I wasn't going to say anything here, just quietly post the chapter and let that be that. However, after receiving so many supportive and kind PMs this week I felt it rude to ignore them.

I realised how much I've LOVED creating this version of Charles and Elsie (my version), no they aren't entirely like the show but they aren't meant to be, this is an AU. If it's not your thing then don't read. And yes, perhaps I do go into a lot of detail, but that's because I love exploring these characters and unfortunately the story will end and I won't be able to do that anymore – so I'm making the most of it. Again, if that's not your thing then don't read.

I feel sad for other writers who have spoken to me this week about not being able to write anymore because of negative comments. Fanfiction is about being able to indulge and have fun. I am not a professional. I make no money from this. I do it because I love these characters. Nothing else.

For those still with this pair – thank you.

The end of the 3rd arc/book – however, you choose to see it. Originally I'd planned for there to be four but we'll see.

Chapter 45

Saturday 13th February 2016 – continued.

Charles slept. His head buried against her chest, her jumper damp from his tears. He was warm and heavy against her but it was a welcome weight, having him there in her arms like a child seeking comfort. And oh how she wanted to comfort him.

For so very long it had been he doing the comforting. He had been the backbone of their relationship, the solid one carrying them through the difficult times. If this period had taught her anything it was that she needed to take the helm now, that's what relationships were about, wasn't it? There would be times where both were going at the same pace, side-by-side, but more often there would be times when one needed to carry the other, and this was her time now, to gently carry him. Preferably without him feeling smothered.

She stroked his hair, remembering the old proverb about footsteps in the sand – days as a child in church and stories her Granny would tell. One set of footprints because God was carrying you through the difficult times. Her belief had been tested severely over the years and she'd often thought it simply a 'nice story', but when she reflected on her relationship with Charles she thought of that now. He'd carried her for so long, and yes he was right, she was so much better now, not healed but getting there; that didn't mean she was about to abandon him though.

Her love for him, this slight glimpse of something possible only a year earlier, was now so much of her entire being she couldn't separate it from her need to breathe in and out. He often told her she'd given him so very much, she wondered if he really understood how much he'd given her.

He shifted against her, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, and she rubbed her thumb against the exposed skin of his neck, just above his collar, just below his hairline. Dear, sweet man.

The afternoon was turning into evening and she heard her stomach rumble and her bladder push against her. She smiled remembering the cave and his laughter over the circumstance. Even amidst all of the horrible stuff there were small smiles, easy laughter. And so much love for one another she'd never thought it possible.

"Els…" she heard him mumble, his hand flexing against her hip.

"Mmm, I'm awake." She kissed his head. "How you feeling?"

"Heavy headed." He unwillingly rolled back from her, moving his head to rest on the pillow beside hers and groaning as he did so. "God, and achy too."

"Oh dear," she turned onto her side to look at him, tucking her hand beneath her cheek as she smiled tenderly at him.

"Hi," he said, reaching to touch her face, his thumb moving over her cheek, sliding over her bottom lip.

"Hi," she whispered in return, nipping his thumb between her teeth.

He smiled, "Minx."

"Why don't you take a bath?" She suggested, taking hold of his hand and turning it in hers. "I'll make us some dinner."

"I think I might." He swallowed, licked his lips, dry from crying and then sleeping.

"Thank you for opening up." She said gently.

"Starting to." He murmured, closing his eyes. "You know, I was thinking about what you said about Isobel. About you assuming she'd been the one to bring me here."

"Oh."

"I didn't contact her for a reason." He said. "It had to be Richard because well, he's a man for a start, he wouldn't get into the whole emotional discussion stuff Izzy would have made me face up to."

She allowed herself a smile at that – yes, Isobel would have definitely made him spill his guts.

"And he's a Doctor, he understood the after effects of the accident. And just, well, maybe Isobel is too close."

He opened his eyes watching her expression, pulling their entwined hands up between them.

"I don't mean that in a romantic way. You know I've never loved anyone like you. What I mean is we've been so close for so long I couldn't face her judgement, just like I couldn't face yours."

"I don't judge you. I was angry with you…"

"Was?" He said hopefully.

"Maybe still a little pissed off," she smiled, "in ways. But better now. Now that I'm here."

