Half a World Away

By S. Faith, 2009

Words: 17,335 (Pt 3: 6,319)
Rating: M / R
Summary, Disclaimer, Notes: See Part 1.

Jude had plans with Richard, and Tom with his sometimes-boyfriend Jerome, so in the end it was Shazzer who came to ring in the New Year with her. "I'm not fucking kissing you at midnight," she announced upon arrival, toting two bottles of sparkling wine, three boxes of Milk Tray and an array of movies on DVD.

For the first time that day, she laughed. "Shaz, it's just you and me."

"If you can't get blind drunk and sick beyond all sense on New Year's Eve," she asked with perfect solemnity, "when can you?"

Shortly after her parents left for Una and Geoffrey's party, Shaz popped open a bottle as Bridget pulled down and rinsed out a couple of her mother's old-fashioned champagne glasses. Within an hour the first bottle was gone, most of it down Shazzer's gullet. Bridget knew that her tolerance was pretty low, so she took her time with her glass. Even after the first small glassful she felt her head spinning a little.

"Shaz," began Bridget. "I gotta ask you why you didn't tell me about Mark."

"Tell ya what?" she asked. "That he's a two-timing—"

"No, that he was the one you went to and the one who got me out."

"Oh," she said. "Well, I didn't want to… rub salt into the wound."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, him with that Rebecca all the time," she said. "I didn't want you to draw the wrong conclusions."

"Ah. Didn't want me to get my hopes up. Funny, he used almost the same phrase." She leaned back into the sofa. "So why did he do it?"

Sharon shrugged. "Because I asked…? And because I think he knew I might bollock him if he didn't."

Bridget chuckled, but was not sure she actually felt any better.

"Really, though," she said, as seriously as she could muster being as tipsy as she was, "he has a moral streak a mile wide. Couldn't sit back and let injustice rein, even if it's an ex-girlfriend who chucked him for being a bastard." She laughed hysterically at her own joke. Bridget, however, could find nothing to laugh at in it.

By eleven in the evening, with the second bottle half gone and most of the chocolate consumed, Shazzer had completely passed out in the middle of the sitting room floor, leaving Bridget watching some ridiculous romantic comedy, which she switched off in favour of New Year's countdown coverage. She'd given up drinking the champagne after the second glass, as it only seemed to make her feel morose. Bridget went into the kitchen and put the kettle on for some tea, instead. The water had just boiled and she had just poured it over her tea bag when she heard a knock at the door. Perhaps Jude's and Tom's plans had fallen through and they'd decided to come after all. She went to the front door, swung it open…

She did not expect for Mark to be standing there. "Mark," she said after a moment. "Hi."

He said nothing. His expression was hard to read, but was the most emotional she'd seen it since returning.

"Why don't you… come in?" she offered lamely, stepping aside.

He did; she closed the door behind him. "I understand Sharon's with you?" he asked in a quiet voice, speaking at last, looking around. "I'd like to speak to you privately."

"Shaz is completely pissed," said Bridget. "We could have a shouting match over her unconscious form and she'd never know."

She caught a small smirk flit on the corner of his mouth before disappearing completely. "I was hoping to see you at the Alconburys' tonight. I wanted to apologise."

She lowered her brows.

"Perhaps I should not apologise so much as ask you for forgiveness."

"What are you talking about?"

"For not getting you out sooner."

"I read all of the articles, Mark. I don't think you could be faulted for not doing your best. There's no need to apologise."

"No, I do. If not for that, then for earlier today." He continued to speak before she had a chance to protest. "I'm afraid my explanation for why I kept you in the dark about my involvement in your release didn't at all come out the way I intended it to."

"So what did you intend to say?"

"I didn't want you to feel indebted to me because…" He looked the ceiling, clearly struggling for the right words, then looked to her again. "…because I didn't want gratitude to force you into maintaining a connection with me that you clearly didn't want."

She was astonished. "Mark—"

"Let me finish," he interrupted. "Then I saw you the day you returned, and the way you reacted to my… well, I then felt justified in my decision."

"How I reacted?" she asked, struggling to remember.

