This came out quicker than I thought! Yay!

So this picks up during the Christmas Special. These are more along the lines of little vinigettes in between the scenes.

Sit down and get comfortable; it's a long one! I hope you are still enjoying!

When I Fall in Love - Nat King Cole

Quickly moving through the street to her final destination, the click of her heels against the cobbled stone is her only company on an otherwise empty alley. Checking over her shoulder once, twice, three times within the span of five seconds until she finally reaches the door – his door, which will soon be her door in two days time.

Drumming her knuckles against the wooden surface, she glances over her shoulder again to make sure no one is spying out of their window at three o'clock in the morning.

Wrenching open the door, Patrick – still in doctor mode from the two minutes he has been home since returning from a call out – is surprised to see the one woman he never thought to see a mere two days before the wedding. Opening the door wider and inviting her in, she tells him of the emergency that has happened on her side of the neighborhood.

Just as they shuffle into the parlor, that is when he first sees it. She places the large, pink box on the dining table. When they sit on the sofa, he juts out his chin towards the box and grins, "Is that it? Does it also have the 'among other things' in there as well?" Ever since making the innocent comment a a few weeks ago, he has been incessantly teasing her about it.

Shelagh leans in and gives him a peck on the cheek, "Honestly Patrick, you are worse than a child on Christmas morning."

He covers her hand with his warm palm, "Can you blame me? It's almost Christmas and, in two days time, I get to unwrap the best present ever."

Before she has a chance to reply back, Timothy calls out from atop of the stairs, "Dad, who was at the door?"

Reluctantly letting go, Patrick stands up and walks to the bottom of the stairs, "There was an emergency, Shelagh will be staying with us until it is resolved."

Timothy's sleepy eyes brighten at Shelagh's name, but then become knitted in confusion, "Isn't it bad luck for the groom to see his bride before the wedding?"

Shelagh glances around the snug corner and simply replies, "There is an unexploded bomb close to where I live. I'd think it would be more lucky to be further away from a bomb than for your father to see me."

"A bomb!? Cool!" Tumbling down the stairs, Timothy immediately asks, "Did you see it? What kind is it? Do you think it will explode?"

Holding up his hand, Patrick calmly says, "That's enough excitement for tonight. Up to bed you go."

"But dad," Timothy whines, "it's not every day that an unexploded bomb is discovered."

"Thank goodness. Bombs are nasty business and I hope you will never see them up close and personal in your lifetime." A shadow passes across his face.

Timothy, in his endeavor to obtain as much information as possible to appease his boyish excitement, misses it, yet, Shelagh can see it as plan as day. Knowing full well that the young boy will not fall asleep easily, Shelagh places her hand on Patrick's arm and tells Timothy, "Since you are wide awake, why don't you go and make some hot tea for the three of us."

Hastily nodding, Timothy steps off the bottom step and heads straight to the kitchen.

Turning to Patrick, she explains further on when Timothy is out of earshot, "Unfortunately in my haste to leave, I was able to remember my wedding dress, but I forgot everything else. Would it be possible for you to lend me a night shirt for this evening?"

"Oh course, we can provide anything you will need." Inviting her to go up the stairs with the flick of his wrist, he follows closely after her. "I will let you use my favorite night shirt."

Peeking over her shoulder, Shelagh coyly confirms, "I'm sure after two more days, it will be my favorite night shirt as well."

"You can always wear your 'among other things' tonight," he cheekily replies with a lopsided grin.

Turning around just as she gets to the door, she pouts, "I am rather looking forward to using your favorite nightshirt." Flashing him a mischievous smile, she then opens the door and walks in.

Turning on the light switch for her, his bedroom is doused in soft light as he brushes past her to his wardrobe and opens the top drawer. "You know, I wouldn't trust just anybody with this," he pulls out a well-worn striped top with large buttons racing down the front and hands it to her.

Timidly accepting it, she sighs, "All kidding aside Patrick, you don't have to let me borrow this one."

"Nonsense," he steps up to her and lovingly kisses her cheek. "Now you can use my room to change. I will take out some sheets and a pillow for me to use on the sofa downstairs and you can sleep in here."

"Patrick, I can sleep on the sofa. Your poor legs will dangle over the edge."

