"Bloody hell," Margaret breathed. "John—"

"Excuse me," John marched past Margaret and walked around towards the front of the house, his hands turning into fists. Jack tumbled out of the front door.

"Mr. Bell invited the twat out to a fancy dinner," Jack followed John back into the house to the kitchen where Fanny was pretending to read the newspaper. "Did he tell you that, like? He pops off down here like he's the minted king of England and that old gadgie invites him to dinner."

"Sit down, kid."

Jack slammed himself down on a chair, his eyes on John.

"What?"

"What?" Jack turned to Fanny, "He's asking 'what', like a buggered idiot." Jack ran his hands through his hair and let out a grunt of frustration. "God, go out there and do something, Dad," He was practically bouncing on the edge of his chair. "Please."

Fanny stifled a giggle and stood, "I think I should tell Watson to gather the boys."

Once she'd gone, Jack looked at John, "Well?"

"No," John turned towards his room. "Ball's in her court, kid."

"Is that it, then?" Jack sprang after him. "You're just going to walk off and let him convince Mam —"

"Your mom has to make her own damn choice," John bit out the words as Jack followed him all the way down the hall.

"What about lesson three, Dad," Jack folded his arms and glared. "Don't give up, yeah?"

John stopped glanced over his shoulder and met his son's glare.

"Do you still love her?"

John shut his eyes and sighed.

"You do, don't you?" Jack stepped back, a look of pure astonishment and delight breaking over his face. "That's mint, that is. Oi, what you doing?"

"Taking a shower," John shut his door behind him and leaned against it for a minute.

"Well, aye, take a bloody shower and leave me to chase off your competition," Jack called through the door. "That's mint, that is."

John growled and yanked the door open.

"I've been fighting for you since I was in nappies, Dad," Jack said, glowering. "But I can't win it alone, like. Not if you're going to lay down like a dead dog."

"It's my fight, Jack," John studied his son for a long moment. "You're assuming I'm giving up," he gave him crooked smile, "But when I fight, I usually win."

"Yeah, alright, you gonna win this by taking a shower?"

"Trust me, kid."

John shoved Jack out of his doorway. He emptied his pockets on the bureau and stripped off his clothes, his shoulder aching, his chest a twisted mass of nerves. He stared at the wedding band on the bureau. He still carried it in his pocket, ever since Jack found his way back to Milton.

Now he knew why.

He couldn't win if Margaret didn't want him. But he'd be damned if he didn't try.

One last time.

"Mr. Lennox says he's had quite the time tracking you down, Margaret." Mr. Bell said, smiling. "He was in Milton just this morning, and here he is. Now then, you have business to attend to." He turned to go and then paused. "Oh, and Margaret, I've made dinner reservations in Blanding for all of us, including all the Wild Watsons. You might want to change."

Margaret lifted her chin and stared at Henry, waiting until Mr. Bell had left.

"Did you really fly all the way from London to Milton, and then Blanding in one day?"

"Margaret—"

"Stop," she shook her head. "I don't even know how to respond to such utter nonsense."

"I was in already Boston when I called yesterday."

"Boston?" her eyes widened. "Why?"

"You wouldn't pick up your mobile and your aunt was worried when you didn't return from your conference."

"Henry, I'm thirty-five years old," she snapped. "My aunt is out of line and so are you. Did Edith tell you I was in Milton?"

He glanced away.

"I'm going to kill her. All of you need to stop this and leave me be."

"Margaret, we love you. Think for a moment."

"I've been thinking very hard for two days, and I don't need you to help me."

Henry took a measured breath and pressed his lips together, eyeing her impatiently, "Why don't you change and we'll talk."

"We'll talk now." She said. "I'm quite comfortable."

"I'm not," Henry shifted. "You look absurd."

"Because I'm wearing John's shirt?" Margaret raised an eyebrow. "I'm his wife."

"You don't have to be."

"Not this again," she rubbed her eyes.

"You never could think rationally around that man." He looked away. "It was just a New Year's Eve party, Margaret, and you had a bit of fun. I understand. It should never have become all this."

"If all I wanted was to have sex, I could've had you, Henry," Margaret said, leaning her hands on the railing. "Or any number of men at that party, or anyone else I've met over the last sixteen years." She turned, her voice softening, "I don't want to be rude, but I didn't want you—not then or now."

"Margaret, it was a long time ago—"

"It's not your picture I keep under my pillow at night." Margaret closed her eyes. "It's his. It's always been him, Henry. I let you and my aunt convince me otherwise because I was young and afraid."

"He frightened you," Henry's face was stern.