"You didn't exactly show signs of being receptive," he said quietly. "It felt like you were recoiling from me." He then continued, seemingly changing the subject, "I overheard your mother tonight. She was talking to Una about how you had been quiet, keeping to yourself, how you'd been a little on edge, a bit skittish, but understandable considering where you'd just been. When she saw me she… immediately asked me about my girlfriend Rebecca. I have to admit I was perplexed. And then everything made sense."

"I'm glad it makes sense to you," she said.

"Bridget," he said, his voice low. "I'm going to ask you something, and you may end up hurting me with your reply, but be honest. Not knowing for sure is killing me."

She was surprised at his candour, and a little afraid of the question he had.

"All right," she said hesitantly.

"Are you still in love with Daniel?"

As the words came from his mouth, she was convinced he was going to ask her if she was still in love with him, not Daniel; when Mark said 'Daniel' instead, she was completely caught-off guard. "Daniel?"

"Yes, Bridget."

"Why on earth would I still be in love with Daniel?" she asked.

"Because you spent the night with him in Thailand," he said, sounding just this side of angry.

"I didn't," she said, "and I tried to tell you so when you came to see me in prison."

"But in retracing your steps in preparing the case against Jed—"

"I had dinner with him," she interrupted firmly. "I went back to his hotel room. He tried to trick me into bed, but I did not sleep with him." She remembered what her father had told her about Shaz raising the alarm with Mark upon her return. "You could have just asked Sharon. She knew."

He looked dumbfounded, as if asking Shazzer had never entered his mind, as if his pride wouldn't dream of allowing him to beg for scraps of second-hand information. It was also possible that it had never occurred to him that he had drawn the wrong conclusion.

Recovering himself, he said, his expression and voice turning frosty, "Why did you go up to his room, then?"

She shot back, "I thought my sex life was none of your concern."

He glanced down, his posture slightly slumping, the sinews in his jaw working; he looked up to her again, the sadness in his eyes surprising her. "I suppose I deserved that," he said.

Except for the dull roar of the telly in the next room, they stood in excruciating silence for what seemed like forever, but was in reality probably no more than fifteen or twenty seconds. She decided to come clean with him; thinking of that night in Thailand still made her feel like a complete imbecile. Glancing down, she said, "I went up there because I was foolish enough to believe he changed, that he really was undergoing therapy."

"Therapy?" he said.

She went on: "For a sex addiction. Then events occurred that… suffice to say, proved to me he hadn't changed at all."

"You believed him about sex therapy?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yes, apparently I was that foolish," she said sardonically, then snorted a laugh. "I don't know why I'm even answering you, anyway, when you wouldn't dignify my question about Rebecca with a response."

He still looked shocked and didn't say anything for many moments, until he abruptly uttered, "No."

"'No'?"

"The answer to your question," he elaborated. "It's difficult for Rebecca to be my girlfriend when she has one of her own."

The meaning trickled through; it was her turn to be stunned.

In a whirl, she thought about Mark's tendency not to go out on a limb regarding emotional matters, how brave it had been of him to just come out and ask her if she still loved Daniel. She had wondered why her answer to that question had the potential to hurt him so much; why he cared one way or another. Now it all seemed clear.

And now it was her turn to go out on a limb.

"So to answer your question, Mark," she said, her voice sounding stronger than she felt. "No. I don't love Daniel. I love you."

His expression did not change. He didn't move. He didn't blink.

The silence returned, but this time, in this moment of truth, it was crackling with expectation. With the faintest light of hope.

"I lied," he said quietly; the words startled her. "All of it—every flight, every legal brief, every phone call I made—I did because I couldn't bear to think of the woman I loved suffering in such conditions." He paused, then amended, "The woman I still love."

Of its own accord she felt her lower lip start to tremble; with that he swept forward, still in his woollen coat, and enfolded her within his arms. Unlike his previous hug, she allowed herself to melt into him, embracing him fully in return, closing her eyes, feeling tears spill over onto her cheeks. She revelled in his warmth, his scent, in the comfort that his embrace provided her. She had missed him so very much, and was so relieved to know he still loved her.

"When I saw you in your flat the day you got back," he said, his hand cupping the back of her head gently, "my heart broke to think of the months you spent in that prison; I hated myself for failing."

"You didn't fail," she said. "I'm here now."

"You looked—still look—so fragile." His voice was close to her ear, practically a whisper. "I feel like I might hurt you if I hold you too tightly."

