A/N: Short and (hopefully) sweet one-shot for the ending of Babushka. It struck me that there was more being said in that conversation at the end than just the dialogue. It turned out a little differently in the end than I had thought, but never mind. The dialogue is lifted straight from that episode.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Pity.
Lucky
He waited long enough for confirmation that they both were dead before he turned to speak to her. He was surprised not to see her behind him. It was customary wherever they went that one would always be within speaking distance from the other; usually closer.
Turning fully he could see her a few yards off and he made his way over to her, removing his earpiece as he did so. He examined her face as he got closer; stopping just outside of her personal space.
"So," he said after a moment, "she did love him." She looked up at him, understanding the hidden question behind his words: are you all right?
"Martin would have waited, don't you think?" she asked, looking up at him for confirmation. No, she had replied, I can't make sense of what just happened.
"Love is blind," he replied, "isn't that what McVitie said?" She looked at him again and he could see that she had once again understood what he hadn't said, but meant to. Yes, I think he would have. There's nothing blind about my love for you.
She nodded briefly, enough to convey the message that she would be fine; for now. He paused for a moment longer before moving off, confident that she would soon be only a few paces behind him, as she always was.
It was much later, away from the prying eyes of the uniforms that he was able to tell her the words that he had been unable to say at the dock. That their love was different, that he would have waited, that he would not have let her think he would abandon her.
Wrapped securely in his arms as they sat on his couch he watched as she drifted off into a fitful sleep. Murmuring his name every so often; he kissed her forehead and the murmuring stopped, silenced as she drifted into a deeper sleep.
He knew he would probably pay for his uncomfortable position on the couch, but that was a price he was more than willing to pay for the privilege of holding her in his arms. The privilege of being the one to see her vulnerable, to be the one she turned to for reassurance that it would be all right.
He shifted his hold on her and kissed the top of her head, the scene at the dock had affected him too, but in comforting her he had comforted himself. She was his source of strength and he just counted himself lucky that she felt the same way about him.
He rested his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes; it did not take long for sleep to overtake him as well.