"You are our guest, my dear, and you will sleep in here." Stepping around her, he pulls the door and points, "Once you are dressed, you can use my robe and we can all have some tea together."

Nodding, she places the top on his bed – soon to be our bed – and takes off her hat. "Patrick," she turns to face him just as he is about to shut the door, "why are these nightclothes your favorite?" Mariann must have gotten it for him either for his birthday or a special occasion.

"That's not the reason," he can tell by the cast look in her eyes why she suspects they are special to him. "It was the first birthday present Timothy had picked out for me by himself. He was four at the time and as a special surprise, Mariann had purchased him a set just like mine. Ever since then, I always go and buy him a new pair so that we can wear them to bed just before holidays or birthdays." Running his thumb underneath the pads of his pointer and middle finger, he stares down at the nightshirt with such fondness. "I would give the shirt off my back to a poor soul who needed it, but not that. There are too many fond memories attached to that shirt."

Shelagh gives him an endearing smile as she softly promises, "I will make sure to treat it as such."

"I know," he returns her smile and then disappears behind the gentle snap of the door.

..::..::..

"Timothy," Shelagh calls out from her stance in front of the fireplace.

Peeking out through the look-between window from the kitchen, Timothy answers back, "yes?"

"Do you have pictures of your mum?" Turning around to face the lad, she explains, "There are a lot of photographs of you and some of your dad, but none with your mother."

Timothy shrugs his shoulders, "After asking you to marry him, dad took out all the pictures of mum. He let me pick out some to put in my room while he put the others in his study."

Her brow furrows in disappointment as she stares off at the carpet in deep consternation. After a few moments, she looks back up at Timothy and asks, "Are you happy with that arrangement?"

"I like having a few pictures of mum in my room, but I have to admit that I miss seeing her out here too." Walking out of the kitchen, he comes up next to her, "The way dad put it was that he wanted to make room for pictures of us as a family. It makes sense and I am excited for our first picture."

She gives him a sweet smile, "I am excited too. However, if it's alright with you, I would like to add some photos with your mum in it."

He tries to hide the bubble of excitement by asking, "Will it make you sad?"

"On the contrary, it will make me happy to see you happy." Facing him, Shelagh places a gentle hand on his shoulder, "She was a beautiful woman and I can imagine that you miss her a lot. I will talk to your father when he gets back from his house calls, but I don't think she should be relegated to a dark drawer."

"There's a picture in dad's study of the three of us for her birthday. It was the birthday before she became sick." He smiles fondly at the memory of his dad's attempt at baking a surprise birthday cake for her. "That one should go here on the mantle. It's the one that always makes him smile."

"Then that is the one that I will ask your father to put out here," Shelagh confidently agrees. "Now, will you be able to help me clean and peel the potatoes?"

"Sure," following her back into the kitchen, it isn't until he is elbows deep into potato skins when he murmurs under his breath, "Thank you."

Wiping the sweat from her brow as she dices the other vegetables, she calls back, "Whatever for?"

"For bringing mum back out." Keeping his eyes cast down by picking at the bruised skin, Timothy mutters, "I miss her quite a lot. Seeing her down here helps."

Knowing that he has more to say, Shelagh keeps her eyes trained on the carrots.

"When I go to visit mum, I talk with her. I know that she is not able to answer back," he hastily adds, "but it helps, especially when dad is too busy to listen." Throwing the potato in the bowl, he reaches for the last one. "I told her about you and how you are gong to marry dad and that you make him happy. I think she is happy knowing that dad has someone to help keep him loved and upkept."

After a long period of silence, he brings her the bowl of potatoes to be sliced when she says, "I hope I can make both of you proud, you and your mum."

"I think you are doing a good job. You are a great cook and you help me with my homework and you love dad a lot. It's just...," he bows his head in embarrassment, "Jack says that I should start calling you mum, but I can't do it just yet," he blurts out. "I want to, but not just yet, if that's okay."

She can understand his hesitation. She has yet to tell him that she loves him and she does love him as if he is her own son. Feeling it and speaking of those feeling are two vastly different things. "Whenever you are ready, you can call me mum. Or you can continue to call me Shelagh or Auntie Shelagh. It's your choice and only you can decide which feels comfortable." She places her hand on his shoulder, "There is no rush, Timothy."

Wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug, he murmurs against her shoulder, "Thank you."

..::..::..