She chuckled. "I promise you won't. And I've already put on half a stone since I've been back." She heard, felt him rock with a chuckle of his own, too.

In the other room she heard the swelling sound of the telly crowd, could hear a countdown; fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…. It must have been nearing midnight. She pushed back, looked up at him. "Can you stay a little while longer?"

He must have heard the cheers too, and smiled. "Of course."

They listened to the distant countdown; he raised his hands to hold her face, reverently brushing his thumbs over her cheeks, his eyes searching hers. At the stroke of midnight, he quickly bent and kissed her, tenderly at first, then passionately, before breaking away to clasp her to him again.

"Here's to new beginnings," he murmured.

Together they walked into the living room. Tiptoeing over Shaz's prostrate form, she went and switched the television off as he slipped out of his coat, throwing it over the chair, then sat down on the sofa. As she joined him, he once more took her into his arms. It felt so good to just sit there with him, in the silence, knowing that her feelings were reciprocated, knowing that, though it might be a bit of a bumpy ride, the road to a reconciliation was for the most part a clear one.

"I was an idiot to assume the worst of you," she said in a hushed tone. "I should have—"

"I should have not been so defensive when you asked," he said, interrupting her. "Too many 'should have's, Bridget."

"True," she concurred, tightening her embrace. "And not enough 'I'm sorry's." She meant from herself, but realised belatedly it sounded like blame-placing. Mark only placed a kiss into her hair, seemingly understanding her intention.

"Also true," he said. She understood at once that he didn't mean only from her.

………

She didn't quite recall drifting off to sleep, but she woke to the sound of the front door opening. Mark was still there, still awake and holding her, still smiling in that sweet way he did when he didn't even realise he was doing so. "Think your parents are back," he whispered.

At the same moment, Shazzer jerked awake. "Oh God," she said, pushing herself up to her knees, her words still a little slurred. "I bloody missed the—"

She stopped when she turned around and saw the two of them sitting cuddled up on the couch.

"Mark?" she asked, clearly bewildered.

"Hello, Sharon," he said. "Happy New Year."

She blinked in a very discombobulated way. "I must've had too much to drink. I'm hallucinating." She got to her feet, staggered up the stairs, muttering a "Good night", probably to the Joneses as she passed them in the entryway. Bridget pushed herself up just as her parents entered the sitting room.

"Thought I might still find you here, Mark." Her mother. She was smirking smugly. "You see, Bridget? I was right."

For once she was grateful for it.

"Well, poppet," said her father, coming closer to the sofa to bend and kiss her forehead. "Your mother and I are off to Bedfordshire." He turned to Mark, the corner of his mouth turned up in a playful curl. "Nice to see you, son. Good night."

She found herself grinning at them as they walked away.

"That's quite a smile," said Mark, looking at her with an adoration she thought she'd never see again.

"I can't tell you," she said, "what a relief it is to have—" She stopped short, furrowing her brow.

"What is it?"

"It's presumptuous."

"Let me be the judge of that."

She pursed her lips and continued. "—to have a man in my life that my parents unconditionally approve of."

At that he laughed a short, abrupt laugh, and pulled her into a hug again.

She added, "It really takes the pressure off."

"Not presumptuous at all, Bridget," he said, "because I want nothing more than to have you back in my life." He kissed her at the hairline on her temple. "Lord, how I've missed you."

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Missed you too."

She felt him place more kisses just by her ear, then on her cheek, then he was searching for her mouth again to kiss her properly and at length. She tried to tamp down the desire building rapidly in her—because hello, she thought, parents' sitting room—but was not very successful, and found her hands playing over his shoulders and chest just as his were roaming over her back. For a fleeting moment his fingertips brushed against the bare skin on the small of her back, which served to snap her out of the reality of where things seemed to be quickly heading, and back to the present. She hastily pulled away.

"What?" he asked.

"It's… getting late. You should go."

A rumble of low laughter. "Darling," he said. "Two things. One, I have enough sense than to try to make love to you in the middle of your parents' house." The heat of a top-level blush filled her cheeks. "Two, there is no way on this earth that I am not sleeping by your side tonight."

She was touched, but at the same time felt a bit thwarted.

He stretched out along the length of the sofa, plumping the pillow at the end, fishing the blanket out, and without words invited her to lie beside him. She did, her back pressed up against his in a marvellous spooning fashion, his arm about her waist, his nose buried in her hair.

