John stared at his ceiling as the early morning blue black shifted to the lighter grays before sunrise. It had been five days since the Watsons had packed up their five boys and Jack into their two cars and driven to Blanding, South Carolina. Without Jack hanging around taking polaroids or playing his dumb ass music or playing basketball with his cousins, the small house was too damn quiet.

John hadn't slept well since Jack left and it was starting to piss him off. Fanny promised to bring him back in a week or two. He reached over to his bed side table and pulled out his phone. Fanny told him to call if he changed his mind about joining them.

Fanny rubbed her eyes, leaning her elbows on his kitchen table. "You need to get away from here."

"No."

Fanny stood up so fast her chair fell over, "You can't keep doing this."

"I said 'no'," John shoved himself away from the table.

"Goddamit, John, it's been two years," Fanny's voice broke. "You love Helstone."

He bent over the sink, staring at the dripping faucet.

"She's not going to come while you're gone."

"I can't," John stiffened as she hugged him from behind. "I just can't."

John rubbed his hand down his face and sat up. He may as well get up. There were three trucks in the bay that needed a full going over before their next hauls.

Margaret stepped out of the Milton airport terminal and took a long steadying breath. Her stomach was rolling with waves of nausea and nerves, and she swallowed. She would not be sick. When she felt more in control of her meager breakfast, she marched to the nearest taxi.

"Where to?" The cab driver didn't even look up as he settled himself behind the wheel.

"Hilton Cemetery."

The large oak tree at the top of the hill rustled in the smoggy August wind. Margaret tucked her hair behind her ears, and ran a hand over the gravestone.

"Hey there, Bess," She knelt and closed her eyes. "How's the view up here?"

Margaret stared at her mobile as it buzzed, the familiar face blazed across the photo ID.

..."Marg, it's Bess. Pick up the phone, you bitch."...

She called every single Friday, and she always left a message.

..."If you weren't my best friend, I'd hate you. Come home."...

The phone stopped buzzing, and Margaret reached out to pick it up.

..."Fanny is making me crazy. God, I hate you for making me be a bridesmaid."...

It started to ring again, and Margaret bit her lip, her thumb hovering over the screen.

..."I'm going to shoot your pain in the ass husband myself if you don't get the fuck on the next airplane. I swear to God."...

The phone went silent.

..."Marg, listen to me. To hell with your pride. He needs you."...

She hit the voicemail button and listened.

"Margaret? God, I hope this is the right number. I'm Mary Higgins, and Bess," the voice broke. "She's been in an accident."

Margaret leaned back against the stone, letting her tears flow freely, "It's pretty rotten from this end."

She sat in the shade of the tree and cried until she had nor more tears left. And then she stood and marched back to the waiting cab.

"Marlborough Shipping Depot," please she said, pressing a hand to her stomach.

Mr. Bell studied young Jack Thornton as he fiddled with his mother's polaroid camera. He'd spent the last five days watching Thornton's son and found him to be moderately delightful, for all he was the carbon copy of John Thornton.

"Young man, put that thing away and join me in the library," Mr. Bell stood. "It's time I gave you that history lesson I promised."

"Right now, like?" Jack frowned, an action that always made Mr. Bell slightly uncomfortable.

He couldn't imagine how Margaret managed to live with Jack all these years and not feel haunted. Served her right too. The boy shrugged his shoulders and followed him into the old library, slumping down into the large leather chair his father always preferred.

"Yeah, alright, give me your lecture, professor."

"I didn't invite you here to lecture you, Jack," Mr. Bell retrieved several photo albums and a record book, laying them out on the old coffee table. "I invited you here to understand who you are." Mr. Bell turned a page and pushed the album towards him. On the page was a black and white portrait. "John Seamus Thornton, the fourth. He was eighteen in that photograph, and already too much a man."

Jack glanced at the picture.

"I'm not fond of your father and I never have been," Mr. Bell smiled. "He's too serious, can't take a bloody joke."

"Well, aye, that's his business innit?" Jack folded his arms. "What's this got to do with me, like?"

"I'm curious what you think of him."

"Not sure what to think, if I'm being honest. Why do you care?"