"Good."

"Can I ask you something though?"

"Whilst I'm chatty you mean."

"Do you understand my insecurities over her? They've always been there."

He sighed, "In a way. We've known each other all our lives, we used to date, I get that. But you don't need to feel insecure around her."

"She's a rich, well-to-do, intelligent, beautiful woman. I often feel like I just rolled up from the pits beside her."

"Nonsense."

"Maybe to you, but not to me."

He nodded, "I can't say more than you have no need to feel insecure or jealous or insignificant beside her. I love you more than anyone. I guess this is one of those things where we're just going to have to trust each other and hope it works itself out, in time."

"I guess so," she said gently. "Can I ask another thing?"

He rolled his eyes, "It'll be morning soon."

She squeezed his hand affectionately, "The teddy bear?" She crooked her face, a half smile tugging at her lips as she asked. "Because I have this wondrous image of you spotting it in a shop and lugging that giant thing home, hanging off one arm."

He chuckled, "That would be about right. I saw it and imagined Anna's face at the sight of it."

"Be perfect in the nursery don't you think? That upstairs room at the back, it has the best view, that wonderful large window to let in the sunshine. We can paint it lemon, you could decorate the walls with your sketches."

"My sketches?"

"I've seen your drawings – trees and meandering rivers, that would look wonderful in there. The bear can sit in the corner overlooking events."

He smiled, "I'd never considered actually doing something large scale."

"You could though, I bet."

He appreciated her encouragement, giving him something to focus on outside of his own tired mind. Squeezing her hand once more he rolled over, pushed himself up and got to his feet.

She did the same, rolling her aching shoulders as she got up. "Go get your bath, I'll bring you a drink in." She bent to start tidying away her half-packed travel bag, aware of him tentatively undressing not far from her, timidly unbuttoning his shirt.

The bruises had almost gone, even the nasty one on the right of his ribs where he'd smashed into the car, where his arm had taken that blow. And then the scar, that made her catch her breath.

She was still tidying away when he left the room and for a second or two she sat on the edge of the bed, the reality of how close she'd come to losing him hitting home.

When she pushed open the bathroom door with her foot she noted how he sank deeper into the water, covering himself, and so she deliberately stepped closer to him, bending by the side of the bath and placing the glasses on the floor.

"Do you remember," she whispered, pulling her jumper up and over her head. "In Italy, in the bath, I finally said those words?"

He tentatively opened his eyes; he did remember, sometimes the words "My husband used to rape me," haunted him. He gave her a slight nod.

"I remember how exposed I felt with you then, but ultimately it was good for me, to share that with you."

She reached to where the sponge sat on the edge of the tub and took hold of it, submerging it into the water and then bringing it up to his chest.

"Els…" he said softly, his hands coming to cover himself.

"Let me," one of her hands gently pushed his away as she set about washing him. She took her time, avoiding the scar to begin with and then, as he seemed to relax, purposefully bringing her index finger up to trace along the raised, pebbled skin.

She felt him tense beneath her but she sank the sponge into the water and squeezed it out over where she'd just touched.

"Do you realise how beautiful you are to me?" She asked, watching his face.

He breathed deeply, his cheeks colouring as he opened his eyes to meet hers.

"Because you are Charles."

He opened his mouth to make some pithy refusal but she held her hand up, silencing him.

"No, you tell me that all the time, let me return it. You're very handsome and I'm very attracted to you." She knelt forward, her knees complaining at the movement. "So let me wash you in the bath."

He briefly touched her wrist and then she was moving again, standing behind him to wash and massage his shoulders. For such an intimate act there was nothing inherently sexual about it. Charles was very much aware that she was taking care of him, and rather than fight that he laid back and enjoyed the feeling of her fingers, tender yet strong, easing his aching muscles.

"I feel like I'm falling apart," he said, leaning back, the top of his head pressing into her chest, "Never used to get ill. Now it's one thing after another."

"Oh honey," she kissed his head, her hands resting heavily on his shoulders. "I'm not sure what I can say to that, to reassure you. I certainly don't think that. I guess it's just…" She sighed, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"It's just age, I know that, happens to us all. Knocked my confidence though."

"I know." She reached her hand down and he lifted his up to fold with hers. "I'm here though, I'm not going anywhere."

