Thank you so much to my loyal readers. This fic has been a labour of love, and been a slow process of research, house remodelling, rewatching the movie and reading the accompanying book. You've all remained so patient with me, and encouraging of the work. I hope you've enjoyed the story here, and I can't wait to write more for these two. As always, enjoy!

… and flowers in your hair.

"I'm thinking of changing around downstairs. Installing a proper boardroom down there so I can stop having business meetings at coffee shops"

Liz looks up from her morning paper, and watches him standing there in the light of the large kitchen window, and she smiles. Her breath very nearly catches at the sight of him - as it often does - dressed in his casual jeans and tee shirt, one leg kicked over the other as he leans against the bench and sips his coffee.

"If you think it's for the best, you do what you need to do with it" she says.

For the most part, companies ask to see Martin at their own offices, so they can get initial negotiations and site inspection over and done with in the same afternoon. It's only for private clients who seek him out that Martin has to arrange a place to meet, and there are enough quiet lunch spots in the city to choose from in those cases. But to have their own boardroom again - a designated room separate from the chaos of Whistler's equipment; it tells her just how much he's been thinking about this "straight and narrow only" path they've been set on these past weeks.

They've just finished renovations, but so much of that was cosmetic; updating the cupboard doors or replacing the bannisters. A lick of paint here, a new faucet there, ripping up old carpet and staining the boards underneath. The biggest works they did was gutting and replacing the worn old kitchen and bathrooms, but even that was superficial, not so much changing things around as updating them. It was still hard and costly work, but not really on the scale of knocking down walls and changing the floorplan.

"It would just be one wall in and out - open my office up and then wall across the front of the rec area" he says, his body holding more tension than his casual stance would give away. But she can read him, she can see he's nervous to mention this to her.

He's talking about formalising the space - transforming it from the glorified man cave it currently is (with all that junk spread over every surface) and giving it some semblance of order and professionalism. Martin's work has always spoken for itself, and clients regularly refer their friends. Now, though, he's trying to meet her at her level - turn his space into the equivalent of her organised school space on the first floor. Perhaps part of him wants to impress her, or perhaps he wants to see just how formal he can make this business before driving himself mad. Whatever the reason, he's trying new things because he can, and seems to be revelling in the process, so she's not going to argue with his plans at all. She smiles and takes a sip of her coffee to hide it.

"Would you keep the boy's bedroom as it is?" she asks, referring to the bedroom at the back of the basement that's jam-packed with spare beds for them all.

"Oh yeah. Can't change too much too soon" he says. She gives a knowing look. "Besides, where else is Mother supposed to pass out when he comes over here to hide out?"

"Good point"

He can tell she's indulging him, and he likes her for it; she always enjoyed teasing him just the right amount.

"The work space down there has its own side door. It would mean I can bring clients right into the boardroom instead of leading them past the pool table"

She chuckles at him. She does remember one client being particularly critical of the rec space, taking it as an indication of a lack of work ethic. It is a lot of wasted area though, or at least the room is not utilised to its full potential. By putting in the wall and making everything more compact, it might force them to use it in full, instead of leaving a lot of empty corners and dead floor space. She suffers the same problem upstairs, in the absence of the small library they wanted to open - a lot of area for her students to sit and conduct music lessons, but a lot of that middle floor remains underused. Maybe this will be the motivation she needs to finally install those bookshelves and get going on the library.

"I agree with you" she says. "That new set up would be quite professional. Really give it a corporate feel"

"And none of the walls are loadbearing so it would be super easy" he adds. He looks sheepish a moment later; he's done a lot more research into this than he's willing to admit.

She sizes him up with fondness. "You've really given this a lot of thought, haven't you?"

He smiles. "I have"

"And we can afford it?"

"I've already costed it with our carpenter. It's two days work, provided we're happy to order pre-made glazing panels and can paint it ourselves once installed"

She gives him an impressed look. He really did his homework before coming to her about this. Typical Bishop, really, she should have known. She takes in what he said - glazing means he wants at least half the dividing wall panels to be windows like the old loft, which makes sense to let natural light through that bottom floor. Pre-made might be tricky as it requires standard sizing, but she knows Bishop will have thought of that too. And what's a coat of paint, really? Between him and the boys, they'd have it done in an hour.

