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Leonard rapped the doorknocker at Daniel's front door again and again as he fought for breath, his lungs burning from his mad sprint from Cambridge to Grantchester.
"Daniel!" he called desperately.
As the seconds passed with no answer, what was left of his broken heart started to crack into smaller pieces.
He was too late.
Daniel must already be on the train to London. His bags must have been packed when he'd come by the halfway house that morning to give Leonard copies of the photographs from his exhibition. An exhibition Leonard hadn't gone to. He'd told himself it was better that way. Better not to intrude. Better not to risk dismay in Daniel's eyes at the sight of him. Better not to worry about saying the wrong thing yet again.
In retrospect, avoiding the exhibition had been a cold and selfish choice. Daniel had shown up for him time and again at the halfway house—painting, hauling boxes, moving furniture, fixing what needed fixing, and offering quiet support even when Leonard's temper had flared. Daniel's care had never wavered. At least, until Leonard had pushed him too far.
And after all Daniel had done for him, Leonard hadn't been able to return the simplest kindness. Showing up at the gallery could have been an opening to find a way back for them. It could have shown Daniel that he still mattered. But instead, it had been Daniel who showed up at the halfway house, again, photographs in hand, assuring Leonard that Leonard and his work were worth something.
Why had Leonard let it all get so out of hand?
Because he'd been angry. Because he'd been scared. Because everything in his life had felt as though it was slipping out of his control. He'd wanted someone to blame for everything that had gone wrong.
So he had taken aim, fired, and hit Daniel.
Twice.
No wonder he'd left.
Leonard stepped back from Daniel's front door, the hope that had carried him there draining away. Then, through the tangled branches of an overgrown shrub, he caught movement at the end of the lane.
He rushed into the lane, nearly stumbling. His lungs renewed their protest, now joined by his aching legs.
"Daniel!" he called again.
And it was Daniel, coming home. Not yet on his way to London after all.
Daniel slowed slightly when he saw Leonard. His brows drew together, but it didn't look like anger.
If Leonard were luckier than he had any right to be, Daniel might hear him out. That was, if Leonard could manage not to make things worse. Not that they could get much worse. But the hope that had started slipping away from him was flowing back so he had to try.
By the time Daniel reached him, Leonard was still fighting for breath.
"Are you all right?" Daniel asked, concern in his voice. "Do you need to sit down?"
Leonard very much needed to sit down. His legs trembled; his chest burned. But if he didn't do this now, he feared the resolve that had driven him here might dissolve and he'd lose his nerve.
"I ran here," Leonard managed between breaths.
Daniel chuckled, a mixture of amusement and incredulity in his voice. "Really? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you run anywhere."
The thought must have conjured something ridiculous for Daniel. Leonard lumbering along the path through the Meadows, dignity abandoned somewhere along the river. Leonard could almost see what that must have looked like and wanted to wince. He had never been what anyone might call graceful or athletic. Perhaps he had run here to make a complete fool out of himself, but he didn't care.
"Can I just…" Leonard began, then faltered as he tried to steady his nerves. "Can you just let me say something? Or I'll never have the courage to say it."
Daniel regarded him curiously, head tilted slightly. Leonard took a deep breath, reached inside of himself, past the fear and pride and uncertainty, to pull out the truest part of himself and lay it open.
"You, Daniel Marlowe," he said, his voice clear despite his breathlessness, "are everything to me."
Daniel smiled, not unkindly. There was warmth there, but also another flicker of amusement. Was he going to laugh at Leonard? Maybe Leonard deserved that, but he wasn't going to stop now.
"And to paraphrase Shakespeare," Leonard continued, "you are my moon and my stars, and—"
"You sure that's Shakespeare?" Daniel interrupted.
"Daniel!" Leonard's protest came out sharper than he'd intended. He pressed on before the moment could dissolve entirely. "You are my everything, and…"
And...
And he had just said that.
The poetry he'd been certain he had a moment ago scattered off his tongue like frightened little birds.
Frustrated, Leonard said, "And now you've put me off. And I'm repeating myself."
