*pokes head out of hole* is it all clear out here? Nobody waiting with super-rotten tomatoes?

Uh...so...don't know if there's anybody still reading this, but I finally found the motivation to post the last 2 chapters of this part. I'll be honest: I'll probably never finish part 2 or 3 (unless there's a major uprising in the comments section or something). But at least all 13 chapters of part 1 are uploaded, so that's finished.

Thanks to all of you who read and commented and everything. I'm sorry I couldn't fully finish everything I'd wanted to. I hope you enjoyed this part of the story. Back when it was my first priority, it was so incredibly fun to work on.

I'm an asshole. Enjoy the last two chapters.

3 Lindsay

Chapter 12

John was right. Manager John was furious when he showed up over two hours late to practice. Despite his best efforts to prove that he was sincerely sorry and was still incredibly dedicated and devoted to the success of the team, Manager John still made the latecomer stay on the pitch over an hour after the rest of the team was dismissed. It was dark by the time John began to drag himself home, having exhausted himself in his quest to prove himself once again. Of course, dark in Swindon in November was around four pm, but that didn't stop him from feeling like it was very late in the evening as he trudged home.

No sooner had he set foot off the County Ground on his way home than did his husband call. John quickly dug his loudly ringing phone out of his bag and pressed it to his ear.

"John? Oh, thank God. I've been calling for an hour." Bald John sounded frantic, which was unusual.

John rolled his eyes as his feet found the usual path home. He was an hour later than usual, sure, but it was nothing for his husband to worry about. "Hi John. I just got out from practice. Manager John…" he glanced over his shoulder, "Manager John is a wonderful man who is clearly dedicated to the success of the Swoodilypoopers, and I am honored to work for him," John dropped his voice to a near whisper, "even if he did nearly work me to death for an hour after the rest of the team left, as punishment for being late." He tilted his chin up at the aforementioned Manager, and waved goodnight. "Thanks again, Coach! I'll be early to practice tomorrow!"

Manager John smiled back. "I'll see you then! Tell your magnificent husband that I said hi!" He chuckled and walked the other way, disappearing out of sight.

The aforementioned husband laughed in John's ear, his voice modified through the earpiece of the cell phone. "Don't make promises you can't keep, John." He sounded much less frantic now that the call had actually gone through and reached the man on the other end.

John cracked a smile at that, grateful for Bald John's never-ceasing presence in his life, and yet missing him more than ever from so far away. "Yeah, I guess so. Maybe tomorrow will be the day."

With amusement still tingeing his voice, he responded, "Perhaps you could surprise us all." After a beat, he changed the topic. "You're on your way home now?"

"Yeah. I just skipped my way across that mass of roundabouts outside the grounds. I should be home in ten minutes or so, thank God. I have no energy left." Even using the word 'skipped' in relation to how John had navigated the traffic pattern in front of the County Ground was a gross overstatement. More like 'barely escaped with his life.'

"Do you think you could find a little more energy in you? Clare mentioned that she was leaving her office at five tonight. I think going to see her would be a nice touch, rather than just calling."

God. Clare. John had completely forgotten; they were going to submit their answer to the IAC that night. He stole a glance at the time: it was nearly 4:30. "F—. I completely forgot." He looked both ways across the street and began to sprint in almost the opposite direction from their house, towards the IAC office building. "Yeah, okay. I'm on my way to her office now, John. I hope to God she'll understand."

The amusement snuck its way back into Bald John's voice. "I'm sure she'll understand, John."

The sentence and tone shocked John's ears, but he was too busy racing down the street. "Yeah, okay. I'm nearly there. I'll call you when I get out? If I have any energy left, that is. How do you feel about maybe investing in a car?"

Bald John chuckled. "Save your breath for the run, John. I'll talk to you soon."

"Yeah, okay." Sounded like a good idea. It wasn't like the running was particularly hard for him, but his body already hurt all over the place from Manager John's usual hard practice, and then from John's extra workout (though, really, he was just grateful Manager John didn't force him to make up every minute he'd missed, because he just wouldn't have survived).

John blew through the front doors to the office building a few minutes later before he slowed, reminding himself that despite the fact that he was still dressed in his dirty, smelly practice uniform, he was a respectable adult, and should conduct himself as such while inside.

He forced himself to slow down and wait for the elevator, if for nothing else than to take the moment to catch his breath, so he didn't look like a complete idiot as he raced into Clare's office. He used the precious seconds he had in front of the elevator's mirror to fix his hair and brush off as much of the dirt as he could manage. God, he wished he could have changed first. Or at least showered. He would have in the locker rooms at the County Ground if only he had been dismissed with the rest of the team.

He wasn't blaming Manager John, of course, but…well, he was blaming Manager John.

The elevator doors calmly slid open, and John did his best to emulate them as he slid onto the third floor and maneuvered his way around to Clare's office. As he approached her door, he heard her laughter melding with another's. One that was very familiar, and very close to his heart.

He poked his head in the door, and the smile that illuminated his face would have been worth all the extra practice in the world. "John?"

Bald John stood to embrace his grimy, sweaty husband, laughing as he did so. His husband was a dirty, smelly, near-tears wreck of a man, but John couldn't imagine a time when he'd loved the man more. He guided the clearly-exhausted man into a seat across from Clare, who was grinning just as uncontrollably as both Johns.