Mr. Bell flipped the phot album to another black and white portrait. "Your grandfather, Jonnie Thornton, was guilty of a similar indiscretion. Poor Hannah," He turned the page to a family portrait of Jonnie, Hannah, and a baby John. "He married her, of course. I think they were happy for a time, but times change." Mr. Bell sighed. "Jonnie abandoned his children and his wife in the worst way possible, and they were never the same. The day he died, was the day your father grew up."

"Didn't learn too much, did he?" Jack asked, pushing the photo album away. "Dad did the same thing. He left us—"

"No," Mr. Bell sat up and pointed a sharp finger in Jack's face. "Let's be clear on one thing, Jack. Your father did not leave you. Margaret left him."

"But he never came after us," Jack ran his hand through his hair, making it stand on end. "You want to know what I think, then? I think he's a fine bloke, but he's an ass if he thinks sixteen years of silence—"

"Do you know Henry Lennox?"

Jack looked startled, narrowing his eyes. "I know who he is, like. Don't much care for the bloke."

"Your father telephoned him in September the year you were born. John was told in no uncertain terms to leave Margaret Hale alone," Mr. Bell folded his hands on his knee.

Jack's face grew dark and he stared at his camera.

"Didn't your mother tell you?"

"So what, then?" Jack spat, looking up. "What kind of a man lets the likes of Aunt Shaw and good old Henners push him around, like? He gave up."

"It seems to me that John let Margaret make her own decisions, which is more than anyone else did. Rather big of him, I'd say."

"It wasn't her decision to make," Jack snapped. "Not alone."

"Ah, now there's the rub. You may be right, young man, but society disagrees with you. Besides, your mother would've resented any attempt by your father to control her."

"He wouldn't do that."

"I know. And now she knows too. It only took sixteen years."

Jack slumped back into the couch, his arms folded across his chest, a very Thornton-like glower on his face. "I still think it's buggered he gave up, like." He muttered. "I wouldn't have."

"Now that's a thought," Mr Bell sat up. "Let's imagine you're your father. You're enough like him it shouldn't be too hard. And you fall in love," Mr. Bell gave him a piercing look, "hard, with a spitfire of a woman. You marry her and then," He snapped his fingers, "she leaves, taking your unborn child with her, and you never hear a word from her again."

Jack pushed back his hat, shifting in his seat.

"What would you do, Jack? Be honest."

Jack swallowed, wriggling a bit underneath Mr. Bell's gaze. "I'd be pissed, proper, like. Probably break something." He frowned. "I'd be a bit desperate, a bit mad on my feet, like. But I wouldn't give up, not even if it killed me."

"I suppose John could've picked a fight with your mother, but he was twenty-seven and she was barely nineteen, which doesn't look good to anyone, let alone a family court judge. Odds are, it would've been ugly and he would've lost." Mr. Bell straightened his jacket with a satisfied sigh. "I watched your father make the hardest decision a man can ever make. He gave up everything he wanted, everything he loved, so you would never have to choose between him and your mother."

"All happy and grand, yeah?" Jack shifted, crossing his arms, "Well, we aren't happy, Mr. Bell."

"If your mother is unhappy, Jack, it's because she chooses to be. She has your father's mobile number—he hasn't changed it. She has his address and a key to the house—he hasn't moved. She even has access to his bank accounts."

"What?"

"She didn't tell you that, did she?"

"How the bloody hell do you know that?"

"Oh, I know everything." Mr. Bell waved a hand. "Your father deserves a chance, Jack."

"Why do you think I'm here, then? I wanted his side of things, like. I know he's alright," The boy swiped at his eyes and frowned, "Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."

"Of course it hurts, young man. You're only human, after all, but so is your father. It's those that bury their pain and soldier on who get forgotten by everyone else." Mr. Bell snapped the photo album closed. "Your father buried his father's suicide for Fanny and for Hannah. And he did it a second time for you, and for your mother. Tell me then, my boy, that your father isn't a man worth admiring?"

Jack didn't say anything, his face troubled.

"I'm not one to meddle in other's affairs but allow me to prove it to you," Mr. Bell challenged. "Since your mother left your father refuses to leave Milton, not even to visit his beloved Helstone." Mr. Bell pulled his wallet from his inside jacket pocket. "Call him—right now—and ask him to come down. I'll wager you one hundred quid he's here by morning."

Mr. Bell laid a few bills on the coffee table.