"Well then. I suppose I better hope you don't accidentally go knocking down our house" she says, and grins at him. He grins too, then it turns into a full-blown smile, before settling back into a look of pure delight, all without saying a word - understanding, acceptance, happiness, just the way she likes it. They really are getting good at it.

"You really are set on going straight, aren't you?" she asks a moment later, eyeing him when he goes to the fridge to dig out some yoghurt.

He turns back to face her, a small tub of Yoplait and a teaspoon in his hand. He gives the question a moment's thought as he meanders to the breakfast table to sit with her.

"For the first time in my life I feel settled" he says, sitting in the chair near hers, bumping her knee with his own as he shuffles forward. "I'm not just content, I feel like I can… breathe"

She reaches over to him and takes his hand in hers. This is a revelation to him, and that makes her sad. He was always a guarded soul - always looking over his shoulder and being cautious. She'd known that about him the moment they met, and she has seen the day-to-day tole it took when they were together before. But it's only seeing him like this - seeing him now with lighter shoulders and features truly relaxed - that she can weight up how damn tiring it must have been to carry his secret around alone, not even confiding in his closest friends. She was always the exception - the one person he finally opened up to - and though she had cherished the secret he had trusted her with, she didn't know (couldn't know) the true burden of it. More and more she can view those times in a new light, with the wisdom of hindsight and understanding easing the ache of those memories. Sometimes it feels like time wasted - that they could have been married with children by now, if only they'd moved forward then.

But then, it must have happened this way for a reason. Cosmo coming back, Janek's box, the Russians… so many events converged and unfolded in exactly the right way to bring about Martin's unconditional pardon. They couldn't have done this back then, and that was exactly the problem.

She has come to appreciate their paths taken, and to make peace with how they came to be in this house, in this moment, free of the difficulties that stopped them before.

"I meant what I said, Liz. I'm really looking forward to giving this a proper shot with you"

"I know you are" she says, running her hand over his forearm.

"No more half-assing it with one foot in the door and one foot out" he continues, his mouth full of yoghurt as he waves his teaspoon in the air. "I'm ready to just… go for it. You inspired me, you know"

"Me?"

"Yeah. When we first met you had completely turned your life around. You gave up the corporate life jet-setting around Asia. You went after your music, which you truly loved, and you didn't look back"

"Well, it wasn't as easy as all that" she says, but the truth is she had been paid very good money with the World Bank, and in her early thirties was primed for a life change, and so it was easier than for most to turn her back on the money and return to her childhood love of music. It had been nagging at her for a while - a sense that her fabulous life was not quite what she wanted - and perhaps some of that had been coming home to roost, but ultimately the passion for music drove her. He'd met her in the midst of her settling down into that life, so it was intriguing to watch him now go through that same transformative process.

"Maybe not. But you made it look effortless" he says, scraping out the yoghurt container with his spoon. "Or at least… I don't know, you looked so content doing it. And I think I understand what that must feel like, and now I'm ready to do it myself. Finally"

She looks at him in a way that feels invasive - reading him like a book. "And I'm right there with you" she says.

One step at a time. He is committed to making this business model work, and to developing a reputation in corporate circles which includes, apparently, having a proper boardroom again. Martin is still adjusting to this life of certainty, just as she is adjusting to having him around all the time and living with a man and tutoring at home like she always meant to do. They've jumped head first into this, and after several months it finally feels like the foundations have settled and they're getting the hang of it. Maybe that's why he wanted to bring this up now - maybe that's where this newfound courage has come from; the bedrock is solid and they can start to build on it now.

She stands up and picks up her coffee cup as she goes, taking it to the sink to rinse out. "I'm going to go check my schedule for the day" she says to him, and runs her hand over the back of his neck as she passes him to attend her study just next door. He shivers a little under her touch (her hands are cold) and a jolt of arousal runs through him. He takes a moment to finish his tiny yoghurt tub, then promptly disposes of it, throws the teaspoon in her mug in the sink, and follows the path she took.

He finds her in the study, standing behind her desk in the middle of the room, her back to a large window, and examining her open daily planner. She's fastidious about it, filling in every little engagement. It's not that she's forgetful, she just likes the organisation - every day, almost down to the hour, is accounted for, even if it's a very definitive nothing.