John flopped back in his chair, gazing wondrously at his mysterious, magical husband, who somehow, despite having just left on Saturday, and having clearly attended practice himself that day in Barcelona, had made his way back to Swindon to be here. Not that they were doing anything particularly noteworthy; they were simply continuing the adoption process. It was pretty much expected that they were going to say yes anyways, at least from the perspective of the agency.

But having Bald John there, especially after such a draining couple days, mentally, emotionally, and now physically as well, was just a nice touch. Not to mention it made them look better in the eyes of the agency, who were probably pretty shocked that the Johns needed the time to consider their answer anyways. Now, they looked to be in complete solidarity, and very serious about continuing to adopt April. So that was always a plus.

John couldn't squash his curiosity. He leaned forward and addressed his husband: "Why are you here, John? I mean, not that I'm not happy to see you or anything, but how did you find the time?"

Bald John smiled. "Don't ask questions, John. Somehow, I made it work, because I wanted to be here with you."

John reached out and took his husband's hand, who gave it a satisfying squeeze back before turning his attention to Clare. "So, where do we go from here?" Bald John asked.

Clare smiled broadly. "Well, this is just the beginning, really. We'll schedule some more visits to the Turner's place, usually with myself, though possibly with other social workers. It's all standard practice to have supervised visitation, but it shouldn't last too long. After probably just a couple weeks, judging on your interactions with April, we'll begin the transition into your home. The agency will still be around to keep an eye on you guys until at least ten weeks after April has been fully situated in your home, which is when you'll be able to apply for adoption with the court. There's no good estimate on how long it could take for that to be approved, really, but it's usually about a year. After that, she's all yours!"

John squeezed his husband's hand tightly, excited at the prospect that final, legal adoption seemed to be no longer than a year away, and they would most likely have already lived with April for many months before it was all over. It was almost surreal. It was only the beginning, as Clare had said, but it all felt so final already.

xxx

Back at home, the house seemed full once again, but quiet. Almost too quiet, as if they were already hearing – and missing – the sounds of the rambunctious child echoing through their halls.

After a quick shower, John was brusquely handed a stack of clothes and swept out the door by his suddenly unpredictable husband, with no hint of where they were going. Randomly, Bald John would nudge John to turn with no warning whatsoever, and no matter how many times he was asked, Bald John remained tight-lipped about their destination.

John had been all over Swindon thousands of times on foot, so he hadn't expected to get as turned around as he did, but suddenly, almost out of thin air, he and his husband were standing in front of the Turner's house. Before he could even ask his husband what they were doing there, Bald John had knocked on the door, and immediately it opened, revealing Alyson's huge smile.

"We just got the call from Clare, congratulations!" she cried, embracing each John in turn before welcoming them into her home.

Bald John thanked her while his husband stood in the entryway, grinning uncontrollably. John still had no idea what his husband had planned – something told him this wasn't the endpoint.

There was a wail from an unhappy April somewhere upstairs, and Alyson shot a wry smile back at the Johns. "Still think you made the right choice?" she asked, her eyes dancing. "She doesn't like her shoes."

Seconds later, Sinead and Wayne tag-team-carried a screaming and kicking April down the stairs. Sinead chucked the tiny shoes at Bald John, who deftly caught them. He handed them off to John, who still stood right in front of the door, feeling very out-of-the-loop. Bald John walked towards April, lifting her from Sinead and Wayne's arms and placing her against his hip.

John couldn't help but look at his husband with deep admiration. He looked great with a child, their child. Their daughter, April. Well, almost. They were much closer now, anyways.

Bald John turned and beckoned his husband over to his side. After what seemed like a delayed reaction, John lurched forward, April's shoes in one hand. Slowly, while Bald John distracted the child, John carefully twisted the shoes onto her feet. With a flourish of the last strip of velcro, he stepped back, catching eyes with his husband.

Yes, they'd made the right choice.

"Well then," Bald John started suddenly, "where's her coat?"

"Got it right here," Sinead said, handing it off to John as she pulled on her own. With a little help from some extra hands, John was able to pull April's hands and arms through the sleeves of her coat, and soon found himself whisked away once again out the door.

He furrowed his eyebrows, watching his husband lead the way down the path with April in his arms, with Sinead, Alyson, and Wayne following behind. "Now will you tell me where we're going?" he asked, speeding up to fall into step with the bald man.

Bald John twisted his head towards John and raised his eyebrows. "You'll find out when we get there," he said mysteriously, reaching to pull April's hood up over her head so her face was shielded from a little more of the wind. He stretched out his free hand, pulling his husband close to him.

About ten minutes and a couple surprising turns later, John found himself in front of the finest Italian restaurant in Swindon (an upgrade from Old Swindon, and one of the few nice things about New Swindon). He glanced to his husband in shock.

Bald John smiled, loving the look on his husband's face. "Thought we'd go out to celebrate."

John couldn't hold himself back; he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his husband's surprised lips, just for a second. "You're the best," he whispered, glancing from John to their daughter.

"Come on," Bald John responded, gesturing to the front door with his head, watching as Sinead, Alyson, and Wayne slipped in ahead of them, giving them their private family moment. "They've got a carbonara dish with your name written all over it. And a really nice bottle of champagne."