Author's note: all usual disclaimers apply.

"I'll just hang around here," Barbara told her boss as they stood at the entrance to the ornately carved Portland stone building. "How long will you be?"

"You misunderstood. I would like you to come in with me. This concerns you."

"Me? Why do I need to go and see your solicitor?"

"I don't want to discuss it here. We can talk inside."

Tommy took her elbow and tried to steer her inside. She shook him off. "No. We can speak here. What's going on, Sir? You've been acting weird for a couple of weeks."

"Nothing," Tommy snapped. "I would prefer if for once, Havers, you'd do as I ask without arguing."

Barbara opened her mouth, then shut it again. He looked genuinely distressed. "Only if you promise to tell me what's upsetting you."

"I'm fine."

"I don't believe you."

"For heaven's sake Havers, I'm just trying to do the right thing." He turned and walked into the building.

She followed him. They said nothing as they clanked up three floors in an old-fashioned open lift. The mahogany lined corridor with its marbled floor was daunting. The smell of old paper and stale tobacco transported Barbara into the 19th century. Trust Tommy to have an ancient solicitor. "You couldn't have a solicitor in a modern building could you."

"Sterring, Hutchins and Bugg have been our solicitors for over a hundred years."

"Yeah, and I'm betting the original partners are still practising."

Tommy grunted something she clearly was not meant to understand, but she was not blind to his attitude. Something serious was troubling him. Knowing when to stop arguing, she sat silently on the rigid wooden chair beside him. Tommy had aged quickly. His face was gaunt and lined, and his hands shook. It was not enough for anyone else to notice, but it worried her. He had insisted they spend more time together, so she doubted he was drinking too heavily, but he certainly was not sleeping well, so maybe he was going home each night and losing himself in a bottle of single malt.

"Sir, you know that I'm always here for you, don't you?"

Tommy nodded and gave her a sad smile. "That's why we're here."

Ten minutes later they were ushered further back in time. Malcolm Smythe-Turnour's room reminded Barbara of Scrooge's office on a television show she had recently watched. The smell of old leather, dust and fly spray assaulted her as they walked in. One wall was lined from floor to ceiling in antiquated red, green and brown tomes that looked more useful as paperweights than fonts of legal knowledge.

"Lord Asherton."

Tommy shook hands with a thin man with thick glasses and a suit that looked like it was as old as the office. "Malcolm, good to see you. This is Barbara Havers."

The cadaverous little man took Barbara's extended hand and brought it to his lips. "Enchantée, madame."

"Pleased to meet you," she said pulling her hand back. She looked down to check his lips had not left a burn mark.

Malcolm's high-backed leather chair squeaked as he sat. Tommy and Barbara sat on unyielding padded wooden chairs in front of the enormous mahogany desk. She waited as the solicitor undid the dusty pink ribbon on a thick folder.

"Ms Havers, I just need to complete some details in order to finalise Lord Asherton's will, and also for the payment of your deed."

"Will? Deed?" She looked at Tommy.

"I haven't mentioned details to Barbara, Malcolm."

The solicitor looked at them both in turn and raised his eyebrows. "Ms Havers, Lord Asherton wants to ensure that your future is secure and that in the event of his demise, you are financially independent. To that end he..."

"Your demise?"

"Barbara, just hear Malcolm out."

"He has amended his will to include a bequest for you amounting to 20 percent of his estate which includes his London townhouse. He also wants to gift you a sum now to extinguish the mortgage over your flat in... ah, yes, Chalk Farm."

"No!"

"I'm sorry, Ms Havers."

"What part of no is difficult to understand?" She turned to Tommy. "I'm not having you owning my flat and leaving me money."

"I wouldn't own it. It'd still be in your name."

"You and I would always know you paid for it. Of course, you'd own it. I won't have that. And why include me in your will?"

"I want to make sure that after I go, you are not beholding to Hillier. I want you to be able to walk away if you need to."

"After you go? Tommy?" She was glad her anger had already coloured her face. She had not meant to call him by name, but in her shock, it had slipped out. His smile lit up his face. Barbara saw the pain and fear in his eyes. "Oh, God no!" Barbara sank into her seat.

"Malcolm, could we have a few minutes please?"

"Certainly, Lord Asherton. I'll just be outside."

He knelt down beside her. "I'm sorry, Barbara."

"How long?"

"I don't know. My father took a year to die, but he hid it from us for a long time. He was three years older than I am now."

"When were you diagnosed?"

"I have chosen not to go the medical route."

"You've what?"

"I'm not going through what he did. I'm putting my affairs in order and letting nature take its course."

"You make that sound heroic, but it's not. What did your doctor say?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

Barbara grabbed him by the sleeve. "Tell me, Tommy."

"I haven't consulted a doctor."

"Then how do you know you're dying?"