"I was afraid John and I would become just like my parents. My mother left my father and took me away. I never forgave her. I didn't want Jack to get dragged into whatever mess we might create." Margaret laughed, "The irony is I still became the very thing I feared. For twenty years my mother pretended my father didn't exist. I had to find him."

Henry pressed his lips together, "You don't have to live in his mess, Margaret. I brought the papers with me," He retrieved his briefcase and pulled out a folder. "Show him, and see what he says."

"Is that really why you're here?" Margaret's eyes flashed, and she tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

"I don't want you to do anything you'll regret, because of him."

"I already regret every day of the last sixteen years, because of him."

They stood in silence until Henry cleared his throat.

"You can stay for dinner," Margaret said, turning towards the back door. "But after that, I want you to go."

She was trembling as she made her way through the kitchen, pausing at the landing. The sound of a shower turning on drew her feet down the hall towards John's room. She listened at the door, and then peeked inside. Her conversation with Henry made her feel braver than she'd felt in sixteen years, but the divorce papers nagged at her mind.

She didn't know what John would say. And that frightened her more than anything else.

She stepped inside and picked up the scattered clothes, setting them on the bureau. She took a moment and studied John's things—his father's watch, his hat, his mobile. She frowned and picked up the wedding band, her fingers trembling.

She'd wondered if he still had it. The ache in her chest sharpened and she set it down, picking up his wallet. It fell open and a folded sheet of paper fluttered out. It was old, taped and stained along the edges.

Margaret gently opened it and choked in a breath as she stared at the grainy printed photograph.

"Margaret, darling, look here and smile."

"What are you doing, Eds?" She opened her eyes, pulling baby Jack closer, rubbing his back.

"Taking a picture. He's a week old today. Turn him round so we can see his face. Now smile."

Margaret kissed Jack's red face, the black fuzzy eyebrows tickling her lips. He were so much like him. She looked up at Edith, a twisting ache in her chest.

"What have I done?"

Edith snapped the picture.

"Oh, John," Margaret whispered, running a finger over the paper. "What have I done to you?"

The shower water shut off.

Margaret dropped the paper, her vision blurred, and fled upstairs. She cried as she showered, slamming her fist against the wall.

"I have to try," she groaned, leaning her head against the wet tile. "Even if he says no."

She would try one more time.

John stepped into the kitchen, adjusting his jacket sleeves. He hated being trussed up like a penguin. The old suit his mother had always stored at Helstone was tight in the shoulders.

A throat cleared. Henry Lennox nodded as he poured himself a fresh cup of coffee, "Thornton."

"Lennox."

Henry reached down and set his briefcase on the island, "I'm sorry to interrupt your holiday."

"Bullshit."

"As Margaret's lawyer—"

"What do you want?"

Henry set down a stack of papers, keeping his eyes on John.

John flicked his eyes at the three sets of divorce papers. He reached out and pulled one towards him and glanced at the signature lines. He stared at the familiar flowing script.

She'd already signed them.

Henry pulled a pen from his inside jacket pocket and held it out, "You've lost, Thornton."

"Mr Thornton, do you understand what I said?"

John gripped his phone so tight, it cut into his hand.

"You've lost, Thornton. If you persist, we will bring the full force of the law against you. It won't be pleasant for anyone."

"I want my wife and kid, you son of a bitch—"

"What you want isn't my priority. If you care about her at all, then leave her alone."

John threw his phone so hard, he cracked the glass of his bedroom window.

"What the bloody hell you doing, like?"

John turned as Jack bounded up next to him and snatched one of the stacks of papers.

"This is none of your concern, Jack," Henry reached out, stopping when John glared at him. "Don't make this harder, Thornton. Be a man and let her go."

"You fucking little liar," Jack hissed. "These papers are ten years old."

A tiny flicker of worry flashed across Henry's face. John turned his eyes back to the page Jack held out and carefully read the date.

They were the papers John had sent back.

"What's all this?" Margaret came into the kitchen, the smile on her face dropping when she saw them. Her glance fell on the papers, the pen in Henry's hand, and John, the blood draining from her face. "What are you doing?"

John swept the papers off the counter, grabbed Henry by the lapel of his jacket, and slammed his fist into his face.

Henry gasped as blood poured from his nose.

For a moment, no one said anything.

"God bless America," Jack breathed. "I've been wanting to do that for as long as I can remember."

"Get out," John said, his voice dangerous and low. "Or I'll hit you again."

"That—that's assault," Henry stammered. "I could have you arrested."

"I would leave before John actually loses his temper, Henry," Margaret said, pulling out a kitchen towel and handing it to him. "Jack, Henry wishes to leave. See that he makes it safely to his car."