"It's just that it's been a long time since—" she began, her frustration evident in her voice.

"March. Yes. I remember all too well," he murmured, tightening his arm for a brief moment. "Good things come to those who wait."

She couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her throat; soon her passion was replaced by the peace and serenity of lying in his arms, and she was once again asleep before she knew it.

………

"Holy shit!"

Those two gasped words were what startled Bridget out of a dead sleep sometime the next morning. She had to admit, though, that the rather sudden way of waking up was more than made up for by the look on Shaz's face.

"You weren't hallucinating last night," said Bridget quietly. Still in his arms, still spooned back up against him, she could still hear Mark snoring softly and didn't want to wake him.

Shazzer crouched down in front of the sofa. "What happened?"

"Too much to explain now," said Bridget.

"What about…?" Shaz began. She didn't have to say the name; Bridget knew she meant Rebecca.

"Never happened," said Bridget. "Apparently has a girlfriend."

Shaz's expression did nothing to conceal her utter shock before she asked, "You didn't… you know… right here, did you?"

"Of course not," Bridget said in disgust and a little too loudly; Mark shifted, moving his hand under the blanket from where it had been resting on her breast to her waist again. Shaz quickly got to her feet and tried to look innocent; as per usual with Shaz, it didn't work.

"Well, I'm, um, gonna take off, Bridge," she said, gathering up her DVDs and her purse. Then, with another impish smile, she added before dashing to the door, "Bed's free if you want it."

To his credit, Mark began to chuckle, lazily swinging his fingers in an arc over her abdomen. "It is a lovely thought, sleeping in a proper bed," he said, "though what would your parents think?"

She turned over to face him, put her right arm over his own waist, pulling herself up against him to rest her cheek on his shoulder, nestling into his neck. "That their perfect, wholesome daughter had somehow been led astray," she joked, matter-of-factly.

"Well, we best not shatter any illusions today," he teased in return, in his most serious tone, then kissed her temple, his lips lingering there. "Mmm," he said in a low voice, his hands on her back. "Very much looking forward to being in the right place to lead you astray, as it were."

"You're an awful tease," she said, rearing her head back to kiss him on the mouth.

"I'm the tease?" he protested when she pulled away.

Heavy steps on the staircase brought the playful snogging to an end; she scrambled out of his arms and sat up just as her father appeared in the sitting room. "Good morning, love," he said, then added, noticing Mark, "and to you as well, Mark."

"We fell asleep on the couch," said Bridget proactively.

"Yes," said Colin, as a grin spread over his face, "that is quite evident." He looked from his daughter to Mark then back to Bridget again. "Coffee all around? Breakfast?"

"Please," said Bridget eagerly.

"I know just what to make," he said. "I'll call for you when it's ready."

"Okay."

He retreated for the kitchen and she looked down to Mark again. He looked quite pensive, but in a happy way; it was a lovely thing to see. "I know we probably have some talking to do," he said, likely prompted by her own thoughtful expression in regarding him, "but right now I'm content enough in having you back. Everything else, no matter how difficult, will be worth doing to be with you."

She nodded, feeling very emotional again, and leaned forward to hug him. Now that they had straightened the major misunderstandings out, now that she knew he had not stopped loving her, she couldn't get enough of being close to him. To her delight, it seemed he felt the same way.

"Before breakfast is ready, why don't we wash up, take turns in the loo?" he said in his very usual logical manner.

She nodded; it was quite an excellent idea. "Oh God. I must have dragon breath," she said, suddenly mortified at the thought.

"Even if you did," he said, "I did say 'everything else, no matter how difficult'."

She laughed, then reached out to caress his face with her fingers. Caught quite firmly in his loving gaze, she leaned forward and kissed him, which led to her not heading up to the loo but to being pulled to lie down beside him once more. Despite claiming to have 'enough sense', he seemed to be unable to keep his hands from roaming over her as they continued kissing, and she gasped into his mouth as he swept his palm over her breast, then down over her bottom, squeezing gently, pressing her into him—

"Good heavens!"

Her mother's voice.

