A/N: Thank you to those who reviewed here or commented on Twitter (X). Your kind words always inspire me to continue. I hope you enjoy this concluding chapter.

Chapter 2

Around eleven o'clock that morning, Shane answered the phone on Oliver's empty desk in the DLO. It would seem that Oliver had not attended the meeting at the Capitol Branch, and they were wondering if he wanted the minutes of the meeting sent over.

Shane frowned. "He never made it," she repeated. "I'm his wife—he dropped me off at work at nine and was headed your way. That's really odd." She glanced at the windows. The snow was falling heavily now, as it had the past two hours. "Please go ahead and send over those minutes. Thank you for calling."

Across the office, Norman and Rita had looked up at the tone of Shane's voice as she'd spoken to the Capitol Branch postmaster. When she hung up, she looked worriedly in their direction, filling them in on the situation.

"That isn't like him at all," said Rita. "You don't think the weather had something to do with it?"

"I'm sure he would have pulled over where it was safe it the roads were too bad," offered Norman consolingly. "Oliver is very safety minded."

Shane nodded, but the thought of her husband, who didn't own a cell phone, stranded somewhere, or maybe unconscious, his car in a ditch, made her insides tremble.

"Rita, may I borrow your car to go out and retrace his route?" Shane asked, going for her coat.

"We'll come with you. You shouldn't be alone in a car in weather like this."

Shane hugged her gratefully, her eyes filling with tears. "Thank you, Rita," she whispered.

At that moment, the DLO door opened, and Oliver strode in. He stopped short, seeing the obviously troubled state of his friends.

"Oliver!" Shane exclaimed, running from Rita's arms to his. Oliver looked down at the blond head on his chest, automatically returning her embrace.

"Are you okay?" she demanded. "What happened? Capitol Hill called…"

"I'm quite all right, Ms. McInerney. On my way, I realized there was something I had to do. I didn't mean to worry everyone."

Shane stepped back from him and, wiping delicately at the corners of her eyes, looked up at his face expectantly. For the first time since yesterday evening, he met her eyes with a semblance of warmth.

"Will you come home with me for an early lunch," he asked softly.

"Yes," she replied immediately.

"Thank you." He gave her upper arms a quick squeeze before releasing her.

"We are so glad you're okay," said Rita. "Are the roads terrible?"

"They're getting that way. As a matter of fact, why don't you and Norman go home before they get worse. Take the afternoon off and drink hot cocoa before the fire."

Norman and Rita looked at each other in surprise. Ordinarily, he held to the tenant of "neither snow, nor rain…nor gloom of night…", so it was quite a change now to hear them summarily given leave.

"We'll work on that letter tomorrow," said Shane, just as surprised as the other couple.

"Of course." Rita and Norman grabbed their coats and began preparing to leave. "Thank you Oliver," they said together. "Drive safely." With a meaningful glance at Shane, the pair left the DLO.

Alone, the awkwardness between Shane and Oliver returned. She went to her computer, shut it down, and then retrieved her coat and purse before rejoining him in silence.

"Are you ready?" he asked her.

"Yes," she said, and they left, both of them with hearts pounding at the tension each still felt.

Another quiet drive, this time because most of Oliver's attention was on the drive; the roads were indeed deteriorating. For Oliver's part, he was worried about how things were going to go at home, silently praying as his gloved hands gripped the steering wheel that he would find the words and actions that would allow Shane to forgive him, that would help them both to move on from this.

It took twice as long as usual to get home, and the wiper blades were having a difficult time keeping up with the swirling snow and the sleet that pelleted the windshield. In front of the house, he got out and came around to help her out, and they leaned on each other to walk up the snow-covered path, the sharp wind cutting through their clothes.

The moment they made it inside, the electricity went out.

"The fire is already laid out," Oliver said. "I'll get that going if you'll please light the candles already waiting," he said.

In the dimness of the foyer, Shane let out a chuckle. "What? How could you have…?"

And as she followed him further into the living room, she saw that before the fireplace, Oliver had moved the couch back and laid down pillows and blankets. On a side table, a bottle of wine rested in an ice bucket next to a huge bouquet of yellow roses.