Leonard was stumbling. He knew he sounded like an idiot. He didn't know if he had words that could fix what he had broken. All that he had left was himself.
"What I'm trying to say is I'll change. For you. I'll… I'll stay at home, and I… I'll... I'll never get into an ounce of trouble again." Silently, he prayed that would be enough. "So what do you say?"
"E.E. Cummings. That poem," Daniel responded, tone light, "it's by E.E. Cummings."
Leonard almost could not stand Daniel's attitude being so… so… Daniel. At ease. Calm. Collected. All while Leonard felt as though the strands of his heart were coming loose, his feelings unspooling in a hopeless tangle at Daniel's feet.
"Just, if it's a no, then just, just, just…" Leonard said, words tumbling over themselves, hope hanging by a thread. "Just say it outright, and put me out of my misery."
Dear God, don't let it be a no.
"I was just looking for you," Daniel said, tone conversational, like they were discussing the weather. "Transpires, the thought of London wasn't half as appealing without you. In fact, it was, umm…"
Leonard was certain his heart might give out.
That wasn't a no.
It wasn't quite a yes either.
But perhaps he wouldn't have to imagine a life without Daniel. Perhaps Daniel felt the same.
"Horrible?" Leonard ventured.
"Unthinkable," Daniel said, offering a small smile.
With that smile, Leonard dared to gamble with more hope than he could afford to lose. "Do you think you could ever love me again?"
He held his breath, his heart beating fast.
"Leonard," Daniel said gently, stepping closer, "that's not the way love works."
Was that a yes?
Leonard wasn't sure what to make of it until Daniel leaned in, closing the distance between them, his intention unmistakable.
A kiss.
Leonard's heart surged forward to meet him.
His body did not.
He flinched, his gaze darting down the lane in search of witnesses.
In the split second before he looked back at Daniel, Leonard lived an entire story.
Back in an interrogation room, questions coming at him faster than he could think. Cool ink pressed into each finger then rolled onto paper. The blinding brightness of a flashbulb. The snap of a shutter. An interminable wait in a holding cell. Another scandal. Another headline in the newspaper. Standing at the court dock. A repeat offender. Withering rebukes from the judge. The sentence? Years this time. To finally break him. The phantom itch of rough prison cloth against his skin. The hollow slam of a prison door closing behind him.
When the vision broke and he met Daniel's eyes, pain flickered in their soft brown depths.
Daniel didn't step away.
But he didn't try to kiss Leonard either.
The inches between them might as well have been an ocean.
Leonard had run all this way. He had bared himself. And when Daniel had tried to give him exactly what he'd wanted, he had recoiled.
"I've done it again," Leonard said, voice starting to crack. "I've gone and bungled it up, hurt you again. I'm just…"
Scared. Still.
"No," Daniel said softly.
Leonard blinked hard, uselessly fighting the burn behind his eyes.
"I mean, I am hurt," Daniel admitted. "But not by you."
He reached into his jacket, withdrawing a folded handkerchief from the inside pocket and pressing it into Leonard's hand.
"It's this world," Daniel said quietly, "and what it does to us. I try not to let it get to me." A faint, tired breath left him. "Sometimes that's easier said than done."
"But I've ruined the moment," Leonard said, chastising himself. "I wanted that moment. For both of us."
He pressed the handkerchief to his eyes before putting it into his pocket. The small square of fabric carried the faint, familiar scent of Daniel's cologne. Warm. Comforting. Grounding.
"Love isn't a single moment," Daniel said gently. "It's everything we are, everything we choose to be for one another."
Daniel offered a reassuring grin. "To paraphrase Shakespeare," he said, echoing Leonard's earlier attempt at poetic flourish, "love is patient, love is kind. It keeps no list of wrongs. It protects, it trusts, it perseveres."
For a heartbeat, Leonard simply stared at him.
Then something inside him broke open, lightness and relief flooding in. Unable to contain it, he started laughing and couldn't seem to stop even as it stole his breath all over again.
"The Bible," he finally managed between gasps. "That's not Shakespeare, it's… it's…" He dissolved into another fit of giggles before forcing the word out. "It's Corinthians." Another helpless laugh escaped him. "You did that on purpose."