"You look good" he says, leaning against the doorway. Liz looks up at him and grins. She hasn't showered yet, still wearing black leggings and an oversized jumper that comes down to her mid-thigh. It was the first outfit she saw, thrown over the little chair in their room from the night before.

In an instant her look turns wicked. "You don't look so bad yourself there"

She slowly, teasingly makes her way around to the front of her desk and leans against it, her hands either side of herself, one leg cocked up in a coquettish fashion. She's half teasing, half serious, and he's not certain which he wants to win, but either way there's only one thing to do. It's early, the morning sun still trying to show through the windows - nowhere to be and nobody to see for a couple of hours yet.

He pushes himself forward and stalks slowly towards her, one eyebrow cocked just slightly in challenge, meeting her mood as her grin turns playful. He walks up to her until he's so close he forces her back onto the desk. Gently, so as not to knock things over, he pushes her diary and a few papers out of the way, and she slides up onto the desk, her legs opening so he can stand between them. His hands find the small of her back, just above the round of her behind, and he slides his fingers inside the waistband of her leggings and pulls her in close. Her hands slide up his arms, over his shoulders, and into the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Hi" he says.

"Well hi" she replies, and smiles brightly as he closes the gap between them and kisses her with purpose. She hums into the kiss - high and airy, like she's taken by surprise, though she's not at all. Her hips rock forward without thinking, her sex lightly digging into the zipper of his jeans, and he pushes back against her in response.

They kiss for a long time, hands holding each other close, bodies pushing into each other, their tongues dancing in a way that would make her students yell ew gross. She can feel the start of Bishop's erection in his jeans, and her own body feels warm and tingly, yearning for touch but equally enjoying the slow burn and tease.

"You've started something I hope you intend to finish" she says to him lowly, her mouth against his ear.

He smiles. "And in what way would you like me to finish it?" he asks.

She moans in response, kisses him again, and moves her hands down to untuck his teeshirt from his pants. She runs her short nails up and down the skin she finds underneath, warm and comforting. He groans into her kiss and mimics the motion, running his hands underneath her jumper and across her back. His hands venture down, under the band of her leggings again, and further to cup her arse and pull her into him. She gasps and her hands come around between them, working open his belt, then the button of his jeans, and then the zipper. She can't get a good purchase because they are too close together, but she runs the back of her fingers over his length through his underwear and he lets out a quick breath.

"Liz" he says. His tone sounds… interruptive.

"Yes?"

"I think… we should talk about…"

She leans back a little to look him in the eye. He sounds nervous, maybe even anxious, although he makes no move to put distance between them.

"About?" she prompts, placing her hands against the small of his back.

"About what we want… our future"

She furrows her brow a little in confusion, not entirely sure what he means, though she has a fair idea. They haven't really revisited his insinuations from weeks ago; that his desire to go legitimate was partly borne of thinking of their past, and the expectations and desires she harboured there, and the possibilities open now. They haven't had an honest conversation about marriage and children, and it sits in the back of her mind that if they truly want to try for those things they better get trying soon.

"What are you saying, Bishop?" she whispers, hope fluttering in her heart.

"What would you say to the package deal?" he asks, and before she can answer he slides out of her embrace and onto one knee in front of her, fly still hanging open and everything. For a moment she's too shocked to say a thing. (She supposes, somewhere in her mind, that he just got tired of waiting for her to make the first move.)

"Liz. Will you marry me?" he asks.

There's not a ring in sight, no plan or preparation, no romantic dinner or bed of roses. It's 8am on a Tuesday, for crying out loud. Yet it feels absurdly perfect, because this is exactly the kind of proposal Bishop would give her - no pomp or fanfare, just honesty and a bit of spontaneity, because he's never been a man of ceremony but he has always trusted his instincts, and there's something about this morning, and the firm plans they've laid out that makes this feel like the perfect moment to bite the bullet and finally have that discussion.

Unbidden, tears spring to her eyes, because this is what she's wanted for so long, since the very first time she told him she loved him . Just a few weeks ago the thought was stirred in her mind again, and it's been sitting there ever since, the tentative maybe of a plan going unanswered. No other man has ever come close to this for her - there's not a single other individual that she could see herself saying yes to, and not a soul on this earth that understands her the way he does, and it makes her watery, tearful answer all the easier to say.

