There you go, the conclusion to this little story. I first intended to only write the first part, but I simply couldn't resist adding some Shelagh/Patrick "mushiness" ;-)


Angela finally sound asleep in their room, Shelagh made her way back downstairs to finish cleaning up in the kitchen. She absolutely loved being back on nursing duty at the maternity home, but it did make her other household tasks a little bit more difficult to manage. But manage she would, she promised herself. Entering the kitchen, she stopped short as she found Patrick standing at the kitchen sink, hands deep in soapy water, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

"Patrick, you don't need to do that."

He jumped at the sound of her voice, but threw her a smile over his shoulder as she walked up to him. "Nonsense, I want to help when I can. I only wish I could do it more often."

Shelagh grabbed a towel and started drying the soapy dishes on the rack, smirking as a conversation she had had with Timothy early in her marriage sprung to mind. "Timothy once advised never to let you near the dishes. Apparently your renown aptitudes for diagnostic do not extend to handling delicate, soapy tableware."

Patrick snorted, but then chuckled. "Well, cheekiness notwithstanding, he may have a point. I do seem to have broken my fair share of unsuspecting cups and plates in the past. You, my dear," he continued with a wink in her direction, "are my saviour in more ways than you can imagine."

Shelagh felt herself blush at the compliment and the truthfulness that seemed to underlie his teasing tone.

They worked in efficient silence for a few moments, both lost in thought. Shelagh could not help but wonder about the conversation she knew Tim had had with his father before going to bed, but didn't dare ask. As much as she had reassured Timothy that a display of such happy memories could not come between his parents, in truth the idea had ignited a pang of nervousness that she could not dissipate. While they were making progress to better communicate with one another, there were still many things Shelagh and Patrick had yet to talk about directly. Timothy's mother was one of them. Oh they had circled around it several times, or mentioned her name in passing – indeed, how could they not? But aside from these rare occurrences, Shelagh had never dared broaching the subject for fear of pushing her husband's openness too far; but then again neither had Patrick, probably so as not to embarrass her. What a pair they made at times!

As they reached the end of dirty pile of dishes, Patrick dried his hands. "Have you ever developed film, Shelagh?" he asked suddenly, curiously.

Shelagh blinked in surprise. "No. Though I confess I am curious as to the process."

He grinned. "That's perfect then. We still have the chemicals and equipment that Tim borrowed. Would you like to see how our family portrait turned out?"

Shelagh grinned in anticipation. "Very much so."

With everything done in the kitchen, they made their way to the bathroom. While Patrick organised the chemicals and various containers, he instructed Shelagh on using towels to keep light from seeping under the door.

"This has to be done in complete darkness; if light touches the film before it is fully developed, it will ruin everything on it," Patrick explained. Laying out the equipment, he excitedly explained the process, while managing to keep his voice low so as not to disrupt their children's slumber. Shelagh listened with rapt attention. She had always loved to learn, and Patrick was a brilliant teacher. Not forgetting a remarkably handsome one.

"Ready?"

Shelagh nodded as she stared once more at the bottles Patrick had lined up on the counter, trying to memorize their order and various steps: developer, stop bath, fixer. Rinse out, hang up to dry. Patrick took her hand before turning off the light. It took a moment for Shelagh to adapt to the complete darkness and she found the feel of Patrick's hand in hers and the steady sound of his breathing oddly reassuring.

He started moving and guided her hand along so that she could feel his actions as he explained what they were doing; taking out the film from the canister, putting it in the developing tank, pouring in the developer and so on. They fumbled a couple of times, sending them both in silly fits of laughter. Once they reached the stage of the stop bath, Patrick leaned back, edging closer to her side in the process.

"Now we have to wait for a few minutes."

They were silent for a moment and Shelagh took advantage of his closeness to lean her temple against his upper arm. The cotton of his shirt was warm and smooth against her cheek and she could not resist breathing him in. Immediately she felt his cheek rest against the top of her head.

"Tim told me he showed you the photograph," Patrick started.

She couldn't see his features, but Shelagh thought she could detect some apprehension in his voice, and squeezed his hand as she nodded. "We had a nice chat about it. It's wonderful for him to have such happy memories to hold on to, to outshine the darker ones."

Patrick squeezed her fingers a little more tightly. "It's wonderful for him – for me – to have you, Shelagh."

She grinned, blushing, as she tugged on his hand. "Such a talent for flattery, Dr. Turner!" He gave a low chuckle, and she turned more serious. "It's amazing, isn't it? The power of photography."

"What do you mean?"

