The Bathroom Scene

"Sandra?" he knocked softly on the bathroom door. They'd got back from the restaurant to her house some time ago. At which point she had disappeared into the bathroom while he'd had his ear chewed off by Mia who of course was perfectly fine at the flat and why on earth did he feel the need to interrupt his evening to ring her? He wondered if she knew. She'd asked how the evening had gone… so she probably knew. "Sandra?"

"It's not locked," her voice came quietly from within.

He turned the handle and opened the door, admitted himself and closed it behind him. This was the smallest space they could find themselves in, he thought. Not that Sandra's bathroom was tiny, it was just… bathroom sized. Nowhere to run, or hide. Not that he thought she'd been attempting either such action.

She washed her mouth out in the sink. She was sick of being sick. It didn't make her feel any better. So what was the point of it? She wasn't sure she could stand it for much longer if it was to continue, but what was the alternative? She looked to Robert with terrored eyes.

He offered her a small smile; reassurance, love, acceptance. She was lost in a maze of unknowing, possibilities opening and closing at every turn she didn't take. Longing to be able to peer over the tops of the hedges and see where she was meant to end up, but no-one ever knows that, do they? The hiding was over now; she knew that. It was a relief, in some ways, to actually know. In others it just made everything worse.

"Sandra," he tentatively held out his hand toward her, needing for her to make tactile contact. He knew that she was fighting against appearing weak. He'd seen her at her lowest when Jack died, when she'd told him that Brian was leaving, when she thought she wasn't good enough. For Sandra Pullman to admit weakness, to show weakness, to need; she hated it and he knew it. She'd be trying to lock him out now, trying to pretend that she could cope with anything. She didn't take his hand. He didn't move it. He took a breath. "I know you're scared. Scared of what this means. For you, your career, for us. I don't know if this was something you ever wanted; maybe, you never thought this would happen for you, or that it would happen when you were younger, or not at all. If you're scared that having this baby means that you have to give up everything you've striven for at work, it doesn't. If you're scared that it means you have to stay with me, it doesn't. It doesn't have to be like that. But whatever it is you're scared of… I think you want this baby. And if it's me, if you want me to go, I'll go – "

"Don't go," she whispered immediately, interrupting anything further he might have said and finally reaching for his hand. Her cool fingers slipped easily between his and exerted a particular pressure. "Please. I don't want you to go." She looked at him with pure honesty. He'd read her perfectly. She didn't know what she'd done to deserve him, but whatever it was… she owed it a drink. The very thought that he'd think she wanted him to go chilled her to the bone. She didn't want him to go. "I love you Rob, and god only knows what I've done to deserve you in my life. Let alone… You're right. I do want this baby," she admitted softly. "But I'm not scared. I'm terrified."

He pulled her toward him in one soft, sweeping movement and enveloped her in his embrace. She leant into his warmth and hid in his strength. The moment grew comfortably. The boiler whirred into a boost of life for a few minutes. The magic began to take hold. They were having a baby.

"Sandra?" he asked quietly, his hand running across her shoulder blades, tempting her to lean back and see his questioning face.

"Mmm?" she queried.

"Will you marry me?"

Her lips opened a fraction but no words came out.

"I was going to ask you in the restaurant," he admitted. "But your bathroom seems like a much more appropriate place."

She smiled and buried herself back into his chest. "Yes," she murmured as his breath moved steadily through her hair. "Yes. But," she muttered as she moved again. "I need to brush my teeth."

He laughed as she drew away. "I don't think that's a bad pre-requisite for marriage."

"Nuh," she stuck her tongue out at him as she picked her toothbrush out of the rack. She glanced back at him, he was still grinning. She bit her lip and shook her head, the clown-like beam plastered on her face shone back at her in the mirror's reflection as she squeezed toothpaste onto the brush and ran the tap.

Realising as she completed her task that he was still in the room with her, she replaced the brush in it's place and looked at him. "So, I know that this room is always going to have a special place in my memory of this night," she couldn't help her lips twitching and widening her smile a little more. "But are we really going to spend the rest of the night in here?"