"Mam,"

"Now, if you please."

John gave his son an icy look and Jack shoved his hands in his pockets, following after the retreating form of Henry. John shook out his hand and turned towards Margaret who was watching him, her arms crossed.

"I'm not sorry," he said.

"Neither am I," she pointed to a chair. "Sit down and let me see that."

John stood for a moment before he sat and gave her his hand, "I've had worse."

She glanced at him but didn't respond, taking his hand gently, examining the split red skin, "Does it hurt?"

"Yes."

"Good," She rummaged in the freezer pulling out a bag of frozen vegetables. She worked the bag with her hands until the contents were loose and flopped it onto John's hand.

John watched her, seeing the tension on her face.

"He had it coming."

Margaret glanced at him, "Have you been talking to Jack about Henry?"

"No," John frowned as her cheeks turned red, "Should I?"

"No," Margaret said quickly. "He and Henry just never got on. Even from the beginning."

John almost smiled. He knew he shouldn't but he enjoyed the fact that his son never liked Henry Lennox.

"Why not?"

"Good old Henners kept trying to shag Mam," Jack said, coming into the kitchen, "and it pissed me off."

John stiffened.

The little piece of shit.

Margaret laid her hand on his face, forcing him to look at her, "Tried and failed."

"I still might beat the fuck out of him."

"John Thornton," Margaret glared at him.

"Queue up, mate," Jack growled, leaning against the counter.

"Stop it," Margaret smacked John's head. "Both of you," she added with a glare at Jack as he bent and picked up the papers scattered over the floor. He tossed them in a rumpled stack on the counter.

The silence thickened and John shifted.

"Jack, would you give us a moment?" Margaret breathed.

"I think I deserve to see how this one comes out, like," Jack argued.

"Your mom said go," John stood, grabbed his son's arm, spun him towards the doorway, and gave him a firm push. "So you go, or I'll bust your skinny ass."

"What about our fancy dinner, like?"

"Go with out us."

"Yeah, alright, Dad," Jack shoved his hands into his pockets. "Don't do anything stupid, yeah? I've had enough trouble undoing the last sixteen years."

"Smart ass."

"Your fault, not mine," Jack grinned and thundered towards the stairs.

John watched him go, turning around when he felt Margaret's hand on his arm. She handed him a cup of coffee. They stood, drinking their coffee, the stack of papers between them like a wall.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Margaret asked at last, pushing down her nerves, "Or are you just going to stand there and glower at me?"

"I hate when you do that," John snapped, setting down his coffee. "I didn't ask him to write these up. You did."

"Over ten years ago," she said, trying to be patient. She watched him run his hands through his hair, his face darkening.

"Why didn't you get rid of them?"

"It's not like I kept them, John," she set her coffee cup down. "I know you're angry with me—"

"You could say that."

"I never asked Henry to bring them here, so don't bark at me like this is all my fault."

"It never is," He muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Stop it," Margaret stepped closer. "Don't mumble and toss vague insults. Be a man and say whatever you need to say—in English—to my face."

John glared.

"Go on then."

"You're a pain in the ass."

"Fair enough," Margaret felt her cheeks flame, but she swallowed her pride and nodded, "What else?"

"Henry's a dick, and you know it."

Margaret raised her eyebrows and waited.

John frowned, glanced at the papers, then back at Margaret, "I never wanted to sign them."

"But?" Margaret asked, a cold hard knot forming in her stomach.

"But I will," He met her eyes, "if you ask me to. I'll do it right now, and you can go."

"Do you think I want a divorce, John?"

"I don't know what the hell you want, Margaret," He rubbed his face with his hands. "It's really starting to piss me off."

"Are you ever not pissed off?" She asked, feeling a smile form on her lips.

"It's not funny," he growled.

"No, you decking Henry was funny," Margaret folded her arms. "At least you didn't pull your gun on him."

John narrowed his eyes, "That's not what it's for."

"I thought you enjoyed intimidating people."

"I don't need a gun for the likes of Henry Lennox."

"And I don't need the likes of Henry Lennox to make my decisions for me," Margaret said. "These documents probably aren't legally binding any more." She gathered them up, tapping their sides neatly until they were in a tidy bunch. "But, just so we're clear."

She ripped them in half and tossed them at him, "You're a pain in the ass too, but you're my pain in the ass, John Thornton."

Margaret turned on her heel and marched out of the kitchen, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

AN : All of my readers are brilliant. You keep me writing this, when I ought to work on other projects. I've got a sick day and nothing better to do.