Quickly slipping in through the front door, Patrick shivers as the heat from the fireplace barrels against his exposed skin. He divests himself of his outerwear before cautiously peeking into the parlor. The sight he sees excites him to no end and encourages him to step towards her.

Too entranced in carefully packing away the last of her dress, Shelagh shrieks when she feels arms circling around her waist. Pushing and clawing her way out from the intruders arms, she sighs with relief when she turns to see her future husband with the wiliest of grins adorning his cheeks. "Patrick! You scared me!"

"I couldn't help myself," lazily follows the line of her scantily clad body.

Glancing down, she hastily remembers that she is only dressed in her slip with his pajama shirt serving as a meek cover up. Blush tinges her already red cheeks as she grudgingly closes his stripped shirt around her body. "Yes, well…," she stumbles when she feels his desire for her thickening the air between them.

He stuffs his hands deep down into his pockets. "My dear, you can wear a potato sack and I would still find you irresistible." Pressing his lips together in a thin, white line, he takes a deep breath, "I shall take my leave from you and remind myself that we are to marry in a little more than twenty-four hours."

"Thirty-two hours and nineteen minutes to be precise."

He leans forward to kiss her on her cheek when he notices that her wedding dress box is still opened, yet tightly wrapped. "More importantly, I cannot wait to see you walk down the aisle to marry me in your white dress." He kisses her once, twice, three more times before turning towards the stairs.

Just as his tense figure slips through the shadow, she timidly calls out, "What if I told you that my dress is not white?"

"My darling," he turns back towards her with a fire in his eyes, "you can wear an orange dress with purple polka dots and I would still find myself to be the luckiest man in the world because you will be walking down the aisle to marry me."

Running up to him, she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him senseless.

Sliding his arms around her waist, he twirls her around with ease and pushes her against the nearest wall. The moan that reverberates through her lips nearly drives him mad with ecstasy. Knowing full well that he needs to stop before he did something he knew he would regret, he presses he hand against the wall to help push him away.

Feeling his body pull away, Shelagh tries to take in as much oxygen as her lungs will allow as her head fall back against the wall. "I'm sorry," she huskily murmurs.

He glances up to see that her lips – her damn sexy lips – are plump from their kiss and murmurs, "In thirty-six hours and eleven minutes, we will officially be on our honeymoon and I can kiss you to my heart's content."

She coyly smirks, "I look forward to it."

Threading his fingers around the back of her neck, he kisses her forehead. "I love you."

She looks up through her lashes, "I love you too."

"Did you and Timothy pick out a few pictures?" His thumb sweeps along the small stretch of skin behind her ear.

"Yes, the photo from your study; the one from her birthday before she became sick." Seeing his eyes light up in laughter makes her chest flutter in delight. "Timothy told me that you had attempted to bake a cake and that when she had come home, you, along with the kitchen, was covered in flour and cake batter."

He lets out a hearty laugh, "That was a great day." He kisses her forehead again and again. "We will create many more memories as a family."

"With you," she whispers, "I already have an abundance of memories." She leans forward and kisses his cheek. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to get my beauty sleep. I will be going to the dress shop for a few last minute checks."

"I will be taking Timothy to the barbers as well as ironing out our suits and picking up the flowers." He kisses her cheek before taking a step back. "Good night, my love. I will see you when you get back."

"Good night, Patrick."

..::..::..

Omnipotent and eternal God, the everlasting Salvation of those who believe, hear us on behalf of Thy sick servant, Timothy, for whom we beg the aid of Thy pitying mercy, that, with his bodily health restored, he may give thanks to Thee in Thy church. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Shelagh grips Timothy's hand as if her touch can save him. She quietly says her prayer over and over in her mind, hoping that it will works its miracle and to bring Timothy back to the same boy he was only a few hours before.

"We'll be at the London in one minute," the ambulatory nurse murmurs from his perch next to Shelagh. "They will take him straight to the children's ward where they will conduct the spinal tap to confirm the prognosis."

Not wanting to disrupt her prayers, Shelagh just nods.

"Mmm," Timothy's quite voice rises from his now-conscious lips and seeps into her soul.

Leaning down, she threads her fingers through his wily hair and murmurs, "Timothy, my dear. We are on our way to hospital. I will call your father as soon as we get there. Just lay still. I will hold your hand for as long as they let me."