"Oliver, what is all this?" Inside, her heart was squeezing with love and longing. He'd set up a very romantic scene. A scene that said forgiveness.

They took off their coats and gloves, shook them out, and hung them to dry. It was still blessedly warm inside, but without the electricity it would soon grow chilly.

Oliver knelt at the fireplace and lit the kindling with a long match. "It was supposed to be a grand gesture of apology," he said with a wry grin. "Now I suppose it's also one of necessity."

She took a match from the box on the hearth and began lighting candles that were strategically placed on the mantle and on tables around the room. In the rising glow, she could more fully admire his handywork. "Well it looks beautiful in here…and what is that smell? Something cooking?"

"I bought that wedding soup you like from The Mailbox Grille. The soup's been staying warm in the crockpot, and there's also salad in the refrigerator, and good, crusty bread from the bakery. Oh, and a couple pieces of chocolate cake. I thought it would be nice if lunch were waiting for us. I suppose we should eat that soup soon before it grows cold."

Oliver stood and faced his wife, noting how exceptionally beautiful she looked with her cheeks rosy from the cold, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight. For a moment, he was tongue-tied again, but he forced himself to clear his throat and let the words come tumbling out.

"Shane—dear Shane, please, let me apologize for how I overreacted yesterday. I know I was being ridiculous, and—and hurtful. I should never have invoked Holly's name in the same sentence with yours. And then I did the truly appalling and stopped speaking to you. But it was out of shame for my actions, not anger with you. You didn't deserve any of this, and I humbly ask for your forgiveness, and promise never to treat you so abominably again."

Shane regarded him a moment, taking in his sincerity, his pain from having hurt her. She knew these were his old insecurities rearing their ugly heads, his "fish sticks," as Rita had so eloquently put it. She reached for his hands, and was relieved to feel the familiar spark at his touch. His were still a little cold, either from being outside or nervousness, but he gently wrapped them around hers, his eyes darkening as he felt their renewed connection.

"Of course I forgive you, Oliver; I did the moment I left the house last night. But, we have to find a way to stop reliving your painful past. Maybe we should start seeing a therapist together. I'm afraid you are still traumatized by all the terrible things that happened to you, and while you are better at suppressing them, I wonder if you haven't fully dealt with them."

He squeezed her hands, his face suddenly losing its tense expression, and she feared he was losing the battle with his own stoicism.

"My father suggested the same thing," he said hoarsely. "Perhaps you are both right."

Always, in moments of vulnerability, Shane saw the hurt little boy in him, and there was nothing else she could think to do than to draw him into her arms and comfort him; and so she did. The moment their bodies touched, she felt the instant release of his pent-up emotions, and with a shuddering sigh, he held her tightly against him. She could feel his heart pounding against her breasts, and she soothed him with soft words, caressed his strong back, pressed her lips to his neck and cheek until his heartrate slowed and his desperate hold on her loosened.

"I'm sorry I left," she whispered finally. "I shouldn't have gone to Rita's in that moment; I shouldn't have left you alone."

He pulled back enough to look at her, his hand coming up to smooth back an errant lock of silky hair.

"No—you were right to want to get away from my wretched behavior. I—I need to learn a better way to deal with my emotions. In the midst of all my irrationality, I hope you always knew how much I love and cherish you, even when I'm being an arrogant ass."

She grinned at his unusual lapse into mild profanity. "Of course I know that, and I always love you no matter what, my adorable, arrogant ass."

He chuckled then, and bent his head to kiss her smiling lips. They both felt the instant the kiss deepened from reunion into passion, and they melted into one another, falling to their knees on the soft blanket. From her hands he felt love and forgiveness in every caress. From his lips she felt love and remorse, as he kissed his way down her body. They made love before the radiant fireplace, while the snow blanketed the city outside in a tumultuous privacy of storm.*

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Wrapped in blankets in front of the fire, they ate lukewarm soup in big mugs, skipped the salad and bread, and fed each other cake. Except for the crackling of the fire and the old grandfather clock in the corner, it was unbelievingly still, and they both wished aloud that it could always be this way. They sat back against the pillows, watching the sparks rise into the chimney as they sipped warming brandy and spoke of lighter things.

