So this is a bit of a filler chapter. Not a lot of plot happenings here. But there's a small bit of Frary fluff and a little bit of lemons. Fair warning and happy reading.

There was a palpable tension in the air as he gently pushed open the door, the room rife with the smell of grief and despair, dark in the late hour. Guilt racked him as he gently pulled the door closed behind him to stand within the walls, indecision battling internally. He could tell from the sound of her breathing across the room that she was still awake. Francis could see the flutter of her dark lashes against the stark contrast of her pale skin from where she lay in their bed in the middle of the room, hand balled into a fist next to her face, breathing in his proximity from his spot across from her.

"Shall I find another place to sleep?" He whispered into the still air.

Silence greeted his ears and Francis wondered if she had perhaps fallen asleep. He contemplated leaving but the thought of spending another night away from her when she was within the same walls as him was unimaginable.

"No," was her quiet response after a long pause.

Relief was letting out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. On careful feet he closed the distance between them, placing himself delicately on the edge of the bed, his lower back pressed against the warm curve of her legs beneath the blankets.

"Mary." Her name was a welcome on his lips after his time away from her, full of the sorrow of his decisions, heavy with promise he dared not speak just yet.

With a hesitant movement, she reached out and placed her warm hand on the cool fabric of his knee. It was the only sign he needed from her. Francis turned to look into her face, blank expression, hand still touching him. His own fingers found the soft skin of her face, thumb caressing the bone of her cheek.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, anguish filling his voice at the pain he had caused his wife.

"I know," she replied.

Silence filled the gap between them, heavy with the things neither was ready to say.

"Stay with me tonight?" She asked.

Francis smiled. "Always."

He gently crawled over her body to his spot in the bed, cold from his absence, and settled himself next to Mary, wanting desperately to touch her but not knowing if she could allow it. Her body turned in the bed to face him, hands carefully pressed tight against her own body, wanting desperately to reach out but fighting an internal battle.

Mary wanted so badly to just forgive him. To forgive them. To not be Catherine and treat the child with distain and spite. But she wasn't ready. Couldn't quite bring herself to push past the pain of their betrayal and move forward. But if she couldn't forgive him, she could always just try to forget for awhile. There was her husband, the one she loved so dearly, back in their bed after their time apart, so close she could touch him. Perhaps she didn't have to forgive him quite yet, but could still benefit from his presence, could still revel in her happiness at having him back home.

She crossed the distance between them and placed her hand on his face and gently moved her body forward, her front touching his, the warmth of his skin seeping into her own, leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, relishing the taste of him, the feel of him. His response was instant, hand snaking around her waist, pulling her tighter to him, mouth eagerly pressed against her own, his knee gently pressing its way between her own and coming to rest in the folds of fabric of her nightdress.

"But I thought," he said in between her eager kisses. "You needed…"

She responded not with words but with more kisses, his lips, his cheeks, down the hard line of his jaw to the tender spot of his neck, grazing lightly with her teeth to illicit the response she wanted. It had the desired effect and his words stopped flowing, distracted by the feel of her beneath him. She let her hands wander from his face, slowing tracing down his chest, his back, tantalizingly slow until they reached the band of his pants. She felt him flex instinctively beneath her fingers, dipping slowly beneath the band until her hands found what they were looking for. He moaned hard into her mouth as she stroked him, his hands desperately pulling the fabric of her dress upwards and off her body.

Francis wasn't sure how this constituted space but he wasn't complaining, not with her naked body beneath his own, her mouth pressed hard into his, her hands tracing sensitive circles against the tender skin of his sides. He had longed for her since the moment he had left her side. Their passion reached a peak in a blinding explosion that left them both exhausted and panting against the sheets, Mary draped over Francis' chest, Francis toying gently with the tangled strands of her hair splayed across the pillows.

"You know I love you, don't you?" He whispered into the top of her head, pressing a kiss to prove his point.

"I do."

Francis didn't know how else to apologise for his indiscretion, he could only hope that Mary could find it in her heart to forgive him. And though she had given herself to him on the night of their reunion, Francis knew that by no means did it mean that she had moved past him having a child with one of her ladies.

"Your kisses are more easily attained than your words."

She fulfilled his statement by remaining silent. "I'm sorry," she finally said.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for, Mary. I'm just grateful that you're allowing me to stay with you."

"You're my husband, Francis. Where else should you be than beside me?"

He smiled and pressed his lips to her forehead. "There's nowhere else I would ever want to be."

Mary closed her eyes and hoped more than anything that his statement was true. She had firsthand seen the bond between Diane and Henry, lives forever entwined by the son they shared, a bond that could never be broken. Mary hoped that Francis and Lola could maintain a civil relationship for the benefit of their child, but no more. Francis was her husband and she refused to live like Catherine, sharing a man and his love. She respected herself too much for that.

"We should sleep. You must be exhausted after your long journey."

Francis nodded in agreement. "You don't want to talk about anything before we do? I want you to be able to share your feelings with me, Mary."

She smiled solemnly. "I will, Francis. Just not tonight."

His expression remained blank as he nodded. "Okay, Mary."

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, extracted herself from the folds of his arms, rolled over in the bed so her back was to him, and gently drifted off into an uneasy sleep.