He squeezes her hand as a tear tumbles down his cheek.

Bumping up to the emergency entrance, the nurse whispers, "We are here." He rushes between Shelagh and Timothy, momentarily breaking their connection. The doors break open admitting both the bright light of the dying day as well as two orderlies. "To the children's ward with possible polio. You will need to keep him in a quarantine area."

"Yes, sir," the orderlies pull him out and onto a gurney.

The nurse steps out of the ambulance and holds out his hand to help her down. "The children's ward is–"

Shelagh begins walking in, "I know my way around, thank you." Leaving the nurse in her wake, she marches in to first call for Patrick and then to hold Timothy's hand.

..::..::..

"Nurse!" A woman half running, half stomping comes up to both Trixie and Jenny hysterically waving her arms. "Nurse, please wait!"

Meeting the poor woman half way, they both reach out for concern as Jenny asks, "Are you well?"

Gulping down some much needed air, the woman shakes her head. "Not me…," she places her hands on her knees to catch her breath. "Doctor Turner's… son… he was taken… to the… hospital."

"We shall tell Doctor Turner immediately." Both nurses turn back towards the institute with the sole intention to inform the Doctor that his son is sick when a hand reaches out for both of their arms.

"The nun told me to tell you that it's polio." Crossing the body of Christ along her chest, she shakes her head. "That poor boy. You make sure to tell him."

High tailing it back to the Institute, both nurses discreetly look for the Doctor. As they run through the corridors in the back, it is Jenny who sees Sister Evangelina coming out from their makeshift quarters. "Sister! Have you seen Doctor Turner?"

"He was back there on the telephone," she jerks her chin over her shoulder, "trying with no luck to get the ban lifted to go back to our homes." When she sees the nurses quickly pass without so much as a thank you, she calls out, "Don't get your hosiery in a bunch, by the sounds of it, he is unsuccessful."

Turning the corner, they see the doctor quite literally banging his head against the wall as he forcefully yells into the phone, "No. No. No. I said that I need to talk to Stephen Riser." After a pause, he growls, "Well you tell him that the people he had so kindly placed out of reach of the bomb are now – What the hell do you mean that he's at his Christmas dinner? You bloody well better get him – hello? Hello?" Staring down at the receiver, he angrily murmurs, "Bloody pansy ass," before slamming the phone back onto the hook.

Seeing a good time to interrupt, both Jenny and Trixie come up to him, "Doctor Turner–"

Turning to see the young women behind him, his cheeks rouge to a deep red in embarrassment as he stutters, "Oh, umm, I'm sorry, umm, I hope you, umm…"

Trixie rolls her eyes, "Doctor, one of your neighbors came to see us. Timothy has been taken to the hospital. Shelagh told her that it was polio."

Not even caring about anything else around him, he charges off down the hall towards the exit.

"What is all this commotion?" Sister Julienne peeks out of the back-of-the-bar-slash-her-office.

Both of the young nurses glance at each other before stepping up to the older nun and whispering, "Doctor Turner's son was taken to the hospital with polio."

"Oh dear," she looks over their shoulders towards the bright window, "and did she say anything about Shelagh?"

"Shelagh was the one who told the neighbor before going to the hospital," Trixie murmurs.

Clasping her hands together, "Then we shall pray for Master Turner's health and speedy recovery."

..::..::..

"It was the most horrible thing to walk in to," Shelagh starts after several long minutes of tears and stuttered apologies. "And now he's in the hospital on a ventilator. He might not be able to walk ever again," she crumbles into a gut wrenching sob.

Her three sisters keep their place around her; Sister Evangelina to her left with her palm squarely placed on her shoulder, Sister Monica Joan is sitting in a chair in front of her clutching both of her hands, and Sister Julienne to her right with one hand rubbing her back and the other on her arm.

Sister Monica Joan is the first to respond, "The Lord knows the needs of this child and of the prayers of those that love him the most. We will pray that he will feel the warmth of His arms in his greatest hour of need."

"If we can, pray together, then the strength of our prayers will soothe more than one person tonight," Sister Julienne finishes.

Shelagh looks to all the women around her and defeatedly asks, "How is it you can still find it in your heart to love a person who left the warmth of your arms?"

