Author: Regency
Title: The Key to Happiness
Pairing: Mark Darcy/Bridget Jones
Warnings: None
Rating: E/General
Summary: (Spoilers for BJB.) Bridget gives Mark a gift. Because their love for each other isn't just something they talk about anymore. It's something they show.
Prompt: 'Mark/Bridget #134 "Here, let me see" or #139 "What's behind your back?"
Author's Notes: Come flail with me on Tumblr at sententiousandbellicose. You can prompt me things!
Disclaimer: I don't own any characters recognizable as being from any incarnation of the Bridget Jones series. They are the property of their actors, producers, writers, and studios, not me. No copyright infringement was intended and no money was made in the writing or distribution of this story. It was good, clean fun.
Although Mark's been staying at Bridget's place, in Bridget's bed, since she and William came home from the hospital, they aren't officially living together. Their new relationship is only, well, as old as their son, and they're both understandably determined to take it slow. They have a child to think about now and any mistakes they make will influence his happiness and his future. He's the only person in the world they love more than each other. Mark's words, and she hasn't stopped thinking them since he said them. The ripple effect they've caused in their relationship spreads by the day. It's in Mark texting that he'll be late and bring back tiramisu to share. In Bridget conveniently walking William past the courthouse when Mark's trials are in recess (his assistant is very helpful). In Mark waking even earlier to be with the baby so she can lie-in a little bit late. The only person we love more than each other. It's rather a lot of love to go round.
Mark reminded her that love isn't just words, however pretty the phrasing. Love is action. So Bridget feels perfectly justified in blaming him for how awkward this feels. Go on, then. Just do it already. It can't be that hard.
"What's behind your back?"
Bridget startles. She'd been sure Mark was too busy feeding William his bottle to notice her lurking at the kitchen counter.
"What? Nothing. There's nothing."
Bridget is neither a gifted actor nor a practiced liar. It's actually sort of shameful how bad she is at it, given the past year or so of her life. Maybe because of the last year. Nothing good had come from keeping secrets or trying to hide things. Complications only bred heartier complications, and she can't bear any more of that. She wants, not simple exactly, but straightforward in her life now. She wants to say what needs saying instead of hoping Mark will read between the lines.
Mark sets down Will's empty bottle to shift him for a burp. They're both adapting nicely to the addition of regurgitated milk to their lives. Mark's cashmere jumpers will never be the same.
"Very convincing. Shall I just look or is this meant to be a surprise?"
Will goes down into his rocker with nary a complaint, belly full and settled for at least another few hours. Were he a bit older Bridget is sure her son would be laughing at what a fool mummy's making of herself. He'll have many opportunities to get used to it. She rubs his tummy just because it's there to be rubbed. He gurgles. What a happy son she has.
"I hope it's not surprising. It's supposed to make sense. It's…" She blows rather expansively and presents him with the trinket from her back pocket outright. "I meant to wrap it and do a whole production, but Will needed changing and I forgot to buy those steaks you like at the store, and Will needed changing again and then I was too tired to wrap it, and we were out of gift wrap anyway and–"
"A key?"
It's an old key. It even has a chipped speck of nail varnish used to mark it for someone other than herself. He's lucky she hasn't had to change the locks.
"Recognize it?"
"I do." He flips it over. His initials are faded on the back in permanent marker. She hasn't had occasion to give it to anyone else. She'd had a new, separate copy made for Jack. He returned it before his flight back to the States. "You think I've earned this back?"
"I think you're trying, maybe more than you ever have. You really know how to give it your all." With a passion that borders on desperation. It occurs to Bridget that Mark must think this is his last chance. Their past is speckled with 'last chances' gone to pot; this one is the most important yet. She can't blame Mark for everything that went wrong in the past: she could be as closemouthed and expectant as he could be long-suffering and dismissive. Both had bad habits that needed airing. By the same token, both have made positive changes that deserve to be rewarded. This is Mark's.
"I know you're doing all you can and I love you for it." More than there are words to describe. "But you don't need to try so hard. I'm not about to chuck you out. This isn't a trial run." She shrugs her shoulders. "You're not a visitor anymore, Mark, you live here, and you should have a key."
Mark's expression runs the gamut. He plays at being unflappable, but she hasn't met anyone yet who feels as deeply as he does under that benign exterior. It was his mystery that seduced her all those years ago; now, it's just the truth she loves. Mark Darcy, competent, brilliant, constantly annoyed and in a state of emotional turmoil. Repressed Englishman in love. Her repressed Englishman still madly in love with her. Aren't they a pair?
"Well. Thank you," he manages past the obvious lump in his throat and closes his hand around the key. She takes pity on the wobbly he's having and hugs him as she loves him: resolutely and much too easily. Not that she minds being the one to bend this time. They've five years of hugging to make up for. Not to mention other things. Many, many other things.
"You're home, now. No more ringing the doorbell and waking the baby. Just come right in." And never leave again, she thinks, but she can't say that yet. There'll be time for that. Years for that.
Mark hugs her back with all his considerable might, lifting her right off the ground. "I think I will."
And just like that, Mark comes home to stay.