"Despite how much I push… shut you out…."

She squeezed his hand, "Never."

He kissed her knuckles, "Thank you for that."

"Old age is scary Charles. But Lord knows we've both of us waited so very long for some happiness, and this is it, you and I, what everybody hopes for. Isn't it?"

He let out a long held breath, "Yes."

"You remember September, we'd not been seeing other long and you took me to the coast one Saturday when it was still warm enough to walk on the beach."

He closed his eyes, smiling. It had rained most of the day and he'd been grouchy, embarrassed at his choice for the date. Then later, they'd eaten ice cream on the sea front as the sun set and her hair kept blowing in her face.

"That was the first time you held my hand, as we walked along the front, and I felt giddy at it, the touch of your fingers against mine. It thrilled me." She admitted, her cheeks warming at the memory, "And I still feel that way Charles, all this time later."

He twisted, reached up to touch her face, stroking his fingers across her cheek and down to her mouth. "So do I."

"So, I ask you again – do you still want to marry me?"

"Absolutely."

"Well then, maybe you should find that ring and see if I still want to marry you."

He smiled, shaking his head at her, "Always a tease."

"You'd hate it if I suddenly became dull."

Whitby, September 2014

"I don't like the look of it in here," Charles grumbled by her ear as he trailed after her through the amusement arcade. "There's some unsavoury characters about."

She snatched a look back at him, "Are we in a Dickens' novel Charles?"

He realised she was sniggering as she preceded him and he wasn't sure if he felt embarrassed by that or too concerned for her safety to even care.

"Ooh, let's play this." She said, swinging her handbag off her arm and sliding into a dodgy looking seat.

"I feel I should lay a handkerchief down for you to sit on."

"Don't be silly, come on," she patted the seat beside him. "Come play."

He glanced across at the tacky sign, 'Bingo', and the shelves fall of plastic toys and miscellaneous objects – statues of small dogs, hairbrushes and cheap bags.

"I don't want to win any of this stuff." He said.

"Well neither do I, but you'll probably have to win a hundred tickets anyway to even get a pencil." She patted the seat again, "Come on, we can pass an hour at this."

She put a couple of pound coins into the machine in front of him giving him no choice but to join in, "Eyes down," the caller (a young spotty youth) shouted and Charles almost tripped lowering himself onto the small stool.

There were of course the usual rabble causing trouble as the game began; a man old enough to know better wolf-whistling every time the numbers 11 or 69 were called – which made Charles feed decidedly uncomfortable. He squirmed in his seat as the caller's pitchy voice got higher.

"Awfully noisy in here," he murmured.

Elsie leaned into his side, "There's always some fuckwit wherever you go." She whispered and for a second he frowned, not sure he'd heard her right, but then she giggled mischievously and he'd laughed, both at the truth of her statement and her colourful choice of language.

Later, when the rain had stopped, leaving behind grey watercolour skies, they took a walk along the wall at the sea front.

Beneath them the sea crashed angrily against the breaker, the spray leaving the walkway slippery. One particular section was covered by a pool of water and they had to walk single file – Elsie set off in front, ever determined, and once again Charles found his eyes drawn to her hands. She had them folded behind her, they tapped against her backside as she moved (another distraction but one step at a time), and he watched amusedly as she curled one finger over the other, back and forth, back and forth.

Deciding he was being a fool over this entire thing he was resolute just to make his move. If she shook him off then so be it. At least he'd know. "My hands are cold," he suddenly said.

"Mmm, mine too, should have brought my gloves." She called back to him. "One wouldn't think you'd need them in September but who knows where we are with the weather these days."

Stepping ever closer to her he waited until she unfurled her hands from one another, her left arm falling to her side, and when there was barely a few inches between them he reached forward and hopefully hooked one finger around one of hers.

Elsie felt a slight tug behind her and for a nano-second paused. Upon realising the cause of the sudden drag on her hand her lips curled into a smile. She turned her head towards the sea and smiled fully at it, away from Charles' face, his attempt to hold her hand was almost childish in its simplicity but oh so sweet.

When she didn't shake him loose he upped his game, bringing three fingers around hers until she opened her hand up and he could hold it properly – palm to palm.