"Yes, Bishop, I will marry you"

And he stands again and leans into her and kisses her with almighty passion, almost roughly, the hard thumping of his heart felt keenly through his shirt when she places her hand on his chest. Her own heart thrums wildly, her ears ringing - it was too sudden for her to get any nerves, too unceremonious for her to start practicing her perfect answer. But it was still exactly what she wanted.

"I love you" he says against her lips between kisses.

She hums in response, still fighting the urge to burst into full-blown happy tears. (They come anyway, a burn in her eyes that she can't blink away, a few stray tears falling as she succumbs to his affectionate assault. His thumbs wipe them away, not questioning where they come from - he can read her answer in her eyes, in her hands, in the way she keeps him close against her, not in the same passion as before but for something deeper. He doesn't doubt her answer in the slightest, which makes her all the happier.)

He pulls back just enough to look at her, one hand cradling her cheek and the other against her neck right where it meets her shoulder.

"I'm sorry it took so long" he says with a look somewhere between guilt and sheepishness, and at that she can't contain it any longer. Her head falls forward into his chest, his hand tightening against her neck as the other comes around her back in an embrace that feels all too familiar. The tears come - grief for the time lost, hope for the future in front of them, elation for the amazing place she finds herself in life - and he holds her because he doesn't know what to say, but he also doesn't have to say it.

When she collects herself a little she pulls away with a smile, and wipes her eyes with a manner of self-depreciation. She pats his chest as well, getting herself in order.

"This is really what you want?" he whispers, checking just one last time.

"I want it all with you, Bishop" she says quietly in turn, meeting his gaze with surety and unbridled affection.

"All?"

There was something in her tone - or perhaps her look - that made him catch that word a little bit. (He always assumed that, if they ever got married, then children would be a given option - as though one came with the other - and although that was his intention he didn't mean to ask her in the same breath as an engagement whether she was ready or willing to try being parents. It feels monumental enough to get engaged without adding the burden of parenthood to the mix as well, even if marriage was a somewhat foregone conclusion at this point. But they aren't getting younger, and a part of him still imagines seeing Liz as his wife and the mother of his child. It has been years since they first talked about it, but his feelings had never wavered and he's almost positive hers had remained equally steadfast.)

She nods, slowly, very purposefully, as though coaxing him to catch up to her.

"All" she drawls, smiling at him. He grins back, catching on quickly, delighted and equally overwhelmed with her enthusiasm. She recovers quickly, and seems just as eager to bowl him over as he did to her, which makes him smile because of course Liz would want to one-up his proposal of marriage with a suggestion to conceive.

"Can we get practicing right away?" he asks, looking playfully naughty. And she laughs at him and kisses him, her tongue darting out to tease his lip. He seems briefly startled, but recovers.

Her hands find their way once more under his teeshirt, this time pushing it up so that he's compelled to take it off, and her hands roam back inside the waist of the pants he undid before, still unashamedly hanging open. He's almost positive she's not wearing anything else under her jumper, and when he returns the favour and coaxes it up and over her head he's rewarded with being right.

"Do you want to take this to the bedroom?" he asks, his eyes captured on her breasts that he gently teases even as he asks.

"Absolutely not" she replies, and reaches her hand inside the waistband of his boxers. His head falls forward into her shoulder, and that's the last time he'll be asking that today.

He pulls at her leggings, and she has to shuffle from side to side so he can slide them over her bum and down her legs, taking her underwear as he goes. She pushes his jeans and boxers down his legs too, getting them caught mid-thigh; he tries to step out of them and fails, but it's close enough and serves the purpose so he leaves it. She shuffles to the edge of the desk and moans loudly when he enters her, holding her close with one hand on her back while the other braces himself again the desk behind her.

"So let me ask you something" he says, setting a burning pace to start (not quite their climax speed, more of a teasing, feel-good rocking).

"What's that?" she replies, her words turning into a moan as he bends his head and sucks on her nipple with a little bit of teeth. Her head falls back for a moment, her hands threaded into his hair, and she can feel his hand on her back, his fingers flexing to hold her up. He pulls back a moment later and she looks at him again.