They scrambled apart as best they could from a reclined position on the couch; Bridget pushed herself up to sit, and Mark tried his best to look nonchalant though she knew this was more of a nightmare come true for him than for her. Bridget knew she was blushing as she forced what she hoped was a natural-looking smile at her mother, even as she shuddered to think how much Pam had seen. "Good morning, Mum."

"What's going on?" she asked sternly.

"I apologise," said Mark. "I was just giving her a kiss good morning."

Pam pursed her lips.

"It's been a long nine months without your daughter," he added.

"Oh, Pam." Her father's voice. "Give the lovebirds a break, and come lay out the table. Eggy bread is almost ready."

In an instant, Pam's expression seemed to soften and she even smiled a little. "I'll be right there."

As her mother retreated to the kitchen, Bridget started to laugh, which set Mark off as well, and before too long they were hugging and giggling and playfully kissing before he reared back and combed his fingers through her hair, pushing it away from her face.

"Have I mentioned I've missed you?" he said.

"You might have done," she said.

"I don't think I've laughed as much over the last nine months as I have in the last… well, less than a day."

"Yeah," she said. "Me, neither."

Colin Jones had really outdone himself for breakfast; she had devoured two pieces of eggy bread and was considering a third when her mother said, "And after this, we'll get the curry to going… Una's got dessert covered… and people will start arriving at about three."

In her excitement in getting back together with Mark, she had completely and utterly forgotten about the Turkey Curry Buffet. She nearly dropped her fork, and shot a look to Mark. He looked disappointed.

"Everyone will be so glad to see you, Bridget," continued Pam. "And you're looking so much better now than when you first got back."

"Still think you're too thin," said Colin matter-of-factly.

"I'm working on that," she said sarcastically as she speared another section of eggy bread.

Under the table, she felt his left hand cover her knee and squeeze reassuringly. The Turkey Curry Buffet was going to seem interminable, but she reminded herself of what he'd said the previous evening, and flashed a smile at him. If good things come to those who wait, she thought, I should be lined up for something astonishing.

After they were finished eating, her mother busied herself with clearing the table. Mark set his fork down and said to Bridget, "I'm going to head back to my parents', have a shower, shave, and a change of clothes. I'll see you later."

She smiled and nodded.

Very much aware of her parents' eyes on herself and Mark, she felt very subconscious as he stood then leaned to peck her cheek. He then turned to them. "Thank you for your hospitality, and for the delicious breakfast, Mr and Mrs Jones. I'll see you later."

Pam smiled warmly, his part in the incident in the sitting room apparently forgotten, while Colin grinned and nodded. "Don't mention it, Mark. Always a pleasure."

After he'd gone, it didn't take long for the expected lecture to begin.

"Bridget," Pam scolded, putting the jams and syrups away. "Letting Mark… do certain things."

She supposed Pam thought these code words would go over her father's head. It was a pretty ridiculous thing to say, considering her history with Julian. And really, did Pam really think that she had never slept with Mark in their time together? "Mother," she said emphatically. "It's not like we were doing anything but kissing. And I'm hardly a teenager."

Her father busied himself with the dishes.

"Hm," Pam said disapprovingly.

"Plus," she said, "it isn't as if I don't love him."

Pam stopped what she was doing and looked to Bridget. "This is what I don't understand about you young people today. You love him! And yet you chucked him without bothering to find out the truth. I don't know what you were thinking."

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, looking down.

Her father came to her rescue. "Pam, lighten up on the girl. He's a good man, but not exactly transparent about his feelings, in case you didn't notice. Misunderstandings happen. The important thing is that everything gets straightened out in the end, and you find one another again."

He put his hand on his wife's shoulder, smiling tenderly as Pam turned to look at him. The second meaning did not go unnoticed to either of them.

Pam smiled at her husband, then leaned into him as he put his arm about her waist. "I suppose you have a point," she said softly, apparently conceding the fight. "Well, Bridget, go on, have a shower, get dressed, and if you're up to helping peel potatoes…"

She smiled and nodded, even though her potato-peeling skills always were a subject of scorn. She knew she should have felt redeemed at her father's words, but instead only felt unsettled. As she showered, combed her hair, got dressed, that odd unsettling spiralled into bona fide guilt. Why had she been so willing to believe the worst of a man who had never done anything to deserve it? No wonder he had bristled and refused to answer her question about Rebecca.

