through his mind over and over:
"Dr Turner, it is our duty first and foremost to consider the wellbeing of the child. The mental breakdown you suffered - which we have only learned about today - is of grave concern to this Board and it would not be in the best interests of any adoptive child for us to overlook it. I'm afraid any home where a prospective parent has exhibited signs of nervous disorder is not one we could look favourably upon. I'm sure you understand that no matter how suitable you and your wife might be as parents in every other respect, this matter must have a serious impact upon our decision."
His only response had been to nod in shell-shocked silence. He had turned immediately to look at Shelagh, watching as her face froze into a mask, her polite half-smile locked in place. But he had caught sight of the light dying in her eyes, the life and the joy in them becoming clouded with a blank, cold nothingness. She had risen first when the chairwoman thanked and dismissed them, reaching out to shake hands with the panel members. She had not looked at him as they left and her only words on the drive home had been to request he take her straight to Nonnatus House, so that she could seek solace in prayer and in the comfort which only her Mother could bring.
Now, twenty-four hours after her temporary retreat, they found themselves still in that same fog. Ostensibly and to all outward appearances they were going through all the motions of married life, but in reality her emotional distance while in close physical proximity was pure torture to him. She had managed to muster a smile or two since her return – directed at Timothy of course - but even so, the sunny warmth behind the gesture had become dimmed to a dull lustre. Patrick sensed that she was struggling to find her way back - to him, to them - but he could not find a way to reach her for fear of sending her spinning off course all together.
She re-entered the kitchen, her eyes downcast, focused on the bundle of post in her hand. She shuffled through it and then stopped dead in her tracks, staring at one particular envelope. She dropped the other letters onto the table and chanced a glance in his direction before quickly turning her attention back to the letter she held in her hand.
"It's from the Adoption Board," she said, her voice now as colourless as her face.
Patrick stood immediately and reached for it. "Here, let me open it," he pleaded. He felt desperate to somehow cushion her from the blow he was sure was coming, the devastating news they both expected to be confirmed in official, impersonal black and white.
But she took a step back and found some measure of resolve in her reply: "No, I need to read it for myself this time. I need to know this is really happening..."
He looked on in agonised silence as she opened the envelope with precise and deliberate care, slipping its contents free and scanning the letter with a patience which was the polar opposite of his own state. He observed her eyes tracking each line, watched as the tears began to track down her cheeks, and he bowed his head. He couldn't bear to witness her pain any longer. His own eyes began to brim as it hit him anew just what his illness had cost them. For the thousandth time he berated himself for not telling her of his breakdown. It might not have changed anything with the Adoption Board but at least she might have been prepared...
"Patrick?" He looked up fearfully at her tear-laden tone. For the first time in what seemed an age she was looking directly at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed but in their watery depths he thought he saw a glimmer of something more.
"Patrick," she said again, looking down at the letter as if to check she still held it. There was doubt and disbelief in her hushed voice as she spoke: "I think this says we are approved..."
A tiny flicker of emotion flared in his heart and he gingerly reached for the piece of paper, carefully prising it from her grasp. His eyes scanned it at breakneck speed until a single sentence leapt out at him, causing his heart to leap into his throat. 'Despite these concerns the Board is willing to consider you as prospective parents for a probationary period.'
"Yes," he whispered, then took a step towards her, the sole focus of her anxious gaze. "Yes, my love," he said more assuredly, amazement colouring his voice, his hands instinctively reaching out for her. "We are. We are approved."
It was she who covered the remaining distance between them, burrowing into his arms, burying her head into his chest and letting the sobs she had been holding back wrack her body with relief. He clutched her tightly to him, clinging to her as fervently as she was to him.
The letter dropped to the floor, forgotten, as his hand snaked into her hair. He ran his fingers through it soothingly as her trembling gradually subsided. Without conscious thought he began to pepper her hairline with kisses. She pulled back slightly and he brought his hands round to cup her upturned face. His thumbs brushed away the tears drying on her cheeks and he whispered her name, wonder evident in his tone at the spark he now saw igniting in her eyes. "Shelagh... Oh Shelagh, my love..." He swept his thumb down to caress the corner of her mouth, his own mouth moving almost imperceptibly in the same direction.
"Patrick?" She spoke his name softly, fixing him with a steadfast gaze which arrested his movement. She had something she needed to say - had wanted, ached and dreamed of saying for so long - and she would not be denied: "We're going to have a child," she stated quietly. "You and I, Patrick. A wee bairn to raise... together."
Her fervent solemnity gave way to joy as she heard her thoughts given voice and truth simultaneously. And she watched, bewitched, at the instant impact they had on her husband's face; an unstoppable smile began to form there, one which sparked laughter in her own countenance. She giggled aloud as she suddenly found herself plucked off her feet and twirled around.