She gave a small shrug. "The power a photograph can have over us, just in its ability at fostering myriad of emotions, from a mere image. Or permanently etching an infinitely short slice of time into our memory forever. Moments that we may not remember otherwise."

She felt him nod. "There is a sadness in that."

"And beauty."

She heard his smile as he exhaled. "Yes."

Shelagh felt him shift so he could face her, his hand briefly caressing her cheek before his lips found hers. It was a chaste kiss, but Shelagh had to admit that the complete darkness added a sensuality to his touch that sent a thrill down her spine. He pulled back after a series of briefer, though no less tender kisses.

"Why did you stop?"

He chuckled. "Why, Mrs. Turner, how shocking!" He said in mock indignation, before adding: "It's time to pour out the stop bath and put in the fixer."

The darkness made him miss her pointed look at his teasing. "No, I mean why did you stop using the camera after that day?"

She sensed him start to move again as he resumed the developing process. "You know, I have no idea. I think I might have been too busy afterwards; we were still in the process of implementing the NHS at that point and – as you well know – my schedule has been rather hectic ever since. It probably just… slipped my mind."

"Well, you all seemed very happy," Shelagh commented, hoping her comment didn't make her sound envious. She truly was not, how could she when she was herself so happy she sometimes feared it was all a dream?

"I think we were, though I think we were too busy to realise it, sometimes." He paused. "I'm not going to make that mistake twice." Another pause as he finished pouring in the fixer. "There, another ten minutes or so." His hand found hers again and he tugged her back into his arms. "Then we'll see just how happy we are."

Shelagh's heart swelled with love, tenderness and a passion so fierce that it shocked her at the renewed confirmation that her feelings of happiness truly were reciprocated. She chuckled as his fingers traced their way up her arm to her neck, to finally tangle into her loose hair. "Not that we need any proof of that," she managed to say, "but I am quite excited to see it! Perhaps we can frame it, and hang it up!"

Patrick chuckled at her enthusiasm, his thumb caressing her cheek and lips, as if trying to see her smile with his touch. "As the lady wishes!"

Wounding her arms around his neck and threading her fingers into his hair, she pulled him down for another kiss, one infinitely more intimate and passionate than the last. In the complete darkness Shelagh lost herself in a swirl of sensations: his warm lips traveling down her neck, the sound of their breaths hitching in their throat, the feel of his thick hair between her fingers, the taste of his mouth when his lips returned to hers. Utterly lost in the sensations and the man who was creating them, Shelagh also lost track of time – something only Patrick was able to accomplish, she had found – so found herself confused when he suddenly pulled back. One hand still firmly gripping her waist, he returned his attention to the sink and Shelagh followed him, as if drawn to his warmth by some unstoppable force, and circled her arms around his waist, tucked into his side. She had almost forgotten the reason for their being stuck in the small room, surrounded by darkness and the pungent smell of chemicals.

"I just need to, ah…I mean the film needs to…" He tried to explain, and Shelagh took advantage of the darkness to smirk at his state of obvious distraction.

He busied himself with rinsing out the film – Shelagh could tell by the brusqueness of his movements that he was hurrying and hid another smirk against his shoulder – and then hanging it up to dry. Shelagh seemed to remember from his earlier explanation that they needn't be in complete darkness for this step, but refrained from saying so. She suspected Patrick was as reluctant as she was to break the spell that seemed to have enveloped them both by flicking on the light.

Anticipating his being almost done, she stretched up to kiss his neck, just above his loosened tie. "As much as I hate the suspense of not seeing the fruit of our labour, may I suggest we take on the development of the photograph tomorrow?" she said in a low voice, hoping her shyness at making such a suggestion didn't shine through her breathlessness.

The answering half-whispered, half-grunted 'Oh thank God' was all the reply she needed.

000O000

The next morning Tim was exceptionally the first one up. He sleepily made his way to the bathroom, trying to rub sleep from his eyes with his palm. He stopped short at the mess that greeted him: chemical containers all over the counter, carelessly discarded equipment, towels still on the floor by the door. He quickly deduced that his father was behind the chaotic state of the bathroom, because, really, who else could have left such a mess? Mum would never have allowed such a mess to remain so. Shaking his head at his father's inability to follow his own rules (make sure you put it back how you found it when you're done, Tim!; Don't forget to clean up after yourself, Tim!), he entered more fully and quickly set to clean up the space.

It's only once he was done that his eyes fell on the film that hung from the line. Unpinning it, he closely examined his latest photographic work with interest, and when his eyes fell on the last one on the strip, he grinned.

The end!

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!