"I have the same pains and symptoms as my father. Please don't do this, Barbara. I want to look after you. You're my only real friend, and I owe you so much. I didn't plan on telling you this way. I'm sorry. I hope you'll stick by me and... it's a lot to ask, I know, but I want you there when I go... if you can."

Barbara's world shattered around her. She knuckled tears from her eyes and tried to smile. "Yes, you know I will, but... I can't accept what you're saying. You have to find out. Medical science has advanced in twenty years."

"Barbara..."

"No. I don't want you to die, Tommy."

His arms enveloped her. She clung to him as they both breathed into each other's neck. "I don't want to die either, but I..."

"What?"

"I'm fortunate. I don't have people dependent on me. Only a limited number of people will care."

"I care. Isn't that enough?"

Tommy looked down. "I..."

"I thought we gave each other reason to get up each day."

Tommy ran his hand over her hair. "You do give me a reason."

"But I'm not enough to live for, is that it?"

"No! Yes, you are who I live for."

"Then why are you determined to die without fighting for me? Don't you know how much I lo... will miss you?"

Tommy tried to hug her, but she held him at arm's length. "Yes. That's why I want you to have independence and know that, even though I'm gone, I'm still looking after you."

"We look after each other. That's the deal. So, yes, I will accept your bequest but only on two conditions."

Tommy frowned. "And they are?"

"Firstly, the money for my flat is only paid if you... die. Secondly, that you have the tests done and we discuss treatment options."

"I'm not lingering on to be bedridden and unable even to toilet myself. I don't want to be like my father, only kept alive by drugs."

"I respect that decision, Tommy, but I can't accept finding out later that if we'd done something earlier, you would have lived."

"Can I think about it?"

"No. Not negotiable. Just the tests and an honest discussion about what they find. That's all I ask. We won't even ask them to give you a timeline."

Tommy closed his eyes and raised his face to the ceiling. Barbara waited. "Yes. I'll have the tests."

"Good." Barbara sniffed loudly. "Call that wretched little man back in and tell me where to sign. Then let's get out of here before I lose it completely."

"What are you thinking?" Tommy asked as they sat sipping their third pint.

"I'm trying not to think. When were you going to tell me?"

"When it became apparent."

"You shouldn't be bearing this alone. Have you told your mother or sister?"

"No."

"Sir."

"Tommy. Surely now you can call me Tommy?"

"Old habits. You should tell them."

"Too painful for everyone. I'll wait until I have no alternative, if at all."

"No, you have to tell them. You owe them the chance to say goodbye. Don't let them wish for the rest of their lives that had been able to finalise things. Even with Peter."

"You're right, but not yet."

Barbara looked at him, trying to gauge what he was thinking. "How are you coping with it?"

Tommy put his arm around her shoulder and snuggled against her. "Better now that you know."

She leant her head against him. "I don't want to let you out of my sight."

"I won't die tonight. I think we have a few months."

"Tommy..."

"I know. Let's finish these and go back to my place."

Barbara flopped into his lounge. Her head pounded. She rubbed her temples as he poured them drinks. Tommy handed her a large glass of whisky. "Headache?"

"It's nothing, sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry, Barbara." He put his glass down and began to massage her shoulders and neck. "You're very tense."

"I should be looking after you."

"Don't try to smother me with kindness, Barbara. Not yet. I'm still capable of..."

"Of?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm not an invalid."

Tommy began to massage her temples and head. It was good. Far too good. "Tommy?"

"Mmm?"

"If I tell you something that I need to say, will you promise not to laugh?"

To her disappointment, he stopped his massage and picked up his drink. "Why would I laugh?"

"You'll understand when I say it."

He sat beside her. "Go on."

"You're my best friend; my only real friend apart from Winston and Stuart. We've been through a lot when you look back over it all."

He nodded and sighed. "Yes. We have indeed."

"What I'm trying to say is... well, that is...I don't know how to phrase this so that you don't think I'm daft."

"Barbara. Just say it. Please."

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I love you." When the world did not end in a fireball, she opened her eyes. Tommy had his head tilted to one side. His eyes filled with tears, and he looked at her in a way she could not fathom. "Sorry."

Tommy shook his head. "Don't be. It's something that I've... I can't offer you what you want."

Barbara fought to hold back tears. "I understand. I... I had to say it. We can forget it now."

Tommy lifteed her face to look at him. "You don't understand. I've longed to hear you say that, but..."

"But what?"

"It would be unfair to you now. I love you, so very, very much, but I don't want to hurt you."

"You do? And you think it'd be fairer to pretend we don't and miss the chance to be together?"

"It will be harder... at the end... for both of us."

"No, it won't. It couldn't possibly be more difficult for me, and at least I would have memories of being able to love you fully. And maybe the memories of my love may ease your way."

Barbara felt the tears rolling down her cheeks. Tommy took a sip from his glass then placed it on the table. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Tommy took her gently in his arms. His kiss tasted bittersweet as their mingled tears ran across their lips. He stood and offered his hand. Barbara accepted, and he led her upstairs.