Lucien poured his whiskey expertly, letting it rise to just the right level, tipping the bottle to stop it just so, not to miss a drop. It was disturbingly routine. They had just finished dinner, as they did most nights, and Jean had suggested a celebratory drink. Of course, he'd said. He poured a sherry for Jean with the same precision. She'd looked at him with such wonder, such pride he couldn't help but agree with every suggestion and follow her lead. But he knew routine was dangerous. This was a special moment, but not the special moment he intended, and if he wasn't careful, he'd get swept away and just let the night unfold as Jean assumed it would. A nice night by the fire. Maybe a stolen kiss. Maybe…

"It was lovely to see that little girl smiling again," Lucien said, bringing the drinks in and thinking he would figure out what to say next… next.

"And Judith Chapman?" Jean asked as he walked in, drinks in hand.

Jean bent over the record player as he walked in and he slowed his step, just looking. There wasn't a detail of Jean he didn't notice. It would be rude to comment though, wouldn't it? He definitely noticed the curve of her hip as she worked and he said a silent prayer it would plague her a moment longer. She fiddled with it for a moment to get it right, but straightened up all too soon.

Lucien took a moment to remember what they were talking about, and then brought himself back to the current moment. "Doing well, thankfully," he said. "I'd say she can expect to make a full recovery." He handed Jean the drink and as she took it she looked at him like he'd single-handedly saved every one of them. But of course, he'd never have done it without Jean.

"Oh, thank goodness you got to her in time."

"Well, we were lucky."

"And that little girl still has her family tonight, because of you."

Lucien extended his arm to toast Jean. He should be enjoying the praise. She looked so proud. How many days would he have given anything to see her look at him like that, to have deserved it. But now it only made his stomach drop because this was the wrong thing. This was not how tonight was supposed to go and it would be so easy to let it. He had to change course. He would. If he could foil a kidnapping and return a little girl to her mother certainly he could stop the train of conversation and go fetch a ring.

"Jean, would you mind, um, would you mind just… waiting here? Just for a moment?" He held out his hand toward her, like what, like he was telling her to stay? What was wrong with him. Just handle things and she'll not remember what came before.

Jean looked concerned as she said, "Alright." And rightfully so, he was already on the verge of mucking this up.

"Right," he said, hurrying to his surgery. He just needed the box and he would be back and he would find a way to get through the next excruciating moment. She would say yes, wouldn't she? She would be perfectly within her rights to say no, but oh, he felt like she wanted to say yes if he could just pose the question. He opened his desk drawer and withdrew the small black box. His mother's ring. He'd seen it so often as a boy. It was part of her. It was her. He brought it to his lips and kissed the cold stone. He should think of his mother, he felt. He should want her blessing, perhaps offer a prayer, but his only thoughts were for Jean, waiting in that other room, thinking who knew what. He'd spent enough time thinking of his mother. He just needed to get back to Jean. He tucked the ring in his vest pocket and returned.

She sat just in front of him.

He tugged on his vest, reassuring himself it was there. So much had brought both of them here, and now they had just one more moment to get through. But he couldn't get the words out. It was probably because she was sitting. A moment like this one needed to stand for.

"Jean, would you mind standing for me, please?"

She stood, of course, though she looked perplexed. And… oh, he still couldn't get the words out. This was all wrong. Awkward and wrong.

"Actually, do you know what, let's have a seat." He held his hand out, again, like she couldn't figure out how to sit or stand without his direction. If he could just get through this one moment, everything would be okay. He took a breath. But he had no idea how to start, what to say. Perhaps, he thought at last, the ring could say it for him.

He withdrew it from his vest pocket. He opened the small black box. And Jean's eyes went from concerned to a dawning understanding.

"Jean, this was my mother's ring."

"Lucien,"

Jean's eyes moved from the ring to Lucien's face, but she moved nothing else, like they were both caught in a spell she was afraid to break. But it was alright. They were already moving through the hardest moment. They were almost to the other side. There was just one more thing to say.

"And I would very much…"

Just get it out. Just say it.

But a knock sounded at the door. Lucien exhaled. "Ah, that's probably Charlie." Lucien set the ring down and held up a finger toward Jean whose eyes were trained back on the ring like it was a talisman she was afraid to look away from. "I'll, I'll be right back." It was truly terrible timing, but now he was breathing normally again, smiling even. It was just enough to break the tension. He'd go back in and get out the actual question. He'd go down on one knee. He'd already seen the answer in her eyes. She'd be his in moments. They'd be each others'. He just had to dispatch with Charlie, but Charlie was a good boy and he'd make himself scarce once he understood. Then he'd be on hand to celebrate. Perhaps they'd round up Rose, as well.

"Perfect timing, Charlie!" Lucien called out as he swung the door wide.