"Elizabeth Brice?"

She lets herself get caught up in the burn between her legs for a moment while her mind mulls over her answer. It's a loaded question - one she used to think about when he first shared his secret, but hadn't given much thought to since then. Martin is barely a "Brice" himself, still settling into it after so long being Bishop. His nickname remains unchanged - a hard habit to break that has become a sort of running joke amongst them all, calling him Bishop because it's all they've ever called him. But neither has she been particularly attached to her own surname. Half the boys wouldn't even know it such is the mystery of Liz's family roots. She's a traditional girl at heart, or traditional enough not to dismiss the question. It might be nice to take his name - like a fresh start for the both of them, symbolic of their coming together under this roof.

(Of course, a small voice in the back of her mind groans at the thought of all the paperwork required to change her name. But that's another headache for another day. For now she's preoccupied with being Martin's wife, in law and in name, and it sends her giddy.

Or maybe that's the feeling of his teeth on her nipple again. She's not sure.)

"Hmm?" he prompts. "What do you think?" He's not stopping or even slowing down, so he must not be too hung up on the answer, probably more concerned with his assault on her senses than anything. Still, she doesn't want to turn it into a thing, so she musters up enough thought to give an answer, and surprises herself with the surety of it.

"I think it will take me a while to get used to, but at least I won't be alone in that" she says, looking him in the eye. Martin looks pleased, maybe even a little bit impressed, like she's accepting a challenge.

"Really?" he asks.

She hums with pleasure, blinks slowly, and then looks at him again. "But you are helping me do the paperwork" she says.

He laughs at her, kissing her once, and huffs out deal as he shifts his grip and stance. They hold each other's gaze as he picks up the pace, and her legs wrap higher on his hips to change the angle, one of her hands falling behind her to brace herself against the desk. She moans when he thrusts firmly and he answers with his own groan into her neck. His pace is stronger, firmer, and approaching that sweet spot that gets them both off. The desk beneath her is rocking slightly with them, the solid wood frame no match. (It feels metaphorical, but she'd never say that out loud; far too fanciful.)

She comes first - he makes sure of that - and she's still panting when she feels him slow, and then stop, spent, a thin sheen of sweat on their skin. Her legs lower slowly, her muscles cramped from the exertion, and he gently removes himself while his legs are still shaking. He looks mildly ridiculous now, his still-hard but softening length hanging out of his pants which are still around his knees. She takes a moment to sit on the edge of the desk and look at him as he tucks himself back in and pulls his pants up, but he doesn't do up his fly. He takes a moment to ogle the sight of her, buck naked and spread out before him, freshly fucked and smiling. She can only imagine the sight she presents, but by the look on his face he likes what he sees.

"So" he says, voice still breathless. "Shower?"

She giggles at him and nods, hopping off the desk, bending to collect their discarded clothes strewn around the floor. She takes one look back at her desk and decides not to straighten it out, to give herself a reminder of this moment later when it's work time.

He stops her from walking past him with a hand on her elbow, and when she gives him a querying look he merely bends his head down and kisses her softly. Her eyes flit closed as she returns it, and she smiles as she remembers that she is engaged now. They're getting married now. They might even try for a baby, or at the very least not do anything to stop it happening. A shiver runs through her that has nothing to do with her nakedness and she opens her eyes to look him square on and size him up.

"I love you, Martin" she says. He smiles at her and tucks her hair behind her ear.

"Well god, I hope so. You did just agree to marry me"

The girly grin that spreads across her face is completely involuntary. "I did, didn't I?"

At that he laughs at her, throws his arm around her shoulders and starts leading her out the door and towards the stairs. "Yeah, you did" he says, and she can hear in his voice that he's just a little bit proud of himself for it. She's proud too, of the both of them. Proud, and so very excited for their future, Mr and Mrs Brice, living and working in their old Victorian, their crazy friends sometimes around, their home filled with a life she used to only dream of. All these storms and separations and adventures they weathered together but they are here now and it's simply joyful. And she knows she'll need to pinch herself later, just to make sure it's real, but for now she leans into Martin's embrace and makes sure to treasure this exact moment. It's like the smell of passing rain at the end of the thunderstorm; like freshly baked sugar cookies; like home.

Fin.