Well here we go, my first attempt at CTM fanfiction! Just a couple of somewhat fluffy scenes that sprang to mind after watching episode 4x07. Constructive criticism more than welcome! You'll see I took some liberty with Shelagh's past, so I apologize in advance, and also for any Americanisms that may have seeped through...

Mind and heart full with the mundane yet extraordinary vision of Patrick laying flat on his stomach on the floor as he played with their daughter, Shelagh made her way up the stairs, arms full with the day's laundry, ready to drop Tim's freshly folded trousers and shirts on his bed while he took his bath. Smiling to herself as the squeals and laughter made their way to her ears, she did a double take when she spotted Timothy sitting on his bed, arms circling his knees, staring intently at a small square of paper between his long fingers. Brow furrowed in concentration, expression serious and confused, he was miles away – and still fully dressed with his day clothes. Apparently whatever occupied his mind had also quite distracted him from his evening routine.

From the doorway to his room, Shelagh smiled as she recognized what he was holding. "Oh have you developed it already? Surely not! I know you're an enthusiastic photographer, but this is beyond even your customary diligence!" she teased.

He startled at her voice, and Shelagh could not fail to notice how his first instinct was to hide the photograph from her gaze and put it under his pillow. However something stopped him and, casting a slightly guilty look in her direction, returned to his examination. While Shelagh was curious to understand what would make him so secretive, she was not one for prying, so waited for him as she walked more fully into the room and busied herself with putting away his clothes in their respective drawers. With her back to him, Tim didn't disappoint.

"Mum…" he started hesitantly. "Dad told me once that your mum died when you were little. Do you ever miss her?"

Surprised by the sudden line of questioning and a little apprehensive at its depth and seriousness, she turned to him as the scent of lilies of the valley and autumn wind assailed her memory. "Of course… Although I have very few memories of her. I was very young when she passed. Why do you ask?"

His gaze briefly shifted back to the photograph between his fingers, then he sighed as he stretched his arm to hand it to her. Shelagh took it and sighed inwardly as she recognized the its subject. However as she took a closer look she was immediately struck by the happiness that seemed to radiate from the laughing faces that met her gaze. Immediately putting aside the pain of seeing the memory of one no longer with them, Shelagh focused on the other, brighter feelings and her smile widened into a grin.

"Oh, what a lovely picture you all make! I don't think I've seen this one before," she said as she took in the two-year old version of Tim, looking just as cheeky as he was now, before returning the photograph to him.

Though he seemed somewhat relieved at her reaction, his serious tone did not escape her notice. "It was in Dad's old camera."

"Oh. I see."

Still lost in thought, he did not seem to pay attention to her response. "Has your father ever remarried?" he asked, and Shelagh was again struck at the paradox that was Timothy: words suggesting a maturity far beyond his age, but delivered with the curiosity and spontaneity of a small child.

"No. No, he didn't." As a child she had sometimes wondered why, though as an adult she now realised that he hadn't had time. With young children to take care of and his beloved wife to mourn, years had flown by, and before he realized, war and duty were taking him away from family and country forever. Shelagh rarely thought of her childhood – though when she did it was usually filled with happy, fragmented memories – yet she understood, perhaps better than anyone, her son's feelings. Stepping out of her shoes, she indicated the empty spot by Timothy's side with her hand. "May I?"

Tim grinned, the first real smile since she had caught him staring at the photograph, and moved over to make more room for her. Climbing onto the bed, she settled by his side, shoulders almost touching, legs stretched out in front of her. Sitting together, Shelagh was once more struck by how tall he had grown recently, his head now reaching inches higher than hers.

"As a child I often wished I could get a new mother," Shelagh continued, her voice turning wistful as flashes of images and emotions flooded her mind. She chuckled. "And then at others I was more than happy to have my father to myself, and the idea of another woman replacing my mother was unbearable." Shelagh threw a look at Timothy, knowing that she had opened the way for him to perhaps get some feelings off his chest if he so wished. He grinned instead.

"I'm glad Dad married you." Then, trying to deflect attention from the emotion behind his words, he went on with an exaggerated roll of the eyes. "I was so awfully relieved not to have to eat burnt porridge and mend my own trousers anymore!"

"I know you are, Tim," Shelagh replied more seriously to the first part of his reply – ignoring the gross exaggerations of the second – as she slipped her arm around his shoulder to give him a squeeze. Looking down at the photograph still between his fingers, she went on, "But it's also alright to miss your mum. I, or your father, would never begrudge you that."

She felt a shudder course through his frame and gave his shoulder another squeeze before retracting her arm.

"I used to miss her horribly," he confessed after a moment, his tone more thoughtful than sad. "But I don't anymore. At least, not very often. Is that bad?"

Shelagh gave him a fond smile as she realised his guilt had not come from him missing his mother, but from feeling happiness without her. He could not comprehend how much of a compliment he was paying her by saying so. "Oh Tim, of course not. So long as you treasure her memory and the happy moments," she added as she pointed to the photograph. "I never knew her very well, but I do know that all she ever wanted was for you to be happy, regardless of the circumstances." A flash of Sister Evangelina telling her something not so dissimilar sprang to her mind.

He nodded and they fell silent, the sound of Patrick's voice talking nonsense and making baby sounds drifting up from the living room to reach their ears. They both grinned at the answering squeals.

"He doesn't know we can hear him, does he?" Tim asked with a shake of the head.

"I don't think that would stop him in the least!" she replied with a grin. She secretly loved that about Patrick, the way he loved his children: unconditionally, joyfully, proudly.

They listened for another while, chuckling conspiratorially at some of the funniest sounds coming from below. Her eyes falling once more to the photograph in Tim's hand, Shelagh resumed the conversation. "Have you shown this to your father?"

Guilt crossed Tim's features again as he shook his head and bit his lip. "I told him there was only rubbish on the film."

Shelagh frowned a little, surprised that he would lie about this. Before she could ask, he went on, as if reading her mind.

"I know I shouldn't have lied, but I thought…" He sighed. "I thought it might make him upset. And that would have made you upset."

This boy and his intelligent thoughtfulness never ceased to amaze her. "Oh Tim, that's terribly sweet of you, but you needn't worry about us. It might bring back some memories, of course, but I think these are happy ones, and a little nostalgia has never hurt anyone." She paused as hesitation played across his features. "Shall I show it to him for you?" she offered.

He gave a half smile, his countenance brightening. "No, it's alright. I'll show it to him now."

"Very well. But bath first," she instructed as she stood from the bed and grabbed her shoes.

"Thanks Mum."

Shelagh winked, smiling, making Timothy grin as he witnessed yet another example of just how much his father and mother rubbed off on each other.

In the best of ways.

TBC...