"Lucien, who is it?"

******

Jean fiddled with the record player but it took her a moment to get it right. She couldn't quite make her fingers work. She kept thinking of Elizabeth and how very near she'd come to heartbreak. One doesn't recover from losing a parent like that. Loss is devastating for a child. You can only hope there are good people in your life to carry you through, and even then, it's a matter of piecing yourself back together, of holding on through the pain. It's never what life could have been. Jean had her own catalogue of losses; lost dreams, lost pride, lost people. But at this moment, none of those held any pain for her. She was thankful, utterly and perhaps unaccountably thankful for whatever moments in her life had brought her to this one.

But tonight was not about her. Tonight she simply wanted to celebrate that a little girl had been saved from crippling loss. Jean couldn't help feeling pride, personal pride in that man. To have that kind of mind, and that kind of fortitude, to persevere, well, for all the pompousness he could put on, she didn't really think he knew his gifts. She wanted to make sure he knew tonight. She'd certainly pointed out when he fell short. He should know just how proud of him she was.

He walked in with their drinks and she did just that, or she tried. He seemed more distracted than usual. Typically after solving a case he seemed more at home, more present. His mind didn't have to constantly run in the background, but it seemed to still be spinning tonight and she wondered why.

"Jean, would you mind, um, would you mind just… waiting here?"

"Alright," she said. She wondered if she'd said too much, but no, Lucien was a man who could accept praise. Perhaps she'd not said enough. It was curious. She took a seat on the settee, slowly. There was nothing to do at the moment but sip her sherry and wait.

As she did her mind drifted in ways she was unaccustomed to. She tried to pull it back to the present, but it lingered on the feel of Lucien's lower lip inside her mouth – firm and soft and pushing for more. And she needed to stop remembering right now. She wasn't the kind of person who let her mind linger on those things, but, honestly, she hadn't recognized herself since Lucien came to live here. Or had she? In some ways, she felt more herself than she ever had. There would be another kiss, she decided, and soon. If he would just come back from wherever he went. She felt particularly warm and, well, it must be the sherry. She took another sip.

Lucien did return and looked just as distracted as when he'd left. Why did he want her to stand? He patted his vest like he did when he was nervous then suggested they sit. She'd never seen him so nervous. Had he finished his whiskey? Perhaps she should offer him another. She tried not to think of all the other ways she'd like to put him at ease. Maybe there were things about the case he needed to get off his mind. It had to have been unsettling.

But then he started speaking and it was not about the case.

He pulled a box out of his pocket.

A small, square box.

It couldn't be. Could it?

"Jean, this was my mother's ring."

Jean's mind couldn't quite take it all in. His mother's ring. The mother who had so captivated him he hadn't noticed Jean's leaving, nearly. The mother he loved like he'd never been able to love his father, or probably anyone. Her ring. And it had to mean… but did it?

"And I hope very much…"

It did. He was going to ask her to be his wife. He wanted her. He wanted her right now. The swell of feeling she'd experienced on the bus when he walked in was nothing compared to this moment. But it had yet to wash over her completely. The joy felt just a breath out of reach. She still waited to make sure this was real. To hear him say it, ask it.

On that bus to Adelaide all he had to do was walk in and sit down and she was his. She'd been waiting just to know he wanted her. And she hadn't loved how that felt, how vulnerable and out of control. But this was different. He was the one halting and nervous. As though he honestly weren't sure how she'd respond. How could he not be sure?

She opened her mouth and took in a breath. She'd ease his nerves right now.

But a knock came at the door and they both startled.

"That must be Charlie," Lucien said.

She was too shocked by the entire moment to stop him, but had enough of her wits about her still to know that Charlie never knocked. A shadow hung over the still waiting joy.

Lucien seemed to need this break to gather himself and catch his breath. Maybe it was for the best. The worst this could be is Matthew demanding his presence and they only had to put him off a moment. Lucien would come back with his wide smile. He'd take her hand in both of his enormous, warm hands and she'd be his. They'd be each other's.

But even then, did she know? Looking back she thought perhaps she did. Or was it just simply fear whispering in her ear that she had no right to this happiness. She who had so transgressed, who considered more transgressions even now. She was never made to be this happy.

Later, she'd wonder if it was all for the best. What happiness could compete with that moment of apprehension and anticipation as she waited for Lucien to return? Maybe nothing would have lived up to it. Regardless of what should have been or could have been Jean would have to live with what was. And somewhere deep in her heart she needed to know what was right then. So when the door opened she moved to the hallway and even then the shadow was creeping farther over her heart as she called out, asking who it was

She needn't have. She'd have recognized the shape anywhere.

Lucien held the door ajar, and a man, tall and lean and dark with the exact same posture as her Jack gazed in at her, and she answered her own question.

"It's my husband."