"He won't come, like. Dad told me Helstone reminded him of when his father died."

"No, my dear boy, I'm the one who reminds him of his father. Now are you going to call him or shall I?"

Jack frowned at Mr. Bell's knowing smile. He could use a hundred quid.

"Yeah, alright," He pulled his mobile out of his pocket, ignoring his shaking hands as he dialed the number. It only rang three times before connecting.

"Jack."

"Dad?" He swallowed at a sudden tightness in his throat. This was a wager he didn't really want to win. But it was too late now.

"What is it?"

"I have a favor to ask," Jack glanced at Mr. Bell who sat back with a confident grin. "Would you —would you come to Helstone?"

The line was silent for a moment.

"Why?"

"Because," Jack tried to come up with something, anything, that would sound passable. But in the end, there was only one reason. "Because I want you to," Jack rubbed the back of his head. "Please, Dad. Will you come?"

More silence.

"I can't stay more than two or three days."

Jack gripped his mobile tighter, "Well, aye, that's alright."

"I'll be there in the morning."

"Yeah, see you then," Jack fell back on the sofa, feeling like someone had sucked all the air out of his lungs. He blinked very hard several times.

"I've known your father since he was a child," Mr. Bell said quietly, making certain not to look as Jack composed himself. "He hasn't changed a bit."

He stood, folded the money back into his wallet, and straightened his jacket. "You owe me a hundred quid, by the way," and he sauntered out of the room

"You're serious?"

"Never bet a man who knows everything."

"Well, aye, but what happened to not meddling?" Jack asked.

"My dear boy, we all need a little push now and then. I cannot solve your parent's problems but I can give them a much needed nudge in the right direction. Now then, I believe you need to call your mother, don't you? Wait until evening, though. I've always found it's much easier to persuade tired people."

Jack's mouth fell open, "Dad will never forgive you."

"I don't want his forgiveness. I want him to be happy. And for once in his life, he actually deserves it."

"Why're you doing this now, like? Why not ages ago?"

"Because my success all depends on how much you actually like your father. If you hated him, Margaret would never give him another chance. "

"What makes you think she will?"

"She's older, wiser, and I suspect, still miserably in love with you father."

"You're mad." Jack ran a hand through his hair, grinning. "Absolutely bonkers, like."

"Yes, of course. All the best people are."

John ignored William's smug look as he left a brief set of instructions for the office while he was gone.

"Don't you worry, Master," Higgins stood grinning in the doorway. "We'll hold down the fort."

John grabbed his gun and keys. He sat in his truck for a moment, hesitating. He'd never admitted why he never left Milton.

He scowled and shifted the truck into gear, pulling out onto the street.

He was losing his damn mind.

Margaret sat on the curb by the old bus stop less than a block from Marlborough Shipping Depot, her suitcase next to her. The cab ride hadn't helped with her nausea and she told herself she deserved a moment to herself. She refused to vomit when she saw him.

Her hands shook as she twisted the rings on her finger. She didn't know why she was wearing her wedding rings. She'd always liked them.

"Do you like it?"

Margaret touched the ring with the tip of her finger. It was simple, small, and the most beautiful ring she'd ever seen. She nodded and closed the box.

"Did Fanny help you?" She asked, tucking the box into her jacket pocket.

John shook his head.

"It's lovely," Margaret glanced up. "Thank you."

He nodded, "It looked like you."

Margaret slipped off her rings and tucked them into the inside pocket of her purse, pulling the zipper firmly closed. The walk into the truck yard was familiar and strange. Nothing about Milton seemed to have changed. She let herself through the front door and made her way back towards the office.

"Excuse me, ma'am," a familiar voice said.

Margaret turned and looked into the stunned face of Tucker Williams. She smiled.

"Hello, Tuck."

"Holy shit" the old man breathed, and took off his hat, blushing red all the way to his ears. "Sorry, Miss Margaret."

"It's fine, Tuck." She swallowed, gripping the handle of her suitcase. "Is he here?"

Williams paled, and shook his head, "He's left for Helstone, with Jack and Fanny. About half an hour ago."

AN : Sorry this took me so long. Don't be too mad about the end of this chapter.

*update* I found myself unhappy with the dialogue between Jack and Mr. Bell and decided to tweak it.