A/N—Here it is-CtM 2x08. This is my take on the "misty road" from Shelagh's perspective. This covers the moment from my week 10 "Turnadette Tuesday" post and more. This chapter contains one line of dialogue from the episode.

It was a long road. She couldn't even see more than a few feet in either direction in the mist of the day, but she knew where she was headed, no matter how she got there. She probably should have checked the bus schedule more thoroughly, but there was no use worrying about that. She had to get back to Poplar, and so she walked.

She carried two suitcases, one in each hand. They weren't particularly heavy, but she had been walking for a while and they were beginning to grow cumbersome. One case was nearly empty, in fact. She was now wearing the clothes it had contained when she had received it earlier this week. This suit, these shoes, hadn't been worn in a decade, but she was glad to have them. She had much to think about as she walked along on this seemingly deserted road at the start of a new life.

In the other case were the remnants of her life as a sister of the Order of St. Raymond Nonnatus—her habit and all its accessories. Strictly speaking, until she would be able to meet with Sister Julienne and sign the exit papers later that day, she was officially still Sister Bernadette. Still, to her that was a name for another time. In her mind and heart, she was Shelagh Mannion again now. No matter what else happened today, she knew that much.

It had been a cloudy time for Shelagh, these last few months, and the day's weather strangely reflected that, although for the first time in ages, she knew what she was supposed to do. And so she walked, uncertain about her day, but sure about two things—where she was supposed to be, and with whom.

It was a quiet road. No sound, very little sight. All she could hear was the plodding of her shoes on the road and the creaking of the suitcases as she carried them. The mist was cool on her face. She wondered how far she would have to walk until the next bus stop, or the nearest sign of civilization. She hadn't even seen a car pass since she'd left the bus. She was all alone, it seemed.

And then she heard it—the low rumble of an engine. She kept walking a few more steps, but then curiosity got the better of her. She turned her head and saw, out of the mist, a green car. She stopped, turning fully around to face it. For a moment, she held her breath. She knew this car, and more importantly, she knew its driver.

A knot formed in her stomach. She let out her breath. She stood still in her tracks, keeping her gaze on the car. This wasn't real, was it? It was something out of a dream. She'd hung up the telephone earlier this morning not knowing when she'd hear from him again, and now here he was, sitting still in his car and staring ahead in surprise? Wonder?

Still, she stood there, waiting. Part of her wished she could run to him, but she stood still. She put down her suitcases and watched as he got out of his car and, half walking, half running, he made his way over to where she was, still in her place, waiting.

It had been so long since she had seen him. Too long. He looked the same, but somehow energized and subdued at the same time. The ghost of a smile—that dear, marvelous little half-smile of his—came to his face and then dropped as he made his way over. She never dropped her eyes. Why should she? There would be no more need for hiding. No need to conceal her feelings. She could look at him now without restriction, and so she did, with joy.

And then he was there, so close, raising his hand as if he wanted to touch her, but hesitating. She couldn't speak. She could only watch him, and wait. This man—this beloved man, was standing before her, and now he was reaching out, placing his hand on her forehead in concern. Three months since she'd last seen him and now he was showing his care, not merely as a doctor but as a man. She leaned into his hand, still unable to speak. She could only revel in the warmth of his hand on her forehead.

All these months of waiting had come to this. The confusion, the anguish, the nights of wondering and praying on the brink of despair, and then the dawning, the realization and acceptance, had led to this moment. She closed her eyes and basked in the warmth. When she opened her eyes, her gaze met his and held there. Those deep, dark eyes and that careworn face. An intent gaze that was intended only for her, as hers was only for him.

A few words of concern, and then he was removing his coat, swinging it around onto her shoulders, pulling the lapels closed tight and holding them there. As close as he was, she hadn't minded the chill in the air. She'd barely even felt it. His warmth—his nearness—was all that mattered.

There was so much to say, so much to think, but for this moment all there could be was the two of them-two pairs of eyes, two faces, two minds and two hearts, clearly focused, never turning aside.

It was a split second, and it was a thousand years all at once. Finally, more words came, but they were spare, just enough. Words, feelings, names. Her own name, unused for all these years until this week, now freely spoken and joyfully received. And now she had a name for him as well-not "Doctor Turner", but Patrick. Patrick. It was a name that suited him perfectly. Suddenly, it seemed as if she should have known his name for years.

"There," she said. "We've made a start". Smiling, they stood there, unable to break the gaze and uninterested in anything else. She couldn't say how long they stood there. All she knew was that he was there, and she was with him, and this moment was all there could be. Of course she knew there were things to do, but none of that mattered in this one, precious instant.

Then finally, there was a movement in the corner of her eye as a head peeked out of the window beyond where the doctor… where Patrick stood. She broke the gaze to see who it was, and Patrick also turned to look. Then, noticing he'd been noticed, the boy startled and quickly ducked back into the car. She thought she could see him climbing between the two front seats into the back.

Timothy. He'd brought Timothy with him, and as she realized this, her smile widened. She should have seen him when the car had stopped, she thought, but she had been too focused on the father in that moment to notice the son. She hadn't seen the boy in months, either, and she was glad to see him. The moment with Patrick was broken, but she hoped… no, she was sure that this would only be the first of many such moments.

Patrick grinned sheepishly, nodded, and then gestured toward the car. He walked closely by her side, opened the door, held her gaze as she got in. Shutting the door, he looked into her eyes for another brief moment before turning his head toward the suitcases and casting his eyes down in an almost apologetic manner. She nodded in understanding and he turned away, walking quickly to retrieve the cases as she cast a glance into the back seat and met the eyes of a smiling little boy.

"Hello", was all he said, in a barely audible voice, and she said the same in reply, smiling more broadly.

She heard the dull thud of the car boot and then Patrick was there again, looking over at her with that little smile of his as she sat there still, hands folded in her lap as she returned his gaze. He reached out and placed his hand lightly on hers, and she could feel her heart speeding up slightly.

"Ready?" he asked, and at her nod in response, he pulled his hand away with obvious reluctance, and started the engine, turning on the wipers to clear up the fogged windscreen and then heading off down the road.

And there she was-Shelagh Mannion, sitting in Patrick Turner's car, with Timothy in the back seat. Not much could be spoken for now, but much would soon be said. There were procedures to follow back in Poplar, papers to sign, and a new life to begin. There would be many changes and decisions to make, but now, in this moment, she was unafraid. She was where she belonged and she knew it, and that was all she needed for now.