Her skin was cold yes, but so very soft, and having her hand wrapped in his felt like perfection to him, as if they fit hand in glove. He'd spent years watching her graceful fingers dance along the spines of books and wondering what it would be like to feel them against his. Now he knew and he wished he'd done it earlier.

As they walked side by side nobody could question whether or not they were together now and he felt his chest fill with pride at the knowledge that they'd think of them as a couple.

By the time they reached the end of the walkway and stood looking over the stormy sea it started to rain again. No warning, no gentle pitter-patter, full on heavy drops that landed hard on his forehead.

"For goodness sake," he complained – would nothing go right for him today?

"Come on," she tugged on his arm, pulling him back towards shelter. They hunched up against the wall where other walkers had retreated to, seeking some cover from the downpour.

"I'm sorry for this," he said as he looked at her.

"For what?"

"Bringing you to the Yorkshire coast in September, silly idea. Foolish of me. We've done nothing but dodge the rain all day."

"Don't say that. Actually I've rather enjoyed it. Walking with you, talking to you, playing bingo." She reached to brush her hair behind her ears. "It's been nice."

"Despite the rain?" He found it amusing to watch the battle between the wind and her hair; it whipped about her face quite furiously.

"Despite the rain."

He suddenly exclaimed when a thick strand of her hair was tugged upwards and whacked him across the face.

"God, I'm sorry, nothing to tie it back with." She apologised but he was smiling, there were worse things to be hit with.

"No bother." It smelt of coconut, the fragrance lingering long after her hair had been pulled back behind her ears.

"When this stops shall we get chips and eat them watching the tide retreat?" She asked, tucking her hair into the collar of her jacket.

"I was going to take you somewhere posh for dinner, on the way home."

"Really, why?"

"Well, to make up for this…" He said, indicating the rough weather with a sweep of his arm.

"Charles, I've told you, there's nothing to apologise for and you certainly don't need to spend money at expensive restaurants to impress me. I'm not that kind of woman."

"I never thought you were."

"Well then, let's get chips as we're by the sea, then maybe call for a drink on the way home?"

"A better plan."

"Good, because I look a bit of a state for a posh restaurant anyhow."

When they got back to the car Beryl had texted and she sat reading it as Charles messed around with the map, 'How's it goin? Havin' a good time? Has he killed you yet?'

She assumed 'killed' was a typo for 'kissed' but it made her laugh nevertheless.

'Having a lovely time. He took me on a walk he likes over the cliffs, I struggled a bit on the uphill – he's obviously much fitter than I am! But it was nice. And no he hasn't 'kissed' me yet, but he did hold my hand as we walked the sea front. It's all very sweet. Will ring you when I get in. X'

"Everything alright?" He asked, closing the map.

"Everything's fine."

"Good." He started the engine.

It was three more dates before he plucked up the courage to hold her hand again.

Sunday 14th February 2016

"You do know it's Valentine's Day," Charles whispered against the back of her neck the following morning.

"A-ha," her eyes were still closed; in her mind she was still asleep.

He pressed his hand against her stomach – a move bound to get attention.

"Charles…"

"Seems a waste Els, a waste of Valentine's Day."

"Last year you took me to the Italian again, a tribute to our first date."

"And I bought you earrings you hated."

She smirked, "Not hated, just wouldn't have picked myself dear."

He kissed her bare shoulder, "Well, I'm better at that kind of thing now."

"You are."

"You always get good gifts."

"I watch and listen and remember what people say."

"Am I bothering you?"

"It is very early and it is raining and cold."

"Not much to do out, another day sat in here reading my book."

"A-ha."

"Should I shut up and leave you alone?"

"Mmm…"

"I'll do that then." He kissed her again, watching as she smiled in her sleepy state. "I'll go read in the other room." He whispered, shutting the bedroom door after him.

"Come on, put your shoes on," she said, coming into the lounge and turning the television off.

"What?" He stared up at her. He'd only left her forty minutes ago and to his mind she'd be sleeping for at least another couple of hours. Now here she was, showered and dressed.

"We're going out for breakfast, put your shoes on, unless you're going bare foot." She insisted.

"I don't really feel..."

She held her hand up, "I don't care. You're not going to sit in here day after day feeling maudlin. You need to face the world. Other human beings. So get up and put your shoes on."