"Yes," he exclaimed breathlessly. "Yes we are!" He set her down and, before she could admonish him, his mouth was on hers and she was swept up in the wave of long-submerged emotions crashing over him. She became boneless in his arms, melting into his kiss, finding herself as breathless as he was within seconds. All her grief evaporated in the wash of love which enveloped her as he held her to him, cradling her head, caressing her lips, pouring all his joy and passion into her. She felt a surge of adoration renewing her spirit and her faith in this man who had always been so strong for her, yet so supple in bending to her wants and needs.
He finally broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers and exhaling a sigh as gentle as the warm breeze of a summer's day. She reached up to fondly stroke back the lock of dark hair tickling her face and he blinked open his eyes.
"Sorry," he said sheepishly, but the tender brush of his fingers along her cheekbone suggested he was anything but.
"I'm not," she declared defiantly. "I've wanted to say those words to you for such a long time... and for you to kiss me that way when you heard them." Despite her bold assertion, a subtle blush rose on her cheeks, causing his eyes to twinkle in amusement.
"Well you certainly kept that little fact quiet, Mrs. Turner!"
As soon as the words were out of his mouth he realised what he'd said. Her smile dimmed and she gently removed his hand from her cheek, grasping it between her own.
"Patrick," she began, her eyes focused on the rough skin of his knuckles as she gently smoothed her thumb over them.
"I'm sorry, Shelagh," he interrupted quickly. "Truly sorry. That was unforgivable of me."
"It's not unforgivable," she soothed. She gave a wistful smile of remembrance and added: "And I would never turn my back on you because of it."
She felt him flinch and looked up to meet his worried gaze. "I think perhaps we've both been keeping some parts of ourselves hidden from each other..."
His eyebrows rose in curiosity at her statement but she wouldn't allow herself to be distracted. "You should have told me, Patrick. I'm your wife. I love you. I would have understood."
The certainty in her words and in her gaze wove their way into his heart. He felt his burden being eased by her unquestioning, unconditional support.
"I know you would, my love. I know that now. And if I could turn back the clock I would never have kept it from you, believe me. I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn't want you to worry, thinking that your husband might be weak or unable to cope. I wanted to be strong for you."
"You have been. You always have been. But I want to be strong for you too, you must realise that."
He gave a nod, acknowledging the truth of her words to her and to himself.
She brought his hand to her lips and brushed a kiss over it, mirroring the same gesture of love and benediction which he had so often bestowed upon her.
"I could never be hurt by the fact that you were ill. Only by the fact that you kept such an important part of yourself from me. I know how much you care, how much you want to help others - I know that much about you, Patrick."
Her voice was laced with such compassion, such sorrow, that he was almost undone at her next words: "And I know you must have experienced something utterly terrible for you to not to be able to cope."
She sounded as broken as he felt, and he clamped his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the memories which swarmed his mind. It was the touch of her palm to his face which forced him to meet her gaze once more. There was a fire there, a determination that she would not allow him to retreat to that place, at least not alone.
"Patrick, I want you to share these things with me - anything that troubles you. That way I can take my share too, and the pain will be halved. That's what love means. That's what marriage is."
He pulled her into a tight embrace and buried his face in her neck, mouthing a fierce 'I love you' against her skin. They stood that way for several long moments while he fought to regain his composure. Her hand brushed through his hair and stroked along his back, soothing him, anchoring him.
Finally he released her and stepped back, one hand trailing down her arm until their fingers intertwined. He reached round her, leaning down to scoop the fallen letter from the floor. "It's what family is too," he reminded her, smiling as he saw the light flare in her eyes once more.
"We should talk about this," he suggested. Her agreement was signalled by the merest quirk of her lips, but he had long ago learned to read such silent signals.
He grasped her hand more firmly and led her through to the couch. As they sat down he pulled her hand onto his lap, cradling it as if it were his touchstone. He still clutched the letter which he knew would later find a home in her bedside cabinet alongside all the other papers she treasured: Timothy's drawings. His letters. A handwritten proposal. A wedding prayer scribed by Sister Julienne. Her first Valentine's card.
Carefully he laid the letter in her lap and watched as she scanned its contents for a second time.
"Shelagh, this is the most wonderful news. A blessing. You have so much to offer a child."
He paused as he saw the tears start to well in her eyes once more. When she looked up, it was with a watery smile, an adorable mix of delight and embarrassment. He squeezed her hand in affection and although his voice remained soft, his tone turned serious:
"And it's a new start. For both of us. We can't go on as we were."
She nodded, blinking back the tears and folding the letter away lest they splash on to it.
"I know," she murmured. "I think we've both been guilty of hurting each other."