"Because we never stopped loving you," Sister Evangelina lightly squeezes her shoulder, "and we never will."

"You will always be our sister despite whatever choices you make to your path in life."

Shelagh vows her head in shame, "I don't deserve your love."

"Everyone deserves love, child," Sister Monica Joan smiles, "It is the very essence of our lives. It's what brings us color to a world condemned to be black and white."

"You came to us, my dear Shelagh, when you felt you had no where else to go." Sister Julienne thread back a wisp of hair that had come out in her haste to rush to the Institute. "First we will pray and then we will make you a bed. You will be with your sisters tonight."

Too exhausted to argue against the three glorious women surrounding her, Shelagh simply nods her head.

..::..::..

Please, Lord, please protect Timothy in his hour of need. He is just a boy, my boy, who deserves to grow up. I promise to pay more attention to him, to read him his favorite book at night, to help him build his model airplane, but most of all, to show him how much I love him.

Threading his fingers through Timothy's long hair, he leans down and kisses his forehead. "I'm so sorry, my dear boy. I should have known that your were sick. I should have known." He kisses him again and again and again.

"Here," Patrick slowly glances up to see Sister Evangelina shoving a cup of tea in his face, "drink this. It's well sugared."

Knowing not to disobey directions from Sister Evangelina, Patrick takes the cup with his left so that his right hand can stay connected to Timothy.

Sister Evangelina pulls up a chair opposite of Patrick and stares down at Timothy for the longest time. "Now, my dearest child, I helped bring you into this world and I'll be damned to see you depart from it before your time. Your dad and I will pray for you." Glancing up at the haggard man in front of her, she adds, "He won't forget the 'our father' part this time, I'll make sure of it."

Before he has even a slim chance to protest against it, she marks her head, heart, and shoulders with the body of Christ and begins, "O Lord God, I come to You for help and succor. You have afflicted this child."

Hearing him following her words, she allows him to finish on his own, "Help me to understand that You mean well. Give me grace to bear my child's affliction with patience and strength. Bless me, O Father, and restore my child to health. Do not forsake us, but give us an assurance of Your loving Kingdom. Bless this illness to me and my child Timothy, and help us both to be better children of Yours because of it. In the name of Your Holy Son Jesus Christ. Amen."

Marking the cross along his own chest, Patrick then begins the Lord's Prayer, "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name; thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory for ever and ever. Amen."

For a long time, both remain vigilant around the young boy. Patrick combs his fingers through Timothy's hair and continues to make his silent pleas to God to spare his son's life, while Sister Evangelina sends another prayer, one that will keep this family together.

Just as the sun peeks through the bleary clouds in the window, Sister Evangelina finishes her prayers and begins to stand. "Shelagh was with us for the night. She will come and join you shortly."

"She saved him by bringing him here."

"She is your light during these dark times. I pray that you will not extinguish her out." She places her hand on his shoulder, "We will continue to pray for young Timothy. If you need anything, let us know."

He gives her a meek smile, "Thank you, Sister, for everything."

..::..::..

Shuffling in through the front door, both Patrick and Shelagh divests their hats and coats in stark silence. As Patrick begins his assent up the first couple of stairs, Shelagh softly calls out to him, "I'll bring some tea and biscuits up to you in your room."

"Bring enough for both of us," he throws over his shoulder before finishing his trek.

Simply nodding to his ridged back, she marches into the kitchen and places the kettle on the stovetop. Readying the tea cups and the small bowl of biscuits on a tray, when the kettle whistles, she allows the tea to steep for a few minutes before making her way up the stairs.

Softly knocking on the door, she peeks her head in through to see that Patrick has already thrown his shoes and jumper on the floor and is sitting on his bed with his head heavily held in his hands.

Teetering in the entrance, unsure of where her place should be, he calls out and makes the decision for her, "Come in, my darling girl." Pushing his shoulders up, he gives her a sad-sort-of smile and holds out his bereft hand, "I need you now, more than ever."

Placing the tray on the bedside table, she takes his hand into both of hers as she sits on the edge of his bed next to him. "He will be okay, Patrick. He is resilient and strong and brave and...," she takes a deep breath to help keep her tears, that have been threatening to fall since returning to the hospital, at bay, "and he will pull through this. We all will." Turning his palm up, she leans down and kisses their sacred spot.