He flipped his book closed and slipped his glasses off, "There seems to be a lot of focus on the importance of my shoes."

She hooked her bag over her arm and dangled her car keys on the end of her finger. "Hurry up. We can sit here, in these four walls, and keep talking things through and I can keep crying or we can take ourselves out and face the world."

"You're being bossy."

"I am. So..."

He shrugged, "Right." He bent forward, putting on the shoes she'd put down for him and getting up from the couch.

"Okay, ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Shoving his hands in his pockets he followed to where she'd parked her car, trying to ignore how good her bottom looked in that dress and those heels.

She started the engine, reversed into the road and set off down the hill.

Frustrated by the silence Charles reached over and switched the radio on, the car was filled with a blast of orchestral music and Elsie turned down the volume.

"I know this..." He said, listening to the music. "It's from a film...erm...its..."

"E.T." She said.

"That's it. E.T. Good piece of music."

"Good film."

He nodded.

"What the fuck's this idiot doing?" She complained as a Mondeo pulled out in front of her before braking abruptly.

"Elsie, your language."

"Well, he's had his brakes on all the way down this hill. Get off the road if you can't drive."

He shook his head again, glancing out of the window. "Look at her hair!" He exclaimed and she glanced to the woman standing at the bus stop. "She has multicoloured hair. She must be eighty plus."

She chuckled, as much at his exclamation as at the sight of the woman, "Good for her. And you think we have problems," she reached over and tapped his leg momentarily.

"Mmm. I guess at least I have natural coloured hair."

"I don't. And I'm not ashamed to admit that, I'd look awful with grey hair."

"Mine's going white, another sign of my old age."

"Charles..." She warned.

He switched his attention back to the road instead, mulling on her words, on her touch, on how good it felt to wake holding her that morning.

Elsie pulled into the first coffee place she found, it was a chain but she wasn't about to drive and drive and drive.

"I hate these kind of places." He said, as she took her seatbelt off.

"I know." She turned in her seat to look at him. "But I like it and it serves good coffee and you'll put up with it." She reached over and pressed the release on his seat belt. "Don't make me drag you out like a petulant child."

"Is this the teacher side of you I'm seeing?"

"No Charles. This is the 'I'm still a little pissed off with you for upsetting me so you'll come in and drink chain brand coffee for me.' Alright?"

He stared at her, her bright eyes and determined expression and then he smiled. "I do love you."

Her face softened, "I know. And I love you too. Very, very much." She squeezed his knee again, "But I'm starving and need caffeine so get out of the car."

"Hot chocolate." She said as she put his drink in front of him.

He glanced up at her, "I'm not allowed this am I?"

"Consider it a treat. I'm being nice." She sat down across from him, emptying a packet of sugar into her latte. "Or I'm trying to finish you off and inherit your money." She shrugged. "You choose."

He chuckled, "Now I remember this wicked bloody sense of humour."

She smiled at him, "Much better than crying all the sodding time."

"I'm sorry, that I made you cry."

She blinked, swallowed, holding back her ire.

"And...for everything..." He shrugged. "I never meant to make you feel like I was walking away from you. From us."

"But you did make me feel that." She shrugged. "There's nothing we can do about that now Charles, only decide what we're going to do next."

He stretched his hand out across the table towards her and she let her fingers touch his.

"Toasties?" The waitress stopped by their table and Charles looked blankly at her.

"Yes. Thank you." Elsie said.

She pushed one of the plates to Charles. "Eat something."

"I don't want to lose you Elsie."

"I'm still here aren't I. Eat your food."

The rain wasn't about to stop so she made him go bowling. He complained the entire time she'd driven around searching for the place – it was something kids did, they'd stick out like sore thumbs, it wasn't great for his back – she would've given him the last one but she was so determined to prove him wrong that they went anyway.

She paid for an hour, got their shoes and they took their place on lane number 9.

"I can't work this out," he complained, hands hovering over the keyboard as he stared up at the screen.

Elsie tied the laces on her shoes and read the instructions, "Press the red square to enter details. So, press the red button."

"I can't find it."

"Put your glasses on." She smirked, digging about in her handbag for her own. "Goodness, we'll look a right pair trying to figure this thing out."

