Chapter Text
William nearly didn’t answer the knock on his door. He wasn’t expecting anyone, especially since the night was cold and damp and the roads were still wet from a recent downpour. He’d had a long day and he wanted to have a hot dinner and cold drink and fall into bed.
If he was honest with himself, ever since Eliza’s engagement, he’d slunk back into the self-imposed slumber that she once accused him of. The day-to-day grind of his work had become nearly intolerable and without her challenging him, pestering him, annoying him, and causing him constant agitation, he found it harder and harder to be at his best. He was simply going through the motions.
He was stunned to see Eliza on his doorstep, almost as if she had risen up from one of his nightly dreams. “Eliza, what in God’s sake are you doing here? You’re soaked.” Her hair was dragged down by the heavy rains, her jacket dripping, and she was shivering. He gently grasped her arm, pulled her inside and closed the door, but not before looking around outside into the darkness. “Are you alone?”
She just nodded and glanced slightly around, “Are you?”
“What?” he asked, still slightly dazed that she was there. “Yes, of course.”
She didn’t speak. She just stood there looking sad and miserable and let him peel off her wet jacket and pull her into the small sitting room. He hung her jacket by the fire, taking his time because he was at a loss what to say to her. What was she doing here?
Finally facing her, he asked, “Are you alright?”
She shook her head sadly, like words were too difficult to form in her mouth. Other than at her father’s funeral, he’d never seen her looking so unhappy.
“Come on, come sit.” He pushed her into a small sofa and turned to pour two whiskeys, handing her one glass. “Drink. It’ll warm you.” He stoked the fire to warm the room even more and settled on the sofa next to her with the second glass.
He slowly sipped his drink and waited for her to be ready. She grimaced as she drank but ever so slowly she began to relax and sink back against the pillows. Her eyes soon closed. He put both of their glasses on a nearby side table and remained patient, although it wasn't easy.
She took a shaky breath, turned her face toward him, and opened her now glistening eyes, “I didn’t like seeing you with those other women, William.” She smiled sadly at him. “How can that be? It’s not right. I was engaged to another man.”
Were those tears on her cheeks or remnants of the rain? Could she see the effects of her words on his beating heart? And what does she mean, was? “Would you like me to tell you who they are?” he asked gently.
“It’s none of my business,” she blurted. This time he could tell it was a tear, and he watched it as it marked an uneven path down her beautiful cheek. As he wiped it away with his thumb, she implored, “why does it hurt so much?”
“Eliza,” he began, his own voice soft and rough with emotion, “Millie is the daughter of a former police officer colleague of mine. Her father died in the line of duty several years ago and her mother asks me for help from time to time, including escorting her daughter. I admit, there was a brief time that I did consider her as a possible wife but quickly realized that we were not suited. I thought that if you saw me with her, maybe you’d also start to see me as a man and as a potential partner, not just as an adversary, or a fellow detective or even a protective older brother. It certainly backfired, because the next thing I knew, you were engaged to bloody Thomas Brown.” The volume of his voice rose slightly in frustration as he finished the last sentence.
She studied him, her brow wrinkled, expressing her confusion, “Oh...that makes no sense.” And she added, her tone without much heat, “Why do men do such foolish things?”
“Huh,” he grunted, “yes, well, I’ll admit that we do such things because we are trying to impress the fairer sex. Please don’t hold it against me.”
She exhaled into very unladylike snort. “Well, then, what about the woman in your office last week? You looked completely wrapped up with each other.”
He sighed softly, “I meant to come find you later to explain but didn’t know what to say. You caught us at the very wrong moment. That woman was Frank’s sister. As you would expect, she is devastated by Frank’s arrest and conviction. She had just returned from visiting him at the prison, which may also be the last time she sees him before his hanging. I was trying to comfort her and calm her down and she had just stopped sobbing when you arrived. I was afraid that if she saw you, she'd start up all over again.”
While she absorbed the full meaning of his explanations, she admitted, “my father would be disappointed in me.”
