(Happier) Epilogue.
He had seen her briefly at the hospital earlier that day. Finding her beside Matthew's bed he hadn't wanted to intrude, but as soon as she'd seen him she followed him back to his office, leaving Matthew to sleep. He gathered that she had already been there for a while whilst he had been busy with administration, and that Matthew was quite tired out. He suspected that she probably was too, but didn't say anything about it to her. She sat quite calmly in the chair at the other side of his desk, her hands resting in her lap. At moments, as she listened to him talk about her son's condition, she looked young and frightened, at others the epitome of composed resolution. She did not ask any questions, to an experienced nurse like herself the case virtually explained itself.
Throughout, it was difficult for him not to think of the last time he had seen her: her, her face when she had first seen him in that house in Bloomsbury; her, how she had looked and felt as he had made love to her, waking with her body beside his in the morning; her getting onto a train at King's Cross; her plaintively beautiful little whisper that she would want to marry him. That she wanted to marry him. Obviously, he knew that there was every chance that would have changed by now; so much had changed, almost too much to contemplate. But, by God, he hoped she still wanted to. He could hardly bear not being able to reach out and comfort her now, or get up, move round the desk and take her in his arms. Kiss her until she could forget everything. He badly badly wanted to, but he didn't know if she would want it, and so he remained sitting as he was.
"Mrs Crawley," he said, just as she was about to leave.
The look in her eyes as she turned around was a little bit surprised; he suspected that it was at his formality. As flush of relief flooded through him.
"Isobel," he corrected himself, barely able to disguise a small smile at being able to call her that again, "How have you been?"
"Much the same as ever," she told him, putting her coat back on, "Coping, just like everyone else is."
He hastened to help her with the coat.
"No, really," he hadn't quite meant it like that. What he wanted to ask was if she had been lonely. Had she thought of him? Had she missed him like he had missed her? For her sake, he hoped she hadn't. "Were you alright?"
His hand, though up until now he had been so careful to give her her enough space, not to overwhelm her, had found its way to hers, lingering hesitantly beside it. However, it seemed to help her get the picture. Smiling at him, she slipped her hand into his and squeezed it tightly.
"I was almost alright," she told him, "But for one thing."
Then she brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. It didn't feel odd at all, only natural. She was such a wonderful, brave woman to be in love with. He lent in and kissed her lips quickly, not letting go of her hand. She was exactly as he had remembered her.
They were saved from becoming completely absorbed in each other by the sound of something made of glass being dropped and smashing from outside the door.
"I'd better see what's going on," he had told her, "They can't be left alone for a moment. Are you back for good?" he asked suddenly, realising that he had merely assumed that she would be, the thought of anything else being too awful to want to contemplate.
"As long as my son is like that, I'm not going anywhere."
"Then you know where I am," he told her quietly, "If you want me."
He knew she understood him this time, he meant it in every sense.
"Thank you, Richard."
At the time he wished that it wouldn't have been so highly impractical for them to fall into each others arms there and then. It had seemed that they had both wanted to; a notion confirmed by the indisputable fact that she was now, a good few hours later, standing at his front door, a small case in her hand.
For a moment, he was so happy to see her that he simply stood there looking at her, taking in the sight of her and trying to convince himself that she was real and here with him. It wouldn't be the first time that he had imagined it, but she was so vivid that there was no way it could not be her.
"Crawley House feels dreadfully lonely without Matthew there," she told him by way of explanation, "I had forgotten what it's like."
He stood aside to let her in, helping her to take her coat off and taking case up the stairs. She had a funny feeling that it ended up in his bedroom. She hoped it did.
She followed him gratefully into the little sitting room when he returned, settling herself on the settee. She had been to his house for a few brief visits before, but never in the evening. It was much more like a home then. The fire was still going and she was thankful for it, she had been feeling unaccountably cold all day.
"Can I get you anything?" he asked her, "Tea or-..."
"No thank you, Richard. I'd rather you just-... just stayed with me for a little while. If that's alright."
She wondered if he had any idea of what an effort it was for her to ask him that; to begin after so many months of soldiering on, ignoring her own needs because the needs of those around her were so much greater, to articulate what she wanted, and how badly she wanted it.