"I told you this was a bad idea."

"And I told you to stop being grumpy, it's about time you faced the world. Ahh look, here, the red button." She said grandly, elbowing him. "Now enter names. So… E.l.s.i.e and G.r.u…."

"Don't you dare."

She chuckled. "Go get drinks whilst I set us up. Do you want bumpers?"

"Don't be daft."

She giggled again as she stared up at the screen, "One of those J2 thingies for me."

J2 thingies. Like he knew what that meant.

By the time he'd returned from the bar she'd set up the score sheet and chosen the weight ball she wanted.

"You're first," she said, taking her drink from him.

He nodded, "I thought I might be." He easily lifted the ball she'd picked out and put it back down again, "This is too light and the holes are too small for my fingers."

"Get your own." She pointed at the stand.

Within a minute he'd chosen, bowled and earned a strike.

"How the bloody hell?" She exclaimed. "You never let on you could bowl."

"Just lucky."

"Hmm…"

Fifteen minutes later and Charles had earned a Turkey and was racing into the lead; Elsie was lucky to hit half the pins.

As she watched her ball lazily inch down and kiss three pins before drifting into the back of the lane she rolled her eyes and turned to face a smug looking Charles.

"This is ridiculous. I'm absolutely terrible at this." She folded her arms, pouting as she went to retrieve the same ball she'd just thrown with.

"You bend your arm," he said, putting down his lemonade. "Just at the last moment, it looks straight but then you just curl it slightly. That's why it keeps going down the side."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

He shrugged, "Didn't want to interfere."

"Well, come and interfere. Even that four year old's better than I am."

"Yes dear, but she does have her father helping her." He moved behind her, one hand on her back, the other on her lower arm. "Now see, you bring your arm back," she did just that, "and as you bring it forward you just tilt here slightly," and she did exactly that with her wrist."

"So, how do I fix it?"

"Well, you can either focus on keeping your arm straight as can be."

"I think my wrist's too weak!"

"Or compensate. Step to the side a bit more, instead of standing in the middle."

She did just that, waited for him to move and then bowled the ball with as much accuracy and strength as she could muster.

It fared better, hitting the pin next to the centre and knocking over all but one.

"There you go, already better." He said and she turned and smiled at him.

By the time they'd reached round eight she'd got the hang of it and bowled her first strike and was jumping in the air and shouting as she watched the pins collapse. Charles couldn't help but laugh at her joy.

"I'm back in this now," she teased, moving beside him as he went to pick up his ball.

"We shall see," he said.

"Indeed we shall." She leant on his arm and kissed his cheek. "Don't let me put you off though," she whispered mischievously.

"If anything's putting me off is how faintly ridiculous you look in that dress and those shoes."

She blobbed her tongue out, sliding her glasses on to look up at the score.

"Child." He laughed as he went to bowl.

"Technically, I came second." She said as they drove back to the house.

"That is a very loose interpretation of second." He said, gazing out of the window and then suddenly laughing loudly, "I came second. Ha!"

"Hey," she slapped his arm, "I should be used to coming second shouldn't I…"

"Oh now we're on dangerous ground." He smiled, turning to look at her and they were both laughing then – how easy the banter had returned, he mused. And how pleased he was at that fact.

"You fancy going for a walk on the beach now it's stopped raining?" He asked, watching her profile.

"Sure. I'll change into my jeans though, too cold for a dress."

Elsie pulled her scarf tighter around her neck and shivered as the breeze rolled up from the Atlantic and whipped around her face. Charles was taking his time taking photographs and so she set off ahead, believing the walk might at least warm her some.

She'd almost forgotten how much he loved that camera – in Dubai he'd been constantly snapping away, she figured he must have an album in itself dedicated to pictures of her reluctantly posing in whichever spot they happened to be visiting.

"Hey, turn around," he shouted and she did so, brushing her hair back from her face.

He was crouched down, turning the camera back from the view to her.

"Are you stuck down there?"

"I might be, but let's get a picture first shall we?"

"Charles, I look like hell – lack of sleep and this grey weather."

"Come on, its Valentine's Day, I want a memory."

She rolled her eyes but adopted a smile anyhow until he'd finished clicking away.

"Done?"