"I say we live like pioneers and cook our soup over the fire," Shane mused lazily.

"And I would go out and chop the wood for those long winter nights."

He kissed the soft head beneath his chin, and she smiled. They chose not to speak of the impracticality of their fantasy, of how much Shane would miss technology and Oliver the DLO. But then, Shane found herself suddenly pensive.

"Let's never do that again," she said, lacing her fingers with his.

He raised an eyebrow. "On the contrary, Ms. McInerney, I intend to do that as often as you'll allow me."

She chuckled, her cheeks flushing anew at the thought of their very recent interlude. "No, not that, silly. I mean, have a big fight; I absolutely hated it."

"As did I. I genuinely felt lost without you, and I never want to revisit that feeling. But it shows the strength of our marriage that we worked through it, learned from it, and found forgiveness—that's a very new experience for me."

"And for me," she said, thinking generally of her past failed relationships, of the reasons she'd never married before.

Oliver gently maneuvered her to her back, covering her body with his.

"But I believe we proved something else," he said, "the adage that the best part of a fight is in the making up. But I will gladly try to avoid the former"-he pressed a sensual kiss to her swollen lips—"and work more assiduously on improving the latter."

"I've always admired your assiduousness, Mr. O'Toole," she whispered against his mouth. And as was his inherent nature, Oliver got right to work.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was late evening when the electricity blinked back on, and the sound of the central heater awakened them from a contented doze. The fire had burned down to embers, the candles had begun to sputter, and the light from the foyer they'd switched on earlier made them blink against the sudden harsh brightness.

Shane sighed and snuggled closer to her husband beneath the blanket.

"I don't want to leave our little cocoon," she said. He grimaced as he shifted positions on the hard floor.

"Nor I, but my willing spirit of romance will have to take a backseat to the weakness of my fifty-year-old back."

"Just a few more minutes," she said, kissing his bare chest. The softness of her hair brushing his sensitized skin made him shiver.

He smiled as she continued her feminine methods of persuasion. "I can refuse you nothing, dear wife."

Her kisses went a long way toward helping him forget the pain.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They made it into work the next morning, although most everyone was late since they had to wait for the snowplows to clear the roads. When Rita and Norman saw them come in, holding hands, a bloom of love in Shane's cheeks and a very self-assured looking Oliver, they felt that all was right with their world.

Rita found a quiet moment to chat with Shane. Oliver's birthday had arrived, and everything was set for the surprise party at Bistro Ramon that evening.

"Does Oliver suspect anything?" Rita whispered.

"I don't think so. I wished him a happy birthday this morning, and confirmed that I'd gotten reservations for dinner at Ramon's, but he doesn't seem the least bit suspicious. I told him that I figured he wanted things low-key."

"And is that what he really wanted?"

Shane grinned. "I think my breezy attitude about such a milestone birthday disappointed him a little, but he tried valiantly to hide it."

Rita chuckled. "Won't he be surprised! Oh, I can't wait!"

"Me too!"

"And everything is all right now between you two, I see."

"Yes, The snowstorm was definitely a godsend," she said, blushing at Rita's knowing look.

"I'm sure it was. Nothing cozier that snuggling in front of a fire."

"I take it you and Norman took Oliver's advice?"

"We sure did." Rita glanced lovingly over at her own husband, who was clad in his lab coat and safety goggles, analyzing the results of his latest ink preserving formula.

"We are two lucky ladies," said Shane, watching Oliver guzzle his morning Yoo-hoo. Rita smiled her agreement.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What will you order tonight?" asked Shane, making conversation as Oliver navigated through the slushy Denver streets.

"Perhaps the ravioli," he said. "Ramon has really perfected his marinara."

"Oh, I agree. I've been craving a steak though."

"Hmmm…that does sound good. Maybe I'll reconsider…"

She kept him thus occupied, more to ease her nervousness rather than allaying any suspicions. She wanted everything to go perfectly, including his reaction to the surprise.

When they pulled into the Bistro parking lot, she was pleased to see how full it was—people had come, despite the storm!