A spark of hope shoots through his heart as the press of her lips heats the heel of his hand. "He is alive and awake and, for that, I am extremely thankful. There is a long road of recovery ahead of him and…," my sweet boy, why didn't I see it sooner, "and…"

"And we will be there to help and guide him," she softly finishes for him. She squeezes his trembling hand in solidarity, "He is not alone and neither are you. We will do this as a family."

Rubbing his tired, red-rimmed eyes with the pads of his fingers, his sight becomes bleary as he murmurs, "What would I have done without you?"

"Come along," she pats his knuckles before standing, "you need to rest for a bit."

Not giving in just yet, he beseeches, "Not without you. I want to hold you." Sensing her hesitancy, he gently explains, "I almost lost you to TB at the end of summer and I almost lost Timothy four months later. I need to know that you are alive; that I will feel your heart beat against your chest, that I will hear you softly breath in my ear, that I will see you when I wake from my inevitable nightmare."

Reaching out to caress his cheek, she sweetly murmurs, "Lay down my love." Stepping over to the other side of the bed, she snags a thick quilt from the arm chair in the corner and then toes off her shoes. As they both snuggle underneath the covers, she wraps her arm around his waist and whispers into his chest, "I love you."

..::..::..

The light from the sun's morning hue shines in through the window streaking across Shelagh's peaceful features, slowly stirring her from her slumber. Feeling the early morning chill brush along her cheek, she snuggles deeper under the covers and closer to the warm body next to her. Languorously opening her eyes, she is surprised to see that Patrick is wide awake. "How long have you been up?"

His hand begins to lazily trail up and down her arm when he answers, "Not too long ago." He lightly draws kisses along the top of her head as she nestles in so close to his body that at the moment he doesn't know where his body ends and hers begins. "Thank you for staying with me last night."

The memory of his nightmares waking her during the night seeps through her mind and coaxes her from the warmth radiating from his chest. "I love you."

Her tender words, though he has heard it numerous times, flutters through his chest and instills a calmness in his heart that has been trembling since receiving the phone call that Timothy was in the hospital. "I love you too." He takes a deep breath through his nose, "Once Timothy is healthy enough to leave the hospital, we are driving to the church and having Reverend Clarke marry us," his lips murmurs against her forehead.

Slightly lifting her chin so that their lips easily brush against each other's, she smiles, "I would love that very much." Closing the distance between their lips, she curls her fingers into the collar of his shirt as his arms slides around his waist. After a few heated moments, Shelagh straightens out her palms and leans out of their embrace, "As much as I want to stay in this warm bed with you all morning long, we both have to clean up and eat breakfast."

"You have the whole morning planned out, eh?" Not ready to give her up just yet, he nuzzles against her neck and murmurs, "Well I say we stay warm under the covers and snog like a pair of rowdy teenagers." His tongue dances along her salty skin, exciting him to no end at the delicious moans coming from her throat. "Then, to help make up the time from our cuddle and to save some water, we can bathe together." Knowing that she is just as dizzy with desire as he is by the erratic beat of her pulse under his lips, he can't help but press his hips into hers to help relieve some of the pressure. "By the time we are finished, visiting hours will start at the hospital."

"You've thought of everything," her words come out breathless and husky.

"The best part about my plan," his lips travel down a small patch of oh-so-delectable skin peeking out from her opened blouse, "is that I'm not on-call. No one will be bothering us–"

The ring of the doorbell disrupts whatever else he was going to say.

Growling in contempt at the idea of leaving his nice cozy bed and the beautiful woman perched in his arms to answer the door, the sound of Shelagh giggling nearly has him forgetting of the interruption to begin with. Rolling his eyes, he hopes that whoever is there goes away, yet at the sound of the door opening, he knows that he will have no such luck.

Jumping out of bed, Shelagh quickly slips on her shoes and tries her best to relinquish back the loose stands of hair.

Groaning at the rush of cool air slamming into his body, Patrick throws off the covers and makes his way to the hallway. "You stay up here until I know who has come in." It isn't until he steps down the first few stairs does he greet the intruders; two bundled up nuns carrying wrapped baking dishes. "Sisters? Is there anything wrong?"

Sister Julienne smiles kindly, "No, nothing is wrong. We wanted to bring both you and Shelagh a few dinners that were entrusted to us to give to you." At his confusion at the generosity, she adds, "People have heard what has happened to your son and wanted to help out."