Daniel's grin widened, thoroughly pleased with himself. "I haven't heard you laugh like that in a long time."
Leonard laughed again before it faded into thoughtfulness, though his smile lingered. His thoughts drifted to the photographs Daniel had brought that morning, copies from his exhibition. Portraits of the halfway house residents, caught in unguarded moments of simply living. The images held a quiet dignity, a reminder of the residents' humanity, in contrast to the single, reductive word the world preferred to assign them: criminal.
And among the portraits had been one of Leonard.
He had never thought much of his own face. Plain. Unremarkable. Maybe even a little odd. Certainly nothing like Daniel, whose looks seemed suited to the cinema. But in the photograph Daniel had taken of him—smile broad, eyes bright with purpose—Leonard had finally seen what Daniel must have seen all this time.
As if reading his thoughts, Daniel said softly, "When you laugh like that, when you smile like that, that's when you're most beautiful. That's when you forget to doubt yourself." His gaze held Leonard's. "That's when I know you're content. And that's all I've ever wanted for you. For us."
Leonard's breath caught for a moment before he said softly, "I want that too."
A quiet fell between them.
To Leonard, it felt awkward, as though they were suspended, waiting for something to happen. Daniel, however, appeared entirely at ease, grin lingering on his face, looking as though he could happily stand in the lane all bloody day simply staring at Leonard.
Leonard was restless though. "I want…" he began, then faltered as his eyes flicked once more down the lane. He cursed himself silently. "I want to kiss you. I want you to kiss me. But not here."
"Luckily," Daniel said, "I happen to know a place."
He inclined his head toward his cottage and stepped back, gesturing to the small gate in the picket fence.
"Come on," Daniel said, pushing it open and stepping through, Leonard close behind.
At the door, Daniel turned the key and slid back the deadbolt. He held the door open for Leonard, then followed him inside and closed it firmly, locking it again with a decisive click.
That sound filled Leonard with relief.
Outside, the world continued as it always had.
Inside, they were safe.
When Daniel turned, Leonard did not hesitate. He closed the distance and brought their lips together. The feel of Daniel’s mouth, soft and familiar, sent something wild and tender thrumming through Leonard’s heart.
As they kissed, Leonard slid his hands to Daniel's waist, then beneath his jacket, along his sides and around his back. The solid warmth of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt made Leonard's heart beat even faster.
He had nearly lost this.
He had let the halfway house devour him whole. Every waking thought. Every scrap of energy. He had told himself the work was noble, necessary, God's work. And maybe those things were true. But that didn't mean he had to let it consume him, leaving his life with Daniel to wither away.
He had left Daniel waiting in the margins. Had put him off again and again. Cancelled plans at the last minute. And on the rare occasion when he had come to Grantchester to spend time with Daniel, he was usually so dead on his feet that he'd start nodding off as soon as he walked in the door.
He had not meant to neglect Daniel.
But he had.
The kiss ended, and Leonard pulled Daniel tightly into an embrace, burying his face against the curve of his neck and shoulder.
Daniel held him just as close and murmured against Leonard's ear, "I love you."
Leonard sucked in a breath before replying, "I love you too."
He drew back just enough to look into Daniel's eyes, his hands resting at Daniel's waist.
"I'm sorry," Leonard said plainly. "For the hurtful things I've said. I've been such an idiot and terribly unfair to you."
"No argument," Daniel said with a hint of reprimand before his tone softened. "But I forgive you."
He brought a hand to Leonard's face, brushing a thumb across his cheek.
"Because," Daniel continued, "while you have been an absolute idiot, you're also the love of my life. My moon and my stars. All of that."
He flashed Leonard one of his smiles that was like the light of the sun on a summer's day.
Leonard was not sure his heart could take it. His eyes burned again, and he blinked furiously, trying not to let himself become undone by it.
Daniel's hand slid from Leonard's cheek to the back of his head, drawing him in again. The kiss was deeper, slower, and Leonard let himself get lost in it.