"A-ha," he said, clipping the cover on his lens.

"And can you get up?"

He made a show of groaning as he pushed himself to his feet before grinning at her, "Not quite dead yet."

"So I see." She smiled, resuming her walk.

He jogged to catch up, slipping his hand into hers and swinging their entwined hands between them.

"I'm glad to see you happier." She said as they walked.

"I'm glad to feel happier, believe me. I'm not quite…" he looked out across her head to the ocean, "I don't quite feel 'me' again yet though, does that make sense?"

"Very much. And nobody expects it overnight Charles, it was a traumatic experience. Just as long as you recognize that and deal with it, preferably involving me."

"You're beginning to sound like a therapist."

"Perhaps I've spent too much time with one. I have learnt that you can't ignore things otherwise they just linger about up here," she tapped the side of her head. "And then cause problems with those you care for the most." She squeezed his hand.

"We've reached something of an equilibrium, don't you think?"

"I suppose so, in a way. I suppose I pushed you as hard as I could in the beginning of this and you still hung around. I was a real bitch at times."

"Are you saying I've returned the favour?"

"Not quite to the same extent," she smiled, "but in a way."

"And you've 'hung around'?" He chuckled and she elbowed him for his cheek.

"Look," he said, halting their walk. "Stop for a second."

He moved to stand in front of her, taking hold of both of her hands, "Been quite the rocky road for us…"

"Are you making a speech?" She said, her mouth twisting to one side.

"Shut up and listen."

"Oh, right, yes sir." She smirked, "Go on then, 'rocky road' you were saying…"

"How on earth can I do this if you make jokes?" He shook his head. "Okay, so just when I thought it was all going wonderfully well this mess happens and I'm knocked for six. We are. But… can I use a sea metaphor as we're here?"

"Are you going to say something about hoping we're over the choppy waters and into calmer seas?"

"Exactly that."

"You do realize we have a grandchild on the way, I'm not sure anything about that will be calm."

"Geez, Els…"

She reached a hand up to touch his face, "Just kiss me Charles, you haven't kissed me properly since I got here. No need for speeches."

She always was the more practical of the pair. Leaning in he tenderly pressed his lips to hers, delighted when she softly moaned and wrapped her arms around him, deepening the kiss.

"So," he said breathless. "I have something for you."

"I hope it's a hot water bottle because I'm freezing."

"Not quite," he dug his hand into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out her engagement ring. "How would you feel about putting this back on?"

She felt her eyes prick with tears as she looked down at the ring lying in the middle of his palm.

"I'd feel rather happy about that," she said softly.

Nodding he lifted her hand and slid the ring back onto her finger. "Never, ever, to come off again." He said decisively.

"No."

They kissed again; relief and tears and that deep passion they had for one another bringing them together.

"Can we go back now?" She finally whispered. "Have a cup of tea?"

"Mmm," he brushed her hair back from her face, kissing the top of her head as he did so. "Let's do one last thing before we go."

She tilted her head to one side as she regarded him, "What?"

"A little paddle perhaps."

"You've got to be kidding me, it's bloody freezing."

But he was already untying his laces and rolling up his trousers.

"Come on, you're usually the adventurous one."

"It's February, we're in England, it's asking for frostbite."

"Live a little Els." He held his hand out to her.

"I don't know what I've created! I'm not going in there Charles, suppose my toes freeze and fall off?"

He laughed, shaking his hand at her, "Come on. You can hold me up if I get dizzy. Still recovering you know. You can keep me steady."

His words warmed her, especially after all the doubt over the past few weeks, but this was it now. There would be no going back or changed minds or walking away. They'd keep each other steady, whatever the future held.

Bending, she quickly slipped her shoes off and pushed her jeans as high up her legs as they would go and took his waiting hand.

She yelped as soon as the water licked her toes and squeezed his fingers tight. "Oh my god this is ridiculous."

"Refreshing though."

"Madness."

He brought her hand up to kiss, "Just a few minutes contemplation, then we can go."

"Back to the beach house or back to Yorkshire?"

"Yorkshire I think, we have kittens to collect don't we." He stated confidently, feeling hope fill him for the first time in many weeks.

"Oh good, home."

He stroked her hand with his, "I am home."

x