Finishing his trek down the stairs, he holds out his hands to take the dish from Sister Monica Joan, "Thank you. This is much appreciated."

Glancing over his shoulder, Sister Monica Joan brightens and calls out, "Hark, the hyacinth, which has taken all year to sow, is starting to break through the bleakness of its soil. When they bloom, it will be with the brightest colors upon its cheek ever to be cast from God's own creation."

Sister Monica Joan throws her now free hands out as her cherub cheeks glow in the warmth of the house. "Though she has yet to be plucked by his caring hands, the morning sun still shines upon the new dew covered petals. Praise to the high and mighty, for she has returned to the garden that is most familiar to her."

Turning to see what has captured the older nuns rapturous attention, Patrick warmly smiles when the blushing sight of Shelagh greets him from the top of the stairs. Hearing a surprised intake coming from one of the nuns – I would place my money on Sister Julienne – he turns back to them and quickly explains, "I had just gone up to wake Shelagh when I heard you coming in through the door." Quickly and quietly praying that the blanket and pillow are still lying on the sofa in the parlor, he gives them small smile, "Please come in and sit down."

Racing down the stairs, she pulls the baking dish from Sister Julienne's hands and settles next to Patrick, "We can take these into the kitchen."

Sister Julienne places her palm on her younger sister and quietly murmurs, "Shelagh, we have received some disturbing news and I'm afraid that it also involves you."

Pulling the dish from her slack hands, Patrick steps back to allow the room for the ladies to walk through to the parlor, "Please take a seat in our parlor. I will give you some time to yourselves."

"You have no need to make yourself scarce," Shelagh throws overs her shoulder as she leads her sisters towards the sofa. Letting the older ladies sit first, she settles on the arm of Patrick's chair, "What news have you received, Sister."

"Upon our arrival at Nonnatus House, we were told that the explosion of the bomb has greatly compromised the foundation and that they will be condemning it."

"A new dawn has been cast upon our bellow with a great shadow. For Jupiter has taken the place next to Mars and now uncertainty hangs in our future." Sister Monica Joan looks to Shelagh with a lone tear falling down her cheek. "Yet, with deep sadness comes unyielding happiness at the return of our beloved sister, whose song fills our hearts."

As her fingers cover her mouth in shock, Shelagh tries to imagine a world without Nonnatus House. "But what will happen to you, to the nurses? Surely the city can find suitable housing so the we can continue to help the people of Poplar."

"The city is finding housing for the nurses as we speak. I have asked," Sister Julienne looks up to Doctor Turner as he walks in with a tray of tea, "that they be housed next to the maternity home."

"They can be housed in the maternity home," Patrick announces as he pours the tea. "When it was renovated, they carved out a flat for the head physician and his family. Since we live here, it's remained empty."

Sister Julienne smiles as she accepts the saucer, "Thank you for your kind generosity, both with allowing the nurses to stay at the maternity home and for the tea." She takes a sip, "I shall inform them right away of their new lodgings."

Just as Patrick pushes over the pillow and blanket to sits next to her, Shelagh quickly asks, "And where will you and Sister Monica Joan and Sister Evangelina be staying? Surely you cannot stay at the Mother House, it's too far from Poplar."

"We are being housed at Saint Joseph's thanks to Father Jesup." Taking another sip, Sister Julienne is just about to continue on when Sister Monica Joan interrupts.

"Why is it you are out of habit, Sister?" Her eyes volley between Shelagh and Patrick and, after a heavy second, she frowns. "Are you not coming back to grace us with the gift of song, dear child?"

Before Sister Julienne can answer, Shelagh replies, "No, Sister, I will be marrying Doctor Turner."

Sister Monica Joan looks to the man sitting next to her young sister and frowns as recognition dawns in her blue eyes, "The same man who spoke in front of a court of law citing my feeble mind?"

Again, Shelagh speaks before Sister Julienne can quiet the older nun, "Yes, he is the same man, yet he is very sorry he had to do that." Looking to Patrick, Shelagh lifts her brow and silently encourages him to apologize himself.

Taking the hint, Patrick clears his throat and says, "Yes, very sorry indeed." He leans forward with his empty teacup balancing on his knee, "Please, Sister Monica Joan, I hope you can forgive me."

