2. Who is the big spoon/who is the little spoon?

There's little that Anne Lister loves more than coming home at the end of a long day to her wife's pretty face. Whatever dark mood might have shadowed her during the long hours fighting with ridiculous men, the merest glimpse of her wife's sunny smile is often enough to break through those clouds of doom.

They spend an hour with Anne's family in the parlour after dinner. Anne blocks out Marian's insipid droning, marvelling at how Ann can possibly bear to listen to her. The fact that her wife seems to enjoy her sister's company is almost beyond comprehension. Too oft she is unfailingly kind when she would be better served to make her excuses and leave.

But, alas, it is not until her aunt rises with a groan that Ann seems to consider it time to retire. She half-rises from her seat, nervous.

"You don't have to stop on my accord," Aunt says kindly. "You youngsters should stay as long as you like."

"No, I think it's a good idea," says Anne, checking her pocket watch.

"Aunt wasn't talking to you," Marian says childishly. "You're not young, either."

Anne scowls, ignoring the amused quirk of her wife's lips.

Evidently sensing her displeasure, Ann makes a show of yawning. "I am actually rather tired myself. I think I'll turn in too."

Anne shoots her sister a triumphant glance. There. There's no arguing with that.

Marian only rolls her eyes. "Well, if you're sure. But please don't feel like you have to do everything my sister says, Miss Walker. You're under no obligation. If you'd rather stay here awhile, there's nothing saying you can't."

Amused, Ann reaches out and squeezes Marian's hand. "I know. But it has been a long day. I'll see you in the morning. How would you feel about a trip into Halifax?"

Marian brightens instantly at that. "Oh, that would be lovely! I hardly ever get the company."

"I go with you sometimes," Anne protests.

"No, you decide that you'll come along, then drag me about as if I'm some misbehaved dog…and then you have the gall to abandon me when some new scheme catches your attention!"

Ann giggles. "Well, I can promise that I won't do any of those things. We can plan things properly over breakfast tomorrow."

Marian nods, appeased, and Anne finally manages to drag her wife from the room.

"You irritate Marian rather a lot," Ann says, lips twitching.

"She irritates me!" Anne retorts, outraged. "Talking the most absurd drivel! Honestly, it's a miracle that she hasn't bored poor Aunt and Father to death with her tedious rubbish."

"That's rather unkind," Ann giggles as they mount the stairs. "Your aunt and father love her very much. And so do you."

Anne grunts. Of course she loves her sister. It doesn't make her any less irritating.

At their bedroom door, she pauses.

"You go on ahead," she says, touching her fingers to Ann's elbow. "I just want to see that Aunt is comfortable. I won't be long."

"Of course," Ann says. With a smile, she slips into their cosy little quarters. Anne smiles after her for a moment, then turns in the direction of Aunt's room.

Aunt is making the painfully slow process of turning down the bed when she enters. Anne hurries forward to help her at once, although Aunt tries to wave away the fussing.

"I'm not completely helpless just yet," she complains.

"I know," Anne soothes. "I just want to help, that's all."

"You fuss too much."

"It's only because we care about you."

Aunt sighs. "I know, I know. And it means the world to me, of course, that you and Marian care so much about me. But I don't want to be an imposition. I don't want to stop you from enjoying your own lives."

"Of course you don't stop us from doing that," Anne says firmly. "And it's much more important to both of us that you're safe and well. That's our priority."

"I sometimes wonder what Miss Walker must think of me."

"Don't be silly, Aunt. Adney thinks the world of you. You're kind to her, and you care about her. She doesn't get any of that from her own Aunt Ann. Besides, Adney has never been one to judge anyone else for their ailment, not when she suffers so much herself."

Both Ann's physical and mental symptoms have been calmer in recent weeks, which is always a lovely bonus. Their flare-ups are impossible to predict, but since moving into Shibden and being surrounded by affection and understanding, Ann has had an easier time of it. Indeed, Aunt Anne is always the first there with a kind word and a gentle encouragement. And Anne knows that her aunt is very fond of the younger woman, much friendlier with her than she ever was with Mariana. Indeed, the whole of her family seems to feel the same way.

Aunt Anne gets into bed with a painful moan. Anne hurries forward to help her, plumping the pillows behind her so she is comfortable. Aunt reaches out to squeeze her hand.

"Thank you," she says. "But don't keep your Miss Walker waiting any longer. She'll be waiting patiently for you."