"Of course it is."
She wondered if he could tell that what she had really wanted to ask was for him to hold her, and make her feel like he had done in London. He sat down beside her, his arm stretched away from his chest, inviting her to lean into him if she wanted to. Gratefully, she nestled herself under his arm and then, almost as if he could sense that she wanted to be closer still, he gently lifted her to sit in his lap. Nothing needed to be said for a very long time; the way that there bodies simply fell together was enough. As he had done before, his hand found the main clip holding her hair up and loosened it, letting her hair fall down her back so that he could stroke it gently. Her forehead rested in the crook of his neck, and he could feel her breath where he had unfastened his collar. Her hand rested flat against his waistcoat, feeling his pulse softly through the layers of clothing. No doubt, later on she would want to feel it much more closely, but not yet. She was immensely thankful that they were finding it this easy to be back together after all the time they had spent apart.
"Isobel," he asked tentatively after a while, "Was it awful?"
"I don't think hospitals are ever very pleasant in wartime," she replied, "I was jut fortunate that I knew more or less what to expect, it was no worse than I've seen before. I think some of the younger girls might have got quite a nasty shock."
"And away from the hospital?"
"Paris is beautiful," she replied simply, "There was always something to see somewhere but..."
"You were lonely," he finished for her.
She nodded against his neck.
"Was there no one you could talk to?" he asked. She could hear the pity in his voice.
"There were a few of the younger nurses who I took under my wing and-..." she caught herself just before she said it.
He noticed.
"And what?"
"I want to tell you the truth, Richard, but I don't want to upset you."
She could tell by the way his body suddenly tensed that avoiding upsetting him was now synonymous with telling him the whole truth.
"There was a man, a doctor as it happened, who I was rather friendly with. Only friendly," she added quickly, feeling him almost shudder, "He was a few years younger than me. All I ever was was his friend, Richard, I promise you that. I think there was a time where he thought there might be something more, but I put a stop to it. I didn't think he'd believe that I was engaged, so I told him that I was married. To you. Was that wrong of me?"
She looked tentatively up into his eyes and instantly found her answer. All she could see in them was love. She stretched up to kiss his lips, feeling his arms tighten around her, drawing her to him. By the time they broke apart, the fire had flickered out. She rested her forehead against his chin, feeling her heart beat wonderfully quickly.
"Would you like to go to bed?" he asked her, "You must be exhausted after-..."
"I'd like to go to bed," she cut across him, "But I'm not tired."
"Are you sure?" he asked her cautiously, "Please don't feel as if you have to. I will hold you for the whole night, if that's what you want. I don't want to do anything that you don't want to."
"I know that. But I want to."
This time he led her up the stairs. His bedroom was quite small- it was a fairly small house- but big enough to be comfortable. In fact, it was quite a large room, only the bed seemed to take up so much space. Taking off her shoes carefully, she stood back up to find him watching her closely.
"Richard-..." she found her voice was almost hoarse with longing, and she was silenced quickly as he kissed her, wrapping his arms around her, pressing her tightly to his chest. The contact, though through many layers of clothing, was blissful. Opening her lips, his tongue slipped into her mouth, exploring her thoroughly. She was so absorbed in their kiss, that she was only vaguely aware of their reaching the bed and tumbling onto it.
As soon as their lips left each other, she was frustrated by the lack of contact. She needed to undress him, she needed to be undressed so that she could feel him against her skin. She didn't care if it made her wanton, brazen, any other self-righteous label that could be thrown on it. She wanted him. Reaching out, she began to unbutton his shirt, and was glad when she felt him do the same to her blouse.
This time there was no thought of turning out the light, she liked the implicit honesty between them, the need to hide absolutely nothing. Her hair loose and tumbling about her shoulders, she saw the passion she was evoking in his eyes as he looked at her. It didn't occur to her to wonder how, she knew that he was doing exactly the same to her. He removed her skirt and then, coaxing her to sit up, her corset. After a few moments lavishing attention to her breasts, he quickly stood up and removed his trousers, which she had already unfastened, and his shorts before sitting back down on the bed.
