Chapter 9 (set late Season 8)

Knowing William was working late that Wednesday evening, Julia had invited Emily around to their suite. Over wine, their conversation ran the gamut of Emily's recent cases, Julia's patients, the suffrage cause, and titbits from all sections of the newspapers from foreign affairs to society gossip.

Thus, it was nearing the time when the hotel staff would soon bring their dinner before Julia thought to clear the table. Her and William's belongings littered it: their morning newspaper, his current invention, and their book of Shakespeare. It was this last item that seemed to catch Emily's attention.

"Detective Murdoch's book?"

"Mine, actually. Or, well, ours now I suppose." She traced the cover tenderly, suddenly awash with the many pleasant memories associated with the tome. She blinked, returning to the woman before her. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, only that he quoted Hamlet to me once."

"He read to you?" The pain was unexpected, sudden and sharp. The thought that their very special act was not so special after all…

"No." The other doctor frowned. "He just quoted one line."

"Oh!" she gasped, feeling suddenly silly.

"Julia?"

She fidgeted with her skirts, suddenly feeling the need to hide their book, as if that would allay Emily's curiosity. But Julia knew once Emily wanted to know something, there was no deterring her. There was nothing else for it but to tell the truth. "It's just that William reads Shakespeare to me sometimes. And, well…" She blushed. "I like to think that it's our special thing."

"The detective actually reads to you?" The surprise was evident in the younger woman's tone. "Detective Murdoch?"

"Yes!" she laughed, the joy returning to her countenance as she once again recalled her husband's wonderful way with the bard's words. "He's really quite lovely."


It was a couple of days later when William next had occasion to see Doctor Grace. Much as he admired the woman's professional capabilities, he sometimes longed for the easy camaraderie he and Julia had share over case work. As it was, that day was particularly trying. During the short time he'd been in the morgue, Doctor Grace had quoted Shakespeare no fewer than five times, as well as asking him whether he intended on attending an upcoming production of The Taming of the Shrew at the Shaftsbury Theatre.

When she threw out another quote mid conversation, he could not longer refrain from questioning her. "Doctor Grace, may I ask why you insist on quoting the bard today?"

"I thought you might appreciate it, given your proclivities."

He frowned; the doctor confounded him at times. "I don't follow."

"Oh, Julia was expounding on your shared enjoyment. Who knew Detective Murdoch read anything but scientific texts? And who would have guessed that he would read to his wife with such passion?"

His face glowed red. His body grew hot. He levelled Dr Grace with a deadened stare.

Then he turned stiffly and paced away.


"William!" Julia beamed from her position on the settee when he entered through the door of their suite that evening. Their book rested upon her lap. "I'm so pleased you're home. After the week we've had, I thought we could spend a quiet evening read-"

He snatched the book from her before she could finish her sentence. Without a word, he strode to his bedside table and threw it inside the draw. He slammed the draw shut with a violence that did nothing to quell his disquiet.

"William, what on earth?" She was the other side of the bed at that point, gazing at his back with disbelief.

"How could you?" He whirled to face her.

She blinked, bewildered. "What? I-"

"How could you share such intimate details with Doctor Grace?"

"William," she huffed. "I don't understand."

"You told Doctor Grace that I read Shakespeare to you."

"And that's what has you so upset?" She laughed, a sound devoid of humour, an action she often resorted to in defence, to avoid revealing her more tender feelings. But it was unfortunately an action that tended to rile up whomever she was arguing with.

"Of course it is." He began to move again, striding with purpose past her, shrugging off the hand she placed on his arm. "It is- It was private." He flung open the entry door to their suite, turning to stare at her with eyes so devoid in emotion; his own defence mechanism. "And to add that I do it with passion."

"I did no such thing!"

The door slammed.

"William!"


More than the slamming of the draw. More than the slamming of the door. More than anything else he said, three words rang in her head: "It was private."

Was. As in the past tense. Had her actions, as seemingly innocent as she'd thought at the time, meant that William would read to her no longer? Had her few words to Emily truly ruined such a special activity between them.

She paced their suite, swiped at the tears on her cheeks, then proceeded to place a measured kick to a leg of their bed. She cursed.

She was angry. Angry at William for walking out. Angry at Emily for teasing her husband. And truthfully, she was mostly furious at herself. She could have been more discrete. She could have engaged with William's hurt, rather than act in defence and hide her vulnerabilities: a result of a lifetime of fighting those who belittled her, tormented her, and stood in her way. But she knew she had to unlearn that behaviour where her husband was concerned. It was just difficult to remember to temper her response in the heat of the moment.

She heaved a sighed, dropped onto the bed and massaged her injured toes.

An apology was in order.


It was almost midnight when the click of the door drew her to her feet and over to the entryway, so that she was in front of him before he'd fully entered their suite.

"Julia, I'm tired," he sighed, shoulders slumped. "I just want to go to bed."

"Wait, please." She took his hand, tugging at it until he acquiesced. He fingers remained unresponsive in hers, but at least he allowed her to lead him to the settee and pull him down with her.

She picked up the book, laying open on the page she'd picked out earlier while she'd awaited his return. She heaved a deep, tremoring breath, and began. "My shame and guilt confounds me. / Forgive me, Valentine: if hearty sorrow / Be a sufficient ransom for offence, / I tender 't here; I do as truly suffer / As e'er I did commit."

There was silence, during which Julia stared at the book, her heart thumping hard and rapid. William was silent.

"Forgive me?" she eventually asked in a small voice.

He scrubbed his face, weary and conflicted. Julia was at least exhibiting some openness, and to her credit, she did not attempt to use the tears in her eyes to sway him. Yet nothing of importance had been spoken. He attempted to say as much to her.

She was silent a moment, her gaze on the book while she gathered herself. Eventually, she braved meeting his eyes, and began. "William, I am sorry about how I reacted earlier. I shouldn't have been so dismissive of your feelings. I…" She trailed off then huffed; knowing she needed to explain did not make saying the words any easier. Yet she forced herself to continue. "I know I have a tendency to react defensively when I'm challenged, but in this case, it was an unwarranted response."

"I appreciate the honesty," he gave, softening a little. But the true core of their disagreement had yet to be addressed. "But why did you share such private details with Doctor Grace in the first place?"

"I was jealous, I suppose." She flushed. "Emily said that you quoted Hamlet to her. And I misunderstood, thinking that you read to her. I… I consider it special between us, and it hurt to think that you would share that with someone else."

"Julia-" he began, but she cut him off with a shake of her head.

"Emily explained that you merely quoted the play. Yet she was so confused by my reaction, that I felt I had to share that you sometimes read to me. But I promise that I gave no further details. I merely mentioned that it was lovely. That's all."

"Julia…" he tried again, and upon receiving no interruption, he continued. "I can promise you that I have not, nor will not, read with anyone other than you."

She allowed herself a small smile, yet there was one final concern. "And may we continue in the future? Or… Or have I ruined it for you?"

She looked so vulnerable, so unlike the defensive version of his wife of earlier, that he finally completed the connection and tugged her towards him. "You haven't ruined anything, Julia. Of course we will continue to read together. I believe it is an act that is as special for me as it is for you. And, I think you'll agree, that that is why it should be kept between us; no one else needs to know."


A/N: Thank you for reading. Not my best, but I haven't had much time to write recently, so I'm a bit rusty.

In 07:06 Murdochophobia, William quotes Shakespeare's Hamlet ('shuffle off this mortal coil') to Emily. Julia reads The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act V, Scene IV.