He had loved Daniel even when he had been afraid to love him. Loved him when the risk of it kept him awake at night. Loved him in stolen moments and in defiant ones. Loved him through laughter, through scandal, through every humiliation the world had seen fit to lay at their feet. Loved him even when it had nearly broken him.
He could not imagine ever loving anyone else like that.
He pushed closer, now claiming Daniel's mouth with urgency, slipping his tongue inside, hungry for the taste of him. Daniel answered in kind, a low hum of pleasure vibrating in his throat.
Leonard drove him back against the front door until there was nowhere left to move. Their bodies pressed together, heat building between them, pulses racing. He could feel Daniel's body responding to him, becoming aroused. He smiled against Daniel's mouth then broke the kiss as he slid a hand down between them and began to rub firmly through the fabric of Daniel's trousers.
Daniel's head thumped softly against the back of the door. A half sigh, half moan escaped him and he closed his eyes.
Leonard stepped back just enough to reach down with both hands to undo Daniel's trousers and push down his underwear. He freed Daniel's cock, wrapping the fingers of one hand around it.
Daniel inhaled sharply as he hardened fully in Leonard's grip. He opened his eyes and their gazes met for a heartbeat, Daniel's eyes dark and wanting. Daniel reached for him again, dragging him back into another deep kiss.
When the kiss ended this time, Leonard trailed his mouth along Daniel's jaw. He pressed a lingering kiss just below his ear, then down the line of his neck, feeling Daniel shiver beneath his touch.
Below, his hand moved with purpose, stroking along Daniel's shaft in a slow, steady rhythm. The warmth of the smooth skin in his hand sent a rush of desire through him. He could have drawn away, taken Daniel by the hand and led him upstairs, but he didn't want to break the closeness. Or interrupt Daniel's pleasure.
He rubbed his thumb in small circles on the sensitive tip of Daniel's cock, spreading some of the slick liquid that had formed there. Daniel let out a soft moan as his hips pressed forward against Leonard's hand.
Leonard stroked slowly from head to base and back again, tightening his grasp before easing off. He leaned in to kiss Daniel's throat again and taste his skin, savoring the ways Daniel's breath hitched and his body tremored.
He paused for a moment, just long enough to bring his hand to his mouth. He spat into his palm and then returned his hand to Daniel's cock, the added liquid smoothing his movements as he picked up his pace.
Daniel's breathing grew uneven, shallow and urgent. Leonard looked down between them, enjoying the way Daniel was helpless under his motions.
"Leonard… look at me," Daniel demanded.
Leonard lifted his eyes and met Daniel's. Affection and desire burned in Daniel's gaze and Leonard became trapped within it.
"I love you, Daniel," Leonard whispered, voice rough.
"God," Daniel gasped, fingers gripping Leonard's sides, "I missed you."
Daniel's body tensed, a small cry slipping from his lips as his hips pressed forward one last time. Leonard slowed his strokes just enough to draw it out, then held him steady through the crest as Daniel came against him.
Daniel sagged back against the door, catching his breath
After a moment, he cupped Leonard's face in his hands and drew him in for a quick, breathless kiss. When he pulled away, mischief sparkled in his eyes.
"Well," he murmured, lips curving, "you certainly haven't lost your touch."
Leonard's answering smile was warm and just a little smug. "Glad to hear it."
He fished the handkerchief Daniel had given him earlier from his pocket and wiped Daniel clean, then his own hand. He dabbed at his trousers then excused himself. "I'm going to run upstairs."
Daniel nodded as he tucked himself back into his slacks and did them up. "Are you thirsty? You must be. Tea? Lemonade?"
Only then did Leonard realize how parched he was. The run from Cambridge, pouring out his feelings before Daniel, the relief and passion of their reconciliation… his body had been running on adrenaline. Now, it was all catching up with him.
"A lemonade would be lovely," he said. "Very, very cold lemonade."
Daniel smiled. "Coming right up then. With plenty of ice."
As Daniel headed to the kitchen, Leonard made his way upstairs. In the bathroom, he dropped the handkerchief in the laundry hamper. He grabbed a clean washcloth from under the sink and turned on the faucet to wash his hands and spot clean his trousers.