"Come here," he told her. The commanding tone in his voice was at the same time reassuring and sent shivers down her spine.
Gently, he coaxed her to sit in his lap, his excitement so close to her own that it almost unnerved her. It was difficult, at any rate, to keep herself in check. He rested his head on her shoulder, naturally drawing their bodies close together. One of his hands slipped between their bodies to knead her breasts, but what really drove her mad was his other hand, lightly, gently, running up and down the inside of her thigh near where it touched against his hip. When she thought she had just about adjusted to this- managing, just about, to keep her breathing under control- his head turned on her shoulder and he latched his lips onto her earlobe, sucking playfully. She heard herself moan out loud, as her hand grabbed the back of his head in surprise, winding itself into his hair as spasms of pleasure shot to her fingers. He continued with this until the sensations it created reached fever pitch, and she ground her heat against his thighs, desperately seeking release.
"Shh, Isobel." The sound of his voice low in her ear had any effect but that of calming her down.
She felt his arms move to hold her securely around the abdomen, lifting her gently to lie flat on the bed, moving his legs from under her. In order to allow him to move easily, she spread her legs, and did not have the time or willpower to close them, before she felt him lie between them, stroking the inside of her thigh again. Her hands rested on his shoulders, tightening a little as the little shocks of pleasure flooded through her in waves.
"Richard, touch me, please."
She didn't even care that she was begging him, all she knew was that she needed, she needed-...
She cried out as his fingers pushed her knickers to the side and she felt two of his fingers slipping between her folds and into her. Arching her back, throwing her head back, she fought to keep her breathing under control, knowing how little point there was in trying to hold back or hide the state she was in, trying to deny the extent of the abandoned ecstasy he was capable of evoking in her. The reactions of her body to his tiniest touch, how very very wet she was for him betrayed her explicitly. His fingers moved hard and fast, matching, leading the pace of her hips. When his lips moved and latched onto one of her nipples, sucking it hard between his teeth, as he pressed his thumb firmly against her sex, she knew she was lost, and called out his name as name as she came hard and fast.
Bliss. The most ineffable bliss she had ever felt. The black, all-consuming bliss that she had longed for.
When she regained a sense of who and where she was, she found that he was holding her patiently in his arms, waiting for her to come back to him. As soon as she was able to, she smiled at him.
"Thank you, Richard."
She found that her hand had been clutching at the back of his thick hair. He kissed her lips softly and slowly.
"Do you know, Isobel," he asked her, a tone akin to reverence in his voice, "How beautiful you are?"
She did not know what to say to that, and blinked at him rather confusedly. His hand wandered to her hip, slowly tracing over the gentle roundness there, over the fabric of her knickers to reach her skin again.
"It's alright," she told him as his fingers reached the fabric again after repeating the motion a few times, "You can do it."
He looked up into her eyes and she nodded, before he drew the undergarment down her legs and off. His hand rested almost possessively between her open legs.
"So beautiful," he told her again, "Especially when you're like this."
His other hand resting on her waist, his eyes never leaving her face, his hand slipped back into the curls at her centre, between her wet folds to tease her gently.
She couldn't bear it any more, letting him pleasure her like this, while denying himself. Just able to coordinate her thoughts and her hand, she reached out to touch his excitement. She heard him draw a sharp inward breath of surprise.
"Richard, make love to me. Please."
She knew that he wouldn't need telling twice, but still she guided him to her rather insistently, loving the way he sank himself into her slowly, allowing her to adjust and letting her feel every inch of him. All she could think of when their hips finally met and they lay still for a moment was of how heady the feeling of reunion was between them. The most wonderful thing, as he drew away, and sank back into her, was that this time she did not have to hold on, preserving the final moments before oblivion because she feared that they may be their last. Drawing him close to her as the speed of his thrusts increased, she felt the knot of excitement tightening in her stomach. He came first, exploding inside her with such force that it sent her over the edge as well, her whole body reeling with the wonder of it.
She knew she had called his name at the height of it, but as she calmed back down, their bodies still connected all she could think of was what she whispered again and again amid her shallow breaths:
"I love you. I love you."
End. (Unless anyone wants any more, in which case, ideas to me!)
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