There's little point in acting the fool; they've never said it aloud, of course, but Anne is aware that her aunt knows of her true inclinations, as is her father. That's one thing she will always be grateful to them for, even if she finds her father irritating and ridiculous; not once, in her whole life, have they ever made her feel ashamed of her nature, nor have they tried to cram her into the prison of marriage and a traditional woman's role for the sake of appearances. Her shabby little family has many faults, but never there, so far removed from the suspicion and hostility that Ann has had to deal with.

"Sleep well," she says to her aunt now, kissing her on the cheek. "I'll see you in the morning."

With that, she leaves the room behind, crossing the corridor to her own quarters.

Ann is already abed when she enters, hair braided down her back, demure and dainty as she waits patiently. Eugenie fusses over in the corner. Anne rolls her eyes, dismisses her in French. The younger woman huffs and stomps out. Honestly, how tiresome she is. If properly trained French maids weren't so difficult to find, she'd dismiss her and have done with it, for she's almost more trouble than she's worth.

"Is Aunt well?" Ann asks. Anne can feel her gaze pressing heavy as she flits around the room changing. The concern in her tone is genuine, and it makes Anne's heart all the warmer that there are never any falsities where her wife is concerned, only the genuine hope for good news.

"Well enough," she says, finishing undressing with brisk efficiency and moving to tame her own hair into a braid. "I can't deny that I do worry about her more and more as the months pass."

"I know," Ann says softly. "But she's a strong woman. I have faith that she will start to feel better soon."

Anne wishes that she could have that same faith. She trusts in God and His holy purpose, but she can't pretend that the idea of losing her aunt doesn't terrify her. Aunt Anne has always been there for her, staunch and steadfast and loving even when so many others have sneered at and shunned her. And she can't bear to think of a world where she's stuck with Marian and Father without Aunt there as a buffer.

"Pony? Are you all right?"

Ann's voicer breaks through her thoughts, and she forces herself to smile. "Yes, of course." The last thing she wants is for Ann to begin fretting over her. She has enough to deal with without adding that on top.

A crease appears between Ann's eyebrows, but she doesn't comment further. She's always so intuitive; she must know how hard it is to think about such an inevitability, never mind speak of it.

"Come to bed, Pony," she murmurs, and Anne finishes off tying off the end of her hair, crawling into bed beside her wife. Ann rolls over at once, and Anne follows her gratefully. There are few things in the world that calm her better than getting to hold her wife in her arms.

She presses her front to Ann's back, drapes an arm over her waist, pulls her in closer. She's always loved the way that Ann's body fits so well against her own, the curves moulding into her straight lines, soft where she is hard. In moments like this, it's difficult not to think that God may have crafted them for just this purpose. And, no matter how stressed and tired she is by outside forces, holding her wife in her arms always succeeds in calming her.

She closes her eyes now, breathing in the scent of her wife's hair, relaxing when Ann reaches up to gently link their fingers together over her stomach. The press of her warm wedding ring centres her. Anne tucks her head into the crook of Ann's shoulder and allows the gentle rise and fall of her breathing to lull her into a sense of serenity.

There is so much uncertainty in the future. Aunt Anne's health is likely to continue declining steadily. Her father is getting on in years. Her sister finds new ways to vex her every single day. Even she and Ann are not without their troubles—Ann's moods fluctuate, she is often tired and irritable, and Anne knows that she is much the same.

But the one thing she is sure of is that Ann will be by her side for the remainder of their lives. There may be moments when her faith wavers, when they both wonder why they continue on with so many odds stacked against them.

But all marriages go through peaks and troughs, euphoric highs and crippling lows. It doesn't mean that the love is any less real, the bonds any weaker. This is different to the love she'd had with Mariana, which had always been so tempestuous, so unpredictable, like a stormy sea on the deepest night.

Ann's love is steady. The light in the window after a long time away from home. Oh, it is testing at times. But it is constant, too. No matter what tribulations they face, no matter the conflicts of faith and doubts that Ann battles within her own head, Anne knows that they will prevail.

And, here, now, holding her wife in her arms, the warm weight of her, the curve of her hips, the silk of her legs, the satin of her hair, the bony jut of her elbows, Anne thanks God all over again for bringing them back into each other's lives.

And, here, now, holding her wife in her arms, she vows never to let it go again.