"I'm glad you secured a reservation," Oliver commented. "It's good to see Ramon's restaurant so busy on a Wednesday night after a storm."

"Yes," she agreed, and it took a lot for her not to break out into a smile.

The fact was, she'd rented the entire place for their private party. Characteristically, Ramon had accepted no money for the rental—his gift to his wonderful friends, he'd told her-though naturally he didn't raise a fuss when she insisted on paying for the food and open bar; he was a good businessman, after all.

The fun part was when they walked into the restaurant and the place was totally empty of even waitstaff and the hostess.

"That's odd," said an oblivious Oliver. All the tables in the cozy bistro were beautifully set, with yellow roses and a candles atop snowy white tablecloths, just as she'd requested. Soft jazz played from the overhead speakers.

"Hello?" he called. "Is anyone-?"

"Surprise! Happy Birthday!"

A hoard of Oliver's friends and family emerged from the kitchen, all wearing silly party hats and blowing party horns and kazoos. Shane glanced over and nodded at Norman, who pulled a cord, releasing balloons from the ceiling.

She looked over at her truly surprised husband, who was smiling from ear-to-ear, and placed upon his head at a rakish angle, a plastic crown that said Birthday King. She laughed aloud at the picture he made. Friends from the postal service, his church, and some they had made from their DLO adventures came forward, offering him hugs and a ribbing about being over the hill.

"The bar is open!" announced Ramon, giving Shane a wink.

Beside him, his girlfriend, Dale** stepped forward to embrace both Oliver and Shane.

Shane's mother had even come from DC, and was chatting with Oliver's father, who was smiling proudly as he waited for the perfect time to approach his son.

"How long have you known about this," he asked his father.

Joe shrugged. "A few weeks. My contribution is the bar tab, so Happy Birthday. I'm glad to see you and your wife have made up."

He grinned. "We certainly did. That was good advice you gave me. All of it," he finished meaningfully."

"With age comes wisdom, Old Timer," Joe teased. "Welcome to the club."

He hugged his father tightly. "Thanks, Dad."

After the waitstaff had passed around glasses of champagne, Shane stepped up and rang her glass with a spoon. But it was Rita's shrill whistle that got everyone's attention. Shane laughed as her audience suddenly grew silent.

"Thank you, Rita, and thank you all for coming to celebrate Oliver's Big 5-0!" There was more applause and whistles, as Shane caught and held her husband's sparkling eyes.

"Before we get started with Ramon's delicious buffet he and his staff have prepared, I'd like to say a few words about the guest of honor. He is the finest man I've ever known. He loves God, he loves me, and he loves all of you. He's made my life full and complete, and has, through his work at the DLO, made countless others feel the same way. He's certainly not perfect, mind you"-there was a smattering of laughter and good-natured protests—"I mean, the man still doesn't own a cell phone, he drinks those nasty Yoo-hoos by the case, and at times he can be stubborn and awkward and…infuriating."

Oliver's eyebrows rose, but he grinned and nodded, owning it.

"But it is his heart that I love most of all," Shane continued, when the laughter died down again. "He lives his life in service and in faith, and, as the poet says, I love him with the breath, smiles and tears of all my life.*** And so please, raise your glasses and join me in wishing Oliver, my dearest love, the happiest of birthdays!"

"Happy Birthday!" everyone chorused, and each took a celebratory sip of champagne.

"All hail, King Oliver," added Norman, referring to his crown.

"Speech! Speech!" Ramon called to Oliver, who was embracing his wife and kissing her on her tear-streaked cheek. He reluctantly broke away and took center stage.

"First, let me just thank you all for this complete surprise. My wife did an excellent job of keeping this from me—a heroic feat, given how much I enjoy solving a good mystery. It truly warms my heart to see you all here—my friends, my family, my life" (here he looked down at Shane)—"all here before me on a day that might plunge some men into a deep depression. Do I feel fifty? Yes, every bit of it, as my back so helpfully likes to remind me." He gave Shane's hand a slight squeeze, each remembering why his back was hurting this day. "But I am the happiest I've ever been in my life, and it is due to all of you, but especially to my lovely wife, whose capacity for forgiveness and understanding of my foibles has blessed me in my advanced age. So, thank you all, and, in the words of The Bard, with mirth and laughter, let old wrinkles come."***

"Hear! Hear!" Joe O'Toole concurred, and they all toasted Shane, Oliver, friendship, and birthdays in general.

