Sorry again for the wait - this will be the last chapter of this fic, so I wanted to get it right. I hope it was worth the wait - please let me know :)

They drew up as close to the water's edge and snuggled together, Shelagh's head resting against her husband's shoulder. She inhaled the familiar scent of his trusty beige overcoat, a contented smile playing across her sleepy features. The sun began to rise, a great crimson orb against the skyline of tenements and workshops. "Red sky in the morning, shepherd's warning," she muttered, delirious in her heady mix of exhaustion and pleasure.

"What does it mean for the medical profession, that's what I really need to know. I could do with a nice quiet day of paperwork and tea-drinking after the night we've had."

"Indeed." Shelagh raised her eyebrows and took her husband's hand, weaving her fingers into his. Together they watched their fingers entwine with enraptured faces, and, although they had done this simple gesture a thousand times before, became lost in the moment as if a revelation was occurring, and the only thing that mattered in the world was the isolated contact between them. Patrick pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips.

"Shelagh?" murmured Patrick.

"Yes?"

"You're wonderful, you know that? That look you gave Mrs Harvey after she teased you."

"Doctor Turner, if you don't shut up-"

"Yes, Nurse, I know my place." He grinned to himself and absently placed his hand on his wife's knee, playing with the hem of her uniform until Shelagh brushed him away, only to recapture his hand in both of her own. "Doesn't miss a thing that Mrs Harvey," he continued, throwing Shelagh a disarming smile. "Although I also saw you sigh when you handed the baby over."

"That's a midwife's hardest job," she replied, glad she was sitting down as she was sure that smile of his when it caught her off guard like that had a one hundred per cent success rate of making her go peculiarly light headed.

"It needn't be, you know. You don't have to spend your life giving them back. You could have your own."

Shelagh's heart leapt to her mouth. "Yes-"

"But don't feel as if you have to even take that step at all, I know we haven't really talked about it before - it would be the most tremendous step for you, and I don't want you to feel like it's an expectation." Patrick, having built himself up to this moment, was on the verge of gabbling. To tell the truth he was about the whole topic, not wanting to make his wife feel uncomfortable, but feeling like there were things that needed to be said now they were well into their marriage.

There was a pause as Shelagh withdrew her hand from his grip and sat up straight. "Patrick-"

"But Mrs Harvey was probably right. We've got plenty of time for all that sort of thing. We don't want to rush into things do we? I want to enjoy my beautiful wife alone for a bit longer first."

Shelagh avoided his doting gaze, letting out a quiet breath. She was so tired she was finding it hard to think straight.

"Doctor Turner, I do believe you're getting sentimental in your old age," she sighed, patting his hand and receiving a snort in response. She turned to face the windscreen, just in time to see the sun clear the soot-blackened rooftops, its reflection a flame of orange on her glasses that masked the unrest that flickered in her eyes.

"Perhaps you're right. But I think we need some food inside us, Mrs Turner, what do you say to that?" Shelagh looked up into his open, generous face and she felt her insides scrunch up with love and longing and trepidation.

"Yes," she said, rewarding him with a spontaneous kiss on the lips which was rather more to give her strength than for his benefit. It was a somewhat reserved kiss, but considering the docks were beginning to come to life around them, for Shelagh it was rather brazen.

"You're not yourself," Patrick teased when he finally drew himself away to start the car.

"No, I'm not really," came the breathless reply.

No sooner had they pulled away from the waterfront, Shelagh had fallen asleep. Patrick could see her in the rear-view mirror as he drove, young and vulnerable looking, as she always was when she slept; her lips had parted slightly and her forehead was faintly creased above the gentle slant of her eyebrows. Patrick noticed with an affectionate smile that the top button of her uniform had come undone, the silver cross pendant that Timothy had bought her catching the sunlight, gleaming star-like, from the shadow of her collar, drawing attention to the exposed skin that would have mortified the Sister Bernadette that once was. One of Shelagh's hands lay just brushing his by the handbrake. The other hand had come to rest comfortably on her abdomen. Patrick registered this, then nearly stalled the car. His eyes kept flicking to the mirror - sure enough, her hand remained placed surely and protectively in this tell-tale place. A coincidence surely.

When they pulled into the driveway, Patrick gingerly placed his hand over hers on her stomach then waited a few seconds before waking her. As soon as the sleepy haze cleared from Shelagh's mind she felt her husband's hand on hers and hurriedly changed position, blushing violently.

"Shelagh?" he began, then, with a tense laugh, "Sorry if I startled you. My God, darling, you look terrified." Shelagh was indeed staring wide-eyed up at him, desperately tracing his features for any sign of understanding.

"I am a bit," she admitted, taking a deep breath, knowing now that the game was finally up.

"Mrs Turner, what's going on?" Shelagh's eyes flickered inadvertently downwards. She checked herself, but was not quick enough for Patrick not to notice this, and he breathed out sharply.

"I think you've discovered what," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Shelagh, you're not-?"

"We're going to have a baby, Patrick... I'm pregnant."

"Pregnant" he echoed, although no sound came out of his mouth. Shelagh's gaze fell immediately to her lap. Only twenty minutes ago he had said they shouldn't rush into this, that it was too early. Was that really what he believed? She couldn't bring herself to look up at his face, no matter how desperately she longed for one of his soothing gazes; she couldn't even formulate words in her mind to pray. But before she knew it she felt trembling fingers beneath her chin, and her face was reverently lifted, those warm, healing hands moving to smooth her hair away from her forehead and cup her face. With shock she saw that Patrick was crying. Crying with pure, unbridled joy, the smile that stretched from ear to ear emanating shock and elation and disbelief and love. And suddenly Shelagh was crying too and they were clinging together clumsily in the front of the car, unable to speak for a few long minutes.

Patrick composed himself and sat back in his seat, completely incapable of preventing himself from grinning foolishly. Whenever he opened his mouth to speak he found himself laughing with exhilaration, and he kept staring in disbelief at his wife's still trim stomach. "But you don't look pregnant."

"Oh for goodness sake, are you a doctor, or aren't you?" Shelagh was glowing with relief and adoration, feeling rather in control in comparison to the emotional wreck beside her.

"I never dreamed I would hear those words again," he breathed.

"I know. It's pretty unbelievable for me as well."

"Quite." Patrick kissed her again for good measure. "But it's wonderful, isn't it? Even if a bit earlier than imagined. In fact, I might even stretch to say that it's tickety-boo and absolutely bloody marvellous."

End.

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