She helped her mother with the potatoes, because at least the occasional pointing-out of a missed eye here or there at least took her mind off of the remorse she felt for everything she had set into motion by chucking Mark. Would she ever have even agreed to go to Thailand if she'd had Mark to bounce the idea off of? Probably not, she thought. He would have reminded her what a bad idea it would have been to trust Daniel Cleaver in any way, shape or form. And the whole prison ordeal would never have happened…

She was going to have to spend the entire day being sociable and smiley when what she really wanted to do was hole up in her room, close the blinds, and wallow in her self-pity. Yes, Mark still loved her and they were back together, but so much time had been wasted, and all because of her own stupidity.

Soon the house was filled with the scent of heating turkey and spicy curry; before she knew it, her mother was announcing that people would be arriving soon.

She sighed again. Showtime.

The Darcys, ever gracious, were among the first to arrive, and the hug she got from Elaine was wonderful and reassuring. "So good to have you back," she said, pulling away to look at her; the smile told Bridget that Elaine meant more than just returned from Thailand.

"It's very good to be back," concurred Bridget, glancing to Mark.

Malcolm gave her a hug too before Mark was at her side, sliding an arm around her waist, almost as if he knew she needed to lean on him in more than just a physical manner. "They're very happy about how things have turned out," Mark said quietly to her.

"I'm glad."

One by one the rest of the usual gang arrived; the Alconburys, the Enderburys, Penny and Aunt Shirley and all the others. It was nice to see them all, wonderful to know they had all been here rooting for her… but truth be told, it was all very wearing on her. She felt like she was being passed around from person to person like a newborn baby or a particularly adorable kitten. When it came time to eat, she picked through her serving of turkey curry, sipped at her glass of wine and hoped it would help with the tension headache she was developing with all of the smiling she'd done that day.

When she'd finished eating all she could eat, she set her plate down and went to find her mother; she wasn't sure where Mark had gone off to, possibly waylaid by Geoffrey or his own father. She told Pam, "Mum, I need a bit of a lie down. This is all getting to be a bit much for me."

Pam nodded. "Try not to be gone too long. Everyone's so glad to see you, but I'm sure they'll understand."

"Thanks."

She padded upstairs, went into her bedroom, closed the blinds and got between the sheets. The silence was comforting and she felt more at ease already, but even still she began to cry. It wasn't as if anything was actually wrong; it just seemed like the rollercoaster ride of emotions over the last week, the last day, had finally caught up to her.

To her surprise she felt the bed beside her sink. "Hey, everything all right?" It was Mark.

"Oh," she said, wiping under her eyes and turning over to look at him. It was dim in the room but not so dim that she couldn't see the concern on his face. "Yes. Fine. Just a little overwhelmed."

"Poor darling," he said. He pushed the sheets back, swung his legs up and laid down beside her, covering them both up again. She scooted up into his embrace and immediately felt better, if a little confessionary.

"And…" she began, then stopped short before blurting, "feeling guilty."

"What for?"

"For chucking you, for thinking you'd been unfaithful, for questioning you on it, for setting myself up for nine miserable months—"

"Hold on, Bridget," he said. "Don't place all of the blame at your own feet. I had been spending a lot of time with Rebecca, and was so fixed on keeping you and work separate… I should have realised how it might have appeared. You were right to ask me about it, and I was wrong to respond in such a knee-jerk manner. I was wrong to not come after you and beg you to change your mind. My hurt pride should not have been more important than you and your trust in me."

To hear him admit this brought fresh tears to her eyes, even as she smiled. She raised her head, then pushed herself up and pressed her lips to his, then again, then taking his mouth with hers, each kiss more ravenous than the last. Within moments the flames of her passion for him, held at bay since the night before, were fanned to full strength; from the way he flattened her against the mattress, the way was running his hand up her leg, pushing her skirt up, teasing the elastic edge of her pants, she reasoned he felt much the same way.

"Mark," she gasped, protesting weakly. "Is this such a good idea?"

"Don't fucking care," he murmured in return as he tugged down on her pants; the feel of his hands on the skin of her inner thigh was almost more than she could bear, and she bit down hard on her lip to quiet the anguished moan at the back of her throat.

He cursed quietly under his breath as he struggled to get his own trousers undone and out of the way. "Jesus, Bridget," he said, pushing her jumper up, running his hands over her stomach, cupping a breast in his hand.

