A story set sometime after S4. It starts off T, will probably go M later (eek!). At least part of that will be because of some dark subject matter, including mentions of torture, cruelty and death. Mentions only, though. The reason for the rest of the possible M-ness you can probably work out for yourselves.
;)
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He found her sitting on the floor in the studio, cross-legged on the rug and poring intently over a book. In the flickering light of the fire he could see her frown slightly as she slowly turned the pages. Her hair was damp and her skin glowed pink from her bath, and she was wearing her new dressing gown, the one she had bought in Adelaide, but hadn't worn much until recently.
Some quiet music he didn't recognise drifted through from the gramophone in the living room. Jean had obviously found some records among her boxes.
"I thought you would've gone to bed," he said, with a hint of a question in his voice. She had spent most of the day with him, moving furniture and sorting through boxes, and he knew she was exhausted. He had seen the lines round her eyes as they had eaten dinner; was it possible to love someone for their wrinkles?
After a day spent making room in his bedroom for Jean and her belongings. Lucien just wanted a whisky and his woman. At least as much of her as she was willing to give him, just yet.
"Soon," she replied, not turning round. "I was just looking at...". She held up the book a little higher, showing him. A large, white, leather bound book, almost certainly a photograph album, and one he had never seen before. In fact, he didn't think he'd ever seen any photos of Jean's family.
He sat on the old couch behind her, and Jean leaned back against him, sitting on the floor between his knees, her arms brushing softly against his legs. Without thinking, he started to stroke her neck, running his fingertips into her hair and gently pressing his thumbs into the muscles below her hairline. A tiny hum made him smile; she was pleased, and that pleased him.
Over her shoulder, Lucien tried to focus on the photos. Formal wedding photos, black and white prints showing elderly people in hats, and younger ones looking uncomfortable in their best clothes. Jean slowly turned the pages, interleaved with embossed waxy sheets of paper to protect the photos.
On the next page there was a picture, slightly out of focus, of a young couple with their wedding cake, and with a jolt he realised the bride was Jean. She looked so young, but so familiar. For a moment his hands were still, and Jean looked round at him and smiled. The same face, but with nearly thirty more years of life written on it.
"You're so lovely," he said softly. She glanced back at the album.
"Everyone is lovely at eighteen, Lucien." She sounded rather wistful.
"Maybe, but you are more lovely now." He kissed her temple, leaning closer and studying the picture. He could smell the freshness of the soap on her skin. "You both looked very happy." Lucien studied Christopher's face curiously. What sort of a man had he been?
In just two weeks time he was going to marry Jean, but he knew almost nothing about her first husband.
Jean sighed. "We were, at least...I was, then. I discovered very quickly that marriage wasn't what I had expected." He didn't respond, and the silence lengthened. Eventually she spoke again, so quietly he had to concentrate to hear her.
"The farm dominated everything, and I quickly fell pregnant, and then I was trapped. Christopher liked a drink...it all seemed like hard work." She stared into the fire, which was collapsing into embers now.
"I can't promise to give up drinking, Jean." He felt a hollow fear just at the thought. Sleep was impossible without whisky.
"Mmm, " she acknowledged his honesty at least. "Too many memories?" Her eyes slid towards his trunk, now tucked away in the bay window. They needed the space in the bedroom. Lucien stiffened at the mere thought of the trunk.
Determined to change the subject, he reached over Jean's shoulder and flipped the pages over till he reached the front of the album. Tucked inside the front cover was an invitation, and he read it slowly, at first silently, then out loud.
"...invite you to the marriage of Jean Randall to Christopher Beazley on Saturday, 14th..." he paused again. "Why didn't I know your maiden name, Jean?" It seemed to him to be strange that he hadn't known, almost as if she were a different person then.
"You've never asked." He stroked the side of her cheek gently and leaned forward more, until he kissed the top of her head.
"Three names in a lifetime. Do you mind changing your name?"
"No," she smiled and turned her head to catch his eye. "I've been Jean Beazley such a long time, I'm sure it will feel strange for a while, but it's time. Our lives will change. Three different lives." Suddenly she snapped the book shut and put it down on the rug.
Before he could react, Jean was sitting on his knees, with her arms around his neck, smiling gently at him. What she saw in his eyes was encouraging; the blue was darkening rapidly and his hold round her waist tightened. She wriggled a little, trying to get comfortable.
She kissed his beard near his ear, testing out the feeling with her lips, soft and prickly at the same time; then curled in towards him, forehead on his shoulder, breathing in his scent from his shirt. Her fingers found the edge of his shirt where it was open at the neck, and with one hand she started to undo more buttons, aware she had never pushed him as far as this before.
She risked a look in his eyes before kissing him on the lips. His eyes were nearly closed and a smile lingered. Jean softly kissed him, a chaste kiss considering that her fingers were exploring his chest under his shirt, and her hip was pressed against his groin.
Lucien deepened the kiss, eyes closed tight now, running the tip of his tongue along her lip, then sucking gently on her lower lip. He wanted to be closer to her than a kiss would allow, and tried pulling her closer on to his chest. His hand slipped under her robe and pyjama top, sliding up towards the curve of her breast. The anticipation of the weight of her breast in his hand made him groan deeply, involuntarily, and he felt Jean smile broadly against his mouth.
She paused for a moment, feeling the pull in her belly. This was a barely remembered pleasure and she wanted to savour it. She played with the curls at the back of his neck and pressed her nose against his collarbone. Lucien heard her sigh, and the first spark of fear flared up in his mind.
The fire in the grate had nearly died out, and Jean shivered a little. She pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders, covering them both. In the warm space between them, she lifted his undershirt, and ran one hand over his belly, over his bare skin that was usually under so many layers of clothes. Lucien tipped her chin towards him and kissed her slowly and longingly, but when her fingers strayed lower, ghosting over his trousers, he grabbed her hand suddenly to stop her, and broke away from their kiss.
Jean rested her head on his shoulder, slightly breathless and a little confused. She could feel his heart beating against her, and knew he wanted her just as much as she wanted him.
He stroked her back soothingly and cleared his throat.
"So that's Jean Blake? Pleased to meet her." His eyes twinkled at her, but she knew he was avoiding something. She continued to hold on to his hand, stroking the back of it with her thumb.
"Time for bed," she replied, and blushed red at how that came across. She kissed his cheek and stood up slowly, folding the blanket. She retied her robe, avoiding Lucien's eye, which she could feel watching her every move in the near darkness.
Upstairs in her own bed, pushing her feet against the hot water bottle, she ran through what had happened. She couldn't work out why he had stopped her. Two weeks to go until their wedding, surely he didn't think she had gone too far? Anyway, she thought they were waiting only because that was what she wanted. She closed her eyes, embarrassed that he might think she was too forward.
She had nothing to compare this with. Not for the first time, she regretted her inexperience, though even that thought seemed ridiculous. How could a woman, married for years and the mother of two children, be naive? But she'd married so young, and...Jean turned over in bed, restlessly pushing away the thoughts of how her marriage had been. It was over, and she had better look forward now, to the next one.
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A/N: And, just in case you were wondering (if you've not been on Tumblr recently), Jean's maiden name really is Randall. I didn't make that up. It's official.