She leaned into him then, her shoulder nestling into his. Taking a quick breath she turned, leaning in even closer until her mouth was pressed upwards to his. Sighing a whispered "I'm sorry" against his lips, she initiated a tender and undemanding kiss.
She was the first to break away when she felt his hand begin to thread into her hair, sensing he was about to deepen the kiss. Much as she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the morning kissing him, she knew that she had to somehow resist so that they could both say and hear the words which needed to be spoken.
She grasped his hand between hers and he responded immediately, laying his other palm over both, their fingers gripping each other tightly.
"Patrick – "
"Shelagh – "
He let out a gentle puff of laughter as they both started and stopped at the same time.
"You first," he offered, seeing the need in her gaze. She smiled her gratitude and gathered her courage.
"Last night," she began, "When you tried to comfort me and I stopped you. I hurt you then, didn't I?"
He looked down at their joined hands and brushed his forefinger gently over the curve of her wedding ring, choosing his words carefully.
"Shelagh, last night, I was… I felt lost. This past day and a half, even when you've been here and you've been next to me, I've never felt so alone. At least not since…"
He paused and she held a breath, anticipating what his next words would be.
"... not since you were in the Sanatorium," he finished and looked up at her with still-wounded eyes.
"The Sanatorium?" she asked in surprise. "What about when Timothy's mother died. Surely you were most alone then?"
He shook his head slowly, sadly. "No. Not entirely. I was lonely, yes, but I never felt completely alone in my sorrow. When someone you love dies, you focus on the living. At least I did. I needed to keep my promise to Elizabeth. I told her that Timothy would always feel loved, so I poured all my energy into him, and into my work."
She listened attentively, enraptured, captured by the sadness in his words and the fears she could hear behind them.
"But you still had Timothy for company when I was in the Sanatorium," she pointed out. "Surely he was a comfort to you then?"
"He was! Of course he was... but I'd had his company in the year after his mother died and I never felt completely alone... until I could no longer talk to you."
He hesitated and a small smile crept onto his face. "Except in my letters." He saw the memory of them spark something within her too and it gave him heart to continue:
"At the time I didn't know if what I'd written was... appropriate. Or too much. Or maybe even not enough. I couldn't be sure you'd even got them, until Trixie mentioned that you were writing regularly to your colleagues at Nonnatus House. And then I felt all the more alone. Not being able to share my feelings; not with Tim, not with anyone... Being desperately in love with you and hoping - not knowing - you felt the same way, that you wanted the same things I did."
"My poor Patrick," she murmured.
"Shelagh?" His earnest tone drew her gaze to him. "Please don't ever leave me alone like that again. I couldn't bear it."
"You're not talking about last year any more, are you?" she asked perceptively. "You mean last night?"
A slight slump of his shoulders gave her her answer. "I couldn't reach you. You wouldn't let me. It felt like I was a million miles apart from you even though you were lying right next to me."
"I needed time, Patrick." she tried to explain gently. "And distance I suppose. I'm used to dealing with things by praying or by speaking to God - by turning inwards. I was in so much pain yesterday. I thought I might have misunderstood God's purpose for me, especially if He wasn't going to provide us with the chance to adopt a child. I thought He might be punishing me."
"You could have confided in me. I'm your husband. I would have understood."
Her own words from earlier were reflected back at her, but uttered entirely without reproach or recrimination. Instead she saw sorrow and doubt on his face, as if he wasn't quite sure he believed what he was claiming.
She shook her head gently. "Darling, no. I knew you were hurting too, I couldn't burden you with my fears as well. Part of me blamed you and felt guilty for it. And part of me blamed myself for not noticing the signs. It was all too confusing, too upsetting."
She took a breath to marshall her thoughts, realising by the look on his face that he hadn't entirely grasped what she was trying to convey to him. She placed her palm on his cheek and continued: "I couldn't bring myself to speak to you about it because I thought I might end up hurting you more, hurting us more."
He turned his face into her touch then, and the gesture forced her to address what she knew had hurt him the most, the moment which was her biggest regret from the previous day: "But I should have let you comfort me. I've always felt safe and loved in your arms."
At her admission he drew her back into them, reaching up to catch a tear which had beaded in her eyelash as she'd tried to blink it away. She nuzzled into his neck and felt his arms circle round her protectively.
His voice was an echo in her ear, thrumming down her body and into her heart:
"That's all I need to hear, my love. For now that's all that matters. That you still feel safe and loved. We can talk further when the time is right. I want to share my experiences with you. When you're ready. When I'm ready."
He raised his head and she looked up at him expectantly. The love and happiness he saw in her eyes prompted him to press a quick kiss to the tip of her nose, then to her upturned lips.
"Today all I want to talk about is the fact that we're going to have an addition to our family one day soon..."
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