She knew what he was thinking. "You aren't going to break me," she reassured.

However, it wasn't as if he didn't try. Nine months was a long time to be without the love of one's life; there were equal parts desperation and reverence to their lovemaking. Whether due to the nature of their surroundings or the urgency of their pent-up desire, culmination came all too quickly; Bridget, however, was not unsatisfied by any means, and she knew there would be time enough for lingering later.

Resting on the pillows afterwards, clinging to one another and gulping down air, he placed little kisses all over her jaw and throat. She felt a great burst of love swell up inside of her. Everything was going to be all right.

He righted her jumper then smoothed the knit with his hand down over her abdomen before curling his fingers round her hip and pulling her up against him once more. "Wish I'd thought to flip the door lock," he said.

She giggled, nestling close into his neck. "That would have been tricky—my door doesn't lock. My mum made sure of that, age fourteen."

It was his turn to chuckle, though she knew that had they been caught in the act, Mark's mortification would have been unmatched, even compared to her own.

Warm and cosy in his arms, she felt herself drift in and out of sleep. She didn't know how long they had been up there but she didn't think it had been that long; however, she was fully awake when the door swung open, light from the hallway filled the room and she heard her father's voice: "Bridget, wake up; they're about to serve the Raspberry—" He broke off, undoubtedly at seeing that she was not alone. She thanked God and all the angels in heaven that they were fully dressed from the waist up, and otherwise covered by sheets and blankets. "Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't realise Mark had come up to nap with you."

"Yes," said Mark; she was sure that his skin was blazing red. "I thought she might like a bit of a cuddle."

If her father suspected more had happened, he didn't show it, and in fact, his grin was broad and genuine. "Well, just wanted to let you know. I know you like Una's Raspberry Surprise." With that he retreated and pulled the door closed again.

"Oh my God," she said, burying her face in Mark's shirt. "That was bloody close."

To her surprise, he chuckled, probably in nervous, relieved reflex to disaster being averted. "What do you say," began Mark, "about getting some dessert, then making the journey back to London?"

She nodded. Back to her flat, to privacy, and to no more surprise discoveries by her parents.

………

Bridget seemed to be able to fall asleep at a moment's notice since her return from Thailand, and the drive back to London was no different. She had been reflecting on the time with her parents—how grateful she had been to get a chance to reconnect with them, but knew the time was right to return to London before her mother made her go mental—as well as the evening with the unconditional love of family and family friends. There was, of course, the unexpected and magnificent reunion with Mark to smile about, too, and smile she did. It had been a truly perfect day.

He woke her with a gentle kiss to her cheek. She opened her eyes and looked to him. "We're back." He had parked the car on the street just outside of her flat.

"Oh." She pushed herself up, reached to undo her safety belt. "I'm sorry I dozed off."

"Don't be sorry," he said. He rose from the car and got her bags out of the boot as she got out and fished the key to her flat out of her bag.

"I've missed this place," he said.

Sliding the key into the lock, she chuckled. "You only want me for my flat."

He leaned into her and placed a kiss into her hair. "Yes, Bridget, that's it exactly."

They headed up into her flat; he set the bags down, took off his coat, and cast his gaze around the room. "Looks like I remember it."

"Not much has changed since you were here last Wednesday."

"When I was here last Wednesday the only thing I remember was seeing you looking nothing like your usual self."

She smiled almost shyly. "You remember asking me to testify?"

"Vaguely," he said, cracking a smile at last. "You still all right with doing that?"

"Yup," she said.

"We'll have to practice a little for that."

She screwed up her features in confusion. "Practice testifying?"

"Not like 'learning lines' practice," he said. "But rather, I throw questions at you that you're likely to be asked, so that you can think about answering them in the most confident manner you possibly can."

"Oh," she said, grinning.

He came forward and took her hand in his. "With the trial approaching we'll likely garner media attention again," he said. "We—you and I—may need to keep things a little low-key until everything's over."

She nodded, understanding. "You can come over to practice testifying every night."

At that he laughed, pulling her into his arms. He murmured into her ear, "Absolutely."

As he kissed her, she could only think that every moment with him was like a homecoming.

The end.

N.B.:

What the English call 'eggy bread', Americans call French toast.