On the counter beside the sink stood a bottle of his aftershave next to Daniel's. Beside it, a tin of Leonard's pomade. And in a chipped blue cup on the other side of the basin, a tube of toothpaste and two toothbrushes.
Leonard's heart swelled with a pleasant ache. Daniel hadn't thrown out his things. They sat exactly where they had always been, like Daniel had expected all along that Leonard would return.
Back downstairs, Daniel was settled on the sofa. Two tall glasses of lemonade waited on the coffee table, one half drunk already.
Leonard sat beside him and reached for the untouched glass. Condensation beaded against his fingers, cool and slick. He gulped down the tangy sweetness, the cold cutting through the lingering heat in his body.
After he set the empty glass down, Daniel reached for his hand and threaded their fingers together before resting his head on Leonard's shoulder.
"To paraphrase Shakespeare," Daniel said lightly, "ain't love a kick in the head?"
Leonard huffed an affectionate laugh. "Now you're just being ridiculous."
"Unapologetically so."
As they sat quietly together, Leonard became acutely aware of the weight of Daniel's head on his shoulder, the warmth of him along his side, the gentle pressure of their intertwined fingers. His thoughts turned, unexpectedly, to endings. A day would come when it would be the last time Daniel leaned into him like this. The last time they held hands. A last kiss. A last "I love you."
The finitude of it all struck him not with melancholy, but with an immense sense of gratitude that today was not that day. It filled him with a fierce resolve that when that day did come, it would not be because of his own carelessness or pride.
They would argue again. Of course they would. They were both headstrong in their own ways and bound to collide. But he would not let that cost them everything again. He would hold fast to what they had for as long as he could.
Hopefully, for the rest of his life.
For now, though, he focused on fixing the hurt he'd caused.
He squeezed Daniel's hand.
"I didn't go to your exhibition," Leonard said quietly. "I won't miss something that matters to you like that again. Thank you for bringing me the photographs."
Daniel lifted his head and looked at him.
"When I dropped them off this morning, inside… here," he said, tapping his heart with his free hand, "I was begging you to say something, anything, to set things right."
"I should have," Leonard admitted. "Jack told me to speak with you. He said people usually want to forgive each other."
"I did want to."
"He said it just took someone to take the first step. I didn't listen to his advice. I was too stubborn, or—"
"You? Stubborn?"
"Don't tease."
"Sorry," Daniel said, bringing their clasped hands to his lips and kissing the back of Leonard's hand.
"I think what it was… I was scared because what if you didn't want to forgive me." Leonard sighed with a small exhale and shook his head at himself. "I said to Jack that I thought maybe Mrs. C didn't want me to reach out to you, that she was probably glad that it was…" He paused, the words painful. "That it was over."
Daniel studied him carefully. "You were so certain it was over?"
"After the things I said? Of course I was. Because why would you forgive me?"
Daniel's thumb brushed gently over Leonard's knuckles. "Maybe because I love you."
"Mrs. C overheard what I said about her," Leonard continued quietly. "She thought she could come over here and, I don't know… try to help mend things. Like I did with her and Jack a couple years ago." He shook his head again. "I never should have said those uncharitable things about her."
Daniel's expression tightened. "I have a few uncharitable things I'd like to say about Mrs. C at the moment."
Leonard released Daniel's hand and turned toward him fully in his seat. "Please don't be too hard on her. She meant well."
"She leveled one hell of an accusation," Daniel replied, anger in his voice.
"It was a mistake, not malice," Leonard insisted gently. "And it was on me to come to you, to clear things up. I know you. I know her. I should have known it was a misunderstanding rather than assuming the worst."
Daniel exhaled slowly. "I'm still not sure what exactly she thought she saw. I did have friends over. An old friend even came up from out of town for the exhibition. We talked. We laughed." A faint shrug. "Unlike you, I don't relish long stretches of solitude."
He rested a hand on Leonard's knee.
"And I was lonely without you."
Leonard's chest tightened.
"When the offer from London came," Daniel continued, voice softer now, "after…" He let the word hang.
