A/N: Set after episode 8, a little make up fic :)
Night had already fallen, but Deborah Goren was still at work. She never complained about all the chores that fell on her. In fact, she was generally rather grateful to be able to help and make a difference in the lives of so many otherwise helpless children, but every now and again she did long for an hour or two to herself - no one tucking at her skirt, no dishes to be washed, no laundry to be folded… It had been so long since she had read a book, a novel, just for herself. Her busy hands stilled for a moment and a sigh passed her lips. No, no time to linger on her own wishes, she told herself, returning to work. She started humming a tune, half Russian lullaby, half made up in her own mind as she continued working through the night. A little while had passed and her tune had changed once or twice already, when she heard a noise. Quieting for a moment, her ears strained to make out the source of it before she decided it must have been the wood creaking. The house was old and she knew its sounds well enough, but recent events had made her more suspicious than usual. Thinking back on them, she smiled faintly. Nevermind the bruises, she thought quietly to herself; she was glad for the change in her routines…
Just as her thoughts began to wander to the particular source of these events, hands settled on her waist. Stiffening, Deborah held her breath, not daring to move. For a moment, she closed her eyes and nearly sent out a silent prayer (even though she had not believed in any sort of benevolent God in a long time), but she was quickly reassured by the familiarity of the big hand sneaking around to her front, spreading out against her corset and pressing her closer. She let out a breath of relief as she felt Edmund bend against her, pressing his cheek against her neck. He himself took a deep breath before whispering an apology in her ear and placing hungry kisses along the line of her collarbone.
"Edmund…" his name passed Deborah's lips as she felt her knees go weak (but his grip was strong and supported her gladly). A deep hum was all the reply she received - neither question nor answer to her unspoken query - before she willingly let her body get turned around to face her silent lover. However, even searching his startlingly blue eyes she did not find an explanation for his unexpected presence. Her lips parted to speak, but were quickly silenced by a hot kiss while his fingers busied themselves with the multitude of buttons and strings that kept her dress wrapped tightly around her body.
Only later, naked limbs tangled in her stark white sheets, he turned to her at last: "I have taken you for granted," he admitted, guilt audible in his words. Deborah merely smiled and stroked the stubble on his cheek with affection. It did not seem her place to speak and so she remained silent as her eyes wandered over the long lines of his body. His mind, she knew, was more like that of a lost little boy's than a grown man's and she had long ago admitted to herself that this made him all the more appealing. He did not need to say things out loud which she already knew (giving was in her nature and she had gladly given herself to him) but she still enjoyed hearing his words spoken so full of sincerity.
"Forgive me," he whispered at last. He leaned in again to cover her body with kisses, stopping only to utter words of appreciation against her skin:
"I do not know where I would be without you."