"It is with my understanding that people usually ask for forgiveness when they know they will not be able to receive what they want," Sister Monica Joan replies with an air of defiance. "What can this man give you, other than flesh of his body, that we cannot provide for you. We are your sisters and your voice lifts us higher to God."

"Sister Monica Joan," Sister Julienne finally interjects.

Yet, Shelagh once again interrupts, "We love each other very much and the love between a man and a woman is just as holy and sacred as the vows I took when I joined the order."

Both women stare at each other for a long time, until Sister Monica Joan taps Sister Julienne's knee and whispers, "Though she be but little, she is fierce."

Within the small silence, Patrick looks to Sister Monica Joan and quietly exclaims, "Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt the sun doth move; Doubt truth be a liar: but never doubt I love her."

Giving him a small smile of approval, she murmurs back, "Doubt will never be cast from me again." Taking a sip from her tea as if she is talking about the weather, she asks, "And the health of your young boy?"

"He is out of the oxygen machine, yet he is still unable to move his legs," Patrick informs them.

"And we shall continue to pray for a speedy recovery," Sister Julienne gently tells them both. "My dear Shelagh, I must also inform you that the area around Nonnatus House is being condemned as well; which includes your lodgings."

Glancing down at Patrick for a moment, Shelagh looks back up to Sister Julienne and asks, "Has anyone told Mrs. B?"

"We called her. She is going to stay at her sister's home for the time being."

"And her possessions?"

"Will be packed away until she receives her new lodgings."

"I will pack it away for her," Shelagh places her teacup back onto the tray. "It's the least I could do. She took me in and kept me as a renter despite the cruel gossip that surround me," her hand slips down and into Patrick's, "that surrounded us."

Sister Julienne folds her hands in her lap, "I've talked with Father Jesup and he has offered a room for you as well."

"Thank you," Shelagh smiles down to Patrick as he squeezes her hand, "however, I will lodge at the maternity home until we wed."

Bowing her head, Sister Julienne agrees, "Very well. I will telephone Mrs. B to let her know that you will be helping her on this end." As the silence that settles between the nuns and the lovers turns into an awkward stance, Sister Julienne stands and smiles, "If you excuse us, we have to make our way to–"

"Please come to our wedding," Shelagh stands and blurts out.

Everyone taken aback at first, including Shelagh herself, it is Sister Monica Joan who answers back, "Sleet, nor snow, nor rain or Hitler's bombs could keep us from attending a momentous occasion." Standing herself she gives the couple in front of her a bright smile, "God will shine down on you both that day for he shall witness the bonding of two people becoming one." Following the same steps she took to come into the house, Sister Julienne offers a kind smile before trailing behind her older sister.

Stopping at the door to gather their scarves, both Shelagh and Patrick come up behind them. "Please let me know if there is anything you need help with. I will not…," she falters as all of her emotions from the last few days catches up to her, "I will not run away from you or the other sister for as long as you will have me."

Grasping the young woman's hands, Sister Julienne murmurs, "My dear, Shelagh, you coming back into our lives is the sweetest blessing we have ever received. Just because our physical doors have closed does not mean our hearts have."

Throwing her arms around the older woman in a tight hug, Shelagh whispers, "I'm very luck to have you," she leans back and reaches out to Sister Monica Joan, "all of you in my life."

Wiping Shelagh's tears from her cheek, Sister Monica Joan exclaims, "Happiness is only real, when shared."

Stepping out of their embrace, Sister Julienne looks to Patrick, "We will continue to keep Master Turner in our prayers as well as the both of you." Opening the door, she bows her head, "Good day."

Shelagh holds onto Patrick's waist and waves as they walk out onto the busy street. Closing the door, she turns and crashes into his chest. "I'm sorry for changing everything around. It's no wonder you still wish to marry me."

He kisses the crown of her head, "I would marry you in a bunker if it meant the world to you." He lifts her chin with the crook of his finger and gently kisses her lips, "However, I'm glad that you have reconciled and invited them. More than one broken heart was mended today." He deepens the kiss as their bodies cling to each other as if they are each other's life rafts. "I suppose," murmurs against her cheek, "we can have our proper lie in on a different morning. Let's eat our breakfast. Visiting hours will be opening up soon."