"After I behaved like a world-class idiot, again," Leonard supplied.
Daniel nodded. "After that, I thought I should go. What was there here for me? You were very unkind."
Leonard tensed, shame flaring at the memory of how he had confronted Daniel, accused him of a new love affair that had never existed.
"But I didn't want to go," Daniel added quickly. "Not really. As I said, I was hoping you would stop me. When you didn't, I knew I would have to take matters into my own hands. But when I came back to the halfway house, you were gone."
"On my marathon across the Meadows to get here."
Daniel's smile returned. "I'm rather glad you got to me first. Your declaration was… practically cinematic."
"Cinematic?" Leonard echoed, surprised. He'd barely stumbled through it.
"Marlon Brando, eat your heart out."
"You're teasing again."
"I am not," Daniel protested with exaggerated indignation, bumping his knee lightly against Leonard's. "No one's ever made a grand romantic speech to me."
They were quiet for a moment again before Daniel said softly. "About what you said. About changing for me…"
Leonard straightened his spine. "Right away. I'll call Jack. Close the halfway house. I'll step back from everything. I'll—"
"No," Daniel interrupted gently. "That's not what I want."
Leonard frowned, puzzled. "You don't?"
"I don't want you to change. I don't want you to stop being yourself." A faint smile touched Daniel's lips. "Not getting into trouble ever again? I can't imagine it. You get into the right kind of trouble and the world's better for it."
"But you've been unhappy," Leonard pressed. "I should have seen it. Unhappy for years."
"That's not true."
"Since Morocco…"
Daniel sighed. "That wasn't fair of me to say. I've carried some things. But I have been happy, Leonard. Truly. It's just…" He paused, searching for words. "It's all been so hard. I wish it weren't."
He rubbed his hand absently above Leonard's knee and added, "But I'm not sorry that we've had it together."
"The trial, the cafe, the halfway house, the police…"
"All of it."
Leonard leaned back slightly, thinking. "You can't turn down the London offer."
"I'd be there at least six months," Daniel said. "Possibly longer."
"We could make it work," Leonard insisted. "Weekend visits. Letters. Phone calls. Or… or I could, just temporarily, close the halfway house. You, Jack, and Mrs. C have all said I need time away from it."
Daniel shook his head. "I don't want the odd weekend here and there. I don't want any more distance than we've already had. And I can't let you give the halfway house up for months."
"London's such an opportunity."
"It is an opportunity," Daniel admitted quietly. He placed his hand over Leonard's heart. "But I don't want it more than I want this. Here. Now."
Leonard searched his face. "You're certain?"
Daniel held his gaze without wavering. "Yes."
Leonard still felt something was missing. Too many plans had been delayed. Too many "laters" that had quietly become "nevers."
"I want you… I want us…" The words faltered, frustrating him.
At last, he seized on something unfinished that did not have to remain that way. "We never did take that trip to Brighton."
"No," Daniel said, a trace of melancholy softening his voice. "We never did do that."
Guilt flickered through Leonard. He hadn't meant to evoke regret or sadness.
"What I'm trying to say is that we should." He smiled. "We should go. Rest. Regroup." He covered Daniel's hand with his own. "Reconnect."
Daniel shifted closer, pulling his hand from Leonard's so he could cup Leonard's face. "I'd like that," he said quietly. "I'd love it."
He slid his hand to the back of Leonard's head and drew him into another kiss. Leonard met it eagerly, warmth flooding him again.
Daniel's other hand drifted downward, settling at Leonard's waist before sliding lower, fingers pressing firmly through the fabric of his trousers.
Leonard inhaled sharply at the contact, heat building where Daniel's hand moved with slow, deliberate pressure.
And then the telephone began to ring.
Daniel huffed a frustrated breath as Leonard broke their kiss to ask, "Are you going to get that?"
"No," Daniel replied and kissed him again, firm and insistent.
The phone kept ringing.
And ringing.
And ringing.
Leonard pulled back again. "What if it's a client?"
"They can call back."
"What if it's an emergency?" Leonard pressed, not meaning to worry but also not able to stop it. Because what if it was an emergency? What if something terrible happened while they sat here ignoring it?
