A/N: I'd like to thank Awesomegreentie, the second pair of eyes that always so willingly aids my own legally blind eyes... I'd also like to thank Mellowmom/Gilroy, for her insights! Again, I apologize for the irregular updates - I'm afraid school has been keeping me stressed and busy. I can't seem to wrap up this (should've-kept-it-a-one-shot) fic as quickly as I'd expected. This chapter is sort of a calming interlude and a necessary bridge...
Robert's money is burning a hole in his pocket, still smoldering from the ashes of the dignity he has sacrificed. My dear fellow, his friend had exclaimed, in a strangled mix of pity and horror, if there's anything I can do…
He insisted on it being a loan. But he has no confidence in his ability to pay it back – his future seems more impossibly opaque than his sight.
"I was hoping you'd call," she says, breaking the train of his thoughts. He tries to read her tone, even as he chastises himself for it – he is too keenly aware of what he longs to discover there, even as he dreads hearing pity, or duty. Again, he wonders why she is here with him.
"I've bought myself some time," he replies. "I thought you'd like to know." But it's only an excuse, a shield thrown up to conceal the other reasons for his phone call – or rather, why he could not help but call.
"Thank you. I did worry."
He basks in the bright smile within her words, his bleak future banished from his mind as he forces himself to focus on this moment. He can sense every breath she releases, and the way the fabric of her dress brushes against his when the wind rustles it. He takes it all in, begging his mind to remember every detail.
She shifts, and the bench under them creaks. They are in the public botanical gardens, his old haunt. "I've never been here before. It's so peaceful, and so…" she trails off uneasily.
He makes a guess. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
In the brief silence, he can sense her hesitation. Above them, the leaves whisper.
"This weeping willow," he says, gesturing above them. "Isn't she stunning?"
There is another pause, but this time, he gives her time to adjust, to respond.
"Yes, it is," she agrees with tentative enthusiasm.
He breathes in deeply, filling his lungs with familiar scents he can instantly identify even now. "She's an old friend," he says, and leaves it at that. He is unexpectedly hit by a profound longing for his old life – but there is also a strange, unfamiliar sensation of contentedness. This is the world he once belonged to – and he can feel it welcoming him, enveloping him in warmth and excitement.
It is beautiful here. He wants her to know – he doesn't need eyes to sense it.
"I hope you haven't made plans for lunch," she says suddenly. "I thought we could make a day of it here." She pauses. "I've packed us a picnic."
He feels a thrill rush through his veins. "No, I haven't any plans – and I've never been so glad of it." He chuckles lightly, a foreign sound even to his ears.
She laughs along. "Good." He listens as she cracks her basket open, drawing things out one by one. "I've made us some sandwiches, and… here."
He holds out a hand, and she places a smooth, solid object in it. He can smell it in the air – the crisp scent of an apple. He smiles again. "Have you got anything to drink?"
Bottles and cups clink together as she fishes something out. "Well, Mr. Bates—" he can hear a playful grin "—I thought a glass of cider just might hit the spot."
He raises an eyebrow, reveling in the new playful atmosphere between them. "Day drinking in a public park? That's quite improper of you."
"Yes," she says with a giggle, "I am, quite."
He's fallen in love with the sound of her smile – but he can never let her know.
She places a full cup in his grasp, and he recalls the touch of her hand from their first meeting. "What shall we drink to?" he asks.
"To your future," she says immediately, nothing but hope and cheer in her voice.
He falters, then tries to hide it – but he's too late.
"I mean it," she says solemnly. "I'll help you, Mr. Bates, if you let me. We'll figure it out together. I promise."
He shouldn't agree – he should not dare to hope. But he does dare, and he drinks to her promise.