The rest of the party was a merry one, with delicious food, plenty of champagne, and good friends. There was dancing and presents and laughter and tears. A good time was truly had by all.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Later, at home on their couch before the fire, Oliver and Shane sat close together, reveling in the quiet after the joyous party.

"You truly outdid yourself, my love," he told her. "Thank you for a wonderful party."

"Rita, Norman, and Ramon deserve equal credit," she said. "It was a lot of fun planning this in secret."

"You might all find work as actors, or maybe spies. And it was nice seeing your mother. You didn't invite her to stay with us?"

"Well, that would have ruined the surprise. No, she's at a hotel downtown. She told me she'd had too much champagne and was going back to her room to sleep it off." They both chuckled. "Your dad offered to take her to her hotel. She'll be over for dinner tomorrow."

"Oh, good."

They sat a few more minutes in silence, and because of the party, the drinks, and the two days of tension (and making up), they were both quite exhausted.

They'd both nearly fallen asleep before Shane suddenly jumped up with an excited: "Oh! I almost forgot. Wait here."

His hand going to his startled heart, Oliver muttered to himself about giving her "elderly" husband his second heart attack of the day.

She quickly returned with a wrapped, book-shaped present, which she gently rested on his lap. He looked down from it to Shane, and he knew by her hesitant expression that this was what FedEx had delivered on that fateful day. Reverently, he removed the wrapping paper, praying that this object of contention would reveal itself as being worthy of all the trouble it had caused.

He was not disappointed.

"My goodness, Shane," he said in awe, admiring each book in the three-volume set. It was obviously an antique, and he gingerly opened to the title page of Volume 1 of the First Folio, Shakespeare's complete works, where he saw the date, 1881. He looked at her in surprise. "This is incredible. However did you find it?"

"The internet is good for something," she teased, sitting beside him again. "It's amazing the access you have to antique book stores all over the world. I know it's obviously not the original 1623 version, but I thought it was in great shape for its age, and I love the red leather binding."

"It's truly beautiful, and a fitting vessel for such a glorious compendium of the greatest literature ever written by man. It is already one of my most prized possessions. Thank you, my love, for knowing me so well."

He held her close and kissed her, mindful of the true treasure he held in his arms.

"You're welcome," she said breathlessly, smiling that he was so happy with her gift. "I wonder what Shakespeare would have said about this, how his work has been re-published over and over again for 400 years."

Oliver thought a moment, then, opening one of the volumes, scanned the table of contents before going unerringly to a passage from As You Like It: "'Literature is a comprehensive essence of the intellectual life of a nation.'"***** He carefully closed the book and mused, "So, if that is true, it must bode well for a nation that continues to enjoy The Bard."

Shane grinned and shook her head in wonder. "I don't know why I bothered getting you Shakespeare's complete works; you really have most of it down by heart."

He shrugged, a bit embarrassed. "All the same, just holding this in my hands, imagining all those who have held it too, appreciating what Shakespeare wrote—it's like a connection to like-minded people from the past. That in itself is a wonderful gift."

"Even if it came from FedEx," ventured Shane cautiously.

"My darling Shane, it's not how something gets here, but only that it does," he replied.

"Shakespeare?"

"No," he said, blue eyes dancing, "Oliver O'Toole."

And then he kissed her.

THE END

A/N: Thank you for reading! I'm chomping at the bit waiting for July 12th! In the meantime, I'd love to know what you thought of my story.

PS: Sorry if I went a bit overboard with the quotes. This fandom gives me the perfect excuse to share my love of literature. Thanks for indulging the English teacher in me :)

*from "The Snowstorm" by Ralph Waldo Emerson

**I wrote their unlikely love story in my fic, "Dale and Ramon."

***from "How do I Love Thee," by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

****The Merchant of Venice: Act 1, Scene 1, by William Shakespeare

*****As You Like It, Act 2, Scene 7, by William Shakespeare