Daniel groaned softly, resting his forehead against Leonard's for a moment. "All right," he relented. "I'll get it, if it will make you feel better."
He stood from the sofa and crossed to the telephone.
Leonard remained where he was, heat still thrumming under his skin.
Daniel lifted the receiver. "Hello, Daniel Marlowe speaking."
A pause.
"Mrs. C, Mrs. C, slow down…"
Leonard's stomach flipped. The last thing he wanted was for Daniel, already cross with Mrs. C, to say something too sharp.
"Oh, I see. I see," Daniel continued, tone bright, not harsh. "That's wonderful news!"
Leonard's stomach wouldn't settle, twisting into knots now. Wonderful news? Had Mrs. C spoken to Will? Leonard knew Geordie had located Will but Leonard hadn't been able to go with him because Geordie's insufferable boss had roughly and unjustly detained Leonard for questioning in a matter he'd had nothing to do with. As a result, he had no idea if Will was okay and if Geordie had been able to get Will back to Grantchester.
Leonard stood and opened his mouth to say something, Daniel held up a finger indicating he should keep quiet.
"No," Daniel said into the phone, voice patient but with a slight edge, "you did not ruin everything between me and Leonard."
Leonard winced slightly.
"Yes, I am willing to forgive you," Daniel continued. "Though perhaps we should clarify what you thought you saw at some point." The edge in his voice sharpened. "Did you know we queers are allowed to have platonic friends?"
Leonard grimaced, even if the rebuke was fair.
"Yes," Daniel went on dryly, "I am taking a tone with you." A brief pause. The edge softened. "I told you I'm willing to forgive you. I am still annoyed with you, though."
Leonard held his breath.
Then Daniel laughed, and Leonard felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders.
"Yes, Lancashire hotpots and your Victoria sponge would go a long way toward fixing that."
Now Leonard allowed himself a smile. He didn't quite know when he had begun to love Mrs. C, only that it must have been in those early days at the vicarage when he'd realized the extra biscuits that found their way onto his plate after a hard day weren't accidental, or when he discovered small handmade sachets tucked among his jackets in his armoire. Cooking and tidying might have been her duties, but they were also how she showed love.
"He's here, actually," Daniel said into the receiver. "He's been very…" A smirk tugged at his mouth before he added, "contrite." He paused to listen. "Yes. Yes, we'll meet everyone there."
Daniel hung up the phone and related the highlights of the call.
"Will's back. He's fine."
"Oh, thank God," Leonard said, the worry he'd been carrying for Will evaporating.
"Mrs. C apologized for her misunderstanding."
"Thank God for that too," Leonard said, resolving to give a more proper and solemn thanks later.
"And," Daniel continued, a broad smile breaking across his face, "Bonnie's gone into labor. I've told Mrs. C we'll meet them at the hospital."
Leonard's heart went through three separate emotions at once. Relief. Delight. Disbelief. "Now? Already??"
"It does tend to happen after nine months," Daniel said, grinning as he walked back over to Leonard.
Daniel put his hands above Leonard's hips and let his fingers slide teasingly just under the waistband of his trousers. "Before we go," he murmured, "maybe we have enough time for—"
"Daniel!" Leonard exclaimed with exasperation and laughter.
Daniel laughed as well, his eyes bright. He reached up and Leonard felt fingers at the base of his neck, straightening his tie.
"All right," Daniel conceded. "Later." He leaned in and gave Leonard a quick kiss. "Let's get going."
At the front door, Leonard reached for the handle, but Daniel caught his forearm, stopping him.
Leonard turned, questioning.
Daniel's expression had changed. The teasing and mischief were gone, replaced by something quiet and serious.
Softly, he said, "You can doubt the stars are fire. Doubt the sun moves. Doubt truth to be a liar. But never doubt I love you."
The words settled into Leonard's heart and warmed every part of him.
"To paraphrase Shakespeare," Daniel added, a gentle smile touching his lips.
Leonard smiled broadly in return.
"Finally," Leonard said, "one of us got it right."
— — —
Fin