“Oh, why is that?” he asked tenderly as he tucked a loose curl behind one ear. Her wet hair was starting to dry in the heat of the room.
“He used to tell me that only hopeless people cry,” she smiled again at the memory.
“And do you believe that?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Well, if it helps any, I’d have to agree," William whispered, leaning down close to her. "I don’t think you're hopeless."
“He said that too," she related as she looked over at him.
"Infuriating maybe, but not hopeless.” His smile and gentle tone softened the slight.
She scoffed and turned her body as he spoke, slumping back against his shoulder. On their own accord, his strong arms wrapped around her gently, trying to use his body to warm hers.
Suddenly she lunged forward out of his embrace and cried, “Oh!”
“What? What is it?” he asked, concerned, not liking how cold and empty he felt where her body had been resting against his.
Eyes wide, she demanded, “It wasn’t a dream, was it?” and shivered again. “We slept almost like this that night at the inn.”
“Ah. No, it wasn’t and yes, we did,” he finally admitted. “The next day you seemed not to remember and for some reason I thought it best not to remind you.”
Thinking back, she slid another loose curl behind her ear. “What happened that night?”
“You called out in your sleep, you were in distress - do you remember that part? And I comforted you.”
“I think I remember some of it. Mostly I just remember feeling safe,” she said and he could guess what was coming next. There was a long pause. “I dreamed about my mother, didn’t I? And my brother. I was so very sad.”
“Yes. I’m very sorry,” William consoled her.
“Did you mean what you said that night?” Eliza implored him, her eyes staring into his.
“Yes,” he stated firmly. “Every word. And there’s much more that I did not say.”
“Interesting.” She smiled, and, surprising him, she resumed her position, curling her body into the softness of the sofa with her head back against his shoulder and chest. This time she was the one to pull his arms tight around her waist and then clasped her hands over his, playing tenderly with his fingers.
He wondered if she could feel the pounding of his heart under her ear.
They sat like that for a long while until her voice broke the silence. “I ended my engagement with Thomas tonight.”
Although those weren't the words he was expecting next, he was more than happy to hear them.
“Yes,” he said simply.
“Yes? What does that mean? Yes,” she demanded. She started to sit up again. “How could you know? I just came from his flat.”
Pulling her back toward his chest, he kissed the soft hairs at the top of her head, then her cheek. “I know because tomorrow I was going to track you down and force you to listen to me, even handcuff you if I had to. Or maybe throw you in a cell to get your attention. That seems to work.” He chuckled slightly and her eyes narrowed, not appreciating the humor.
With his fingers now gently holding her chin, he tilted her head toward him so she could see his eyes. And there it all was, he finally let all his feelings shine out, all the yearning and hope and passion and frustration and respect. All of it. For her, this smart, beautiful, vibrant, stubborn woman.
Her eyes widened as she absorbed the emotions on his face for now she seemed ready and her heart open to really see how he felt and accept what she truly needed. He gently used his thumb to smooth away another lone tear that escaped. He could feel his chest warm from the luminous smile that came over her face.
“It was clear from the beginning that you didn't love him and I was going to confront you about it,” he explained. “I was hoping you’d figure it out for yourself that he was the wrong person for you but I couldn’t wait any longer. As you know, I am an eternal optimist, Eliza, but even I was starting to fear that you’d actually go through with it and marry him. God, you’re stubborn,” he finished.
“I almost did,” she admitted although it was hard.
“What changed?”
She sighed, snuggling closer to him. “Spending time with the girls and Clara, and, honestly, Jane’s baby. That changed everything for me or, more accurately, forced me to accept and face my fears, face the worries of the past. And figure out what it is that I truly want.”
“And what is it that you truly want?” he asked softly, holding his breath, leaving the question floating in the air, in painful hopeful agony awaiting her response.
“You. Just you,” and she smiled. Indeed, she glowed.
“Ok, well then,” he gruffly cleared his throat. “I’ll accept that answer,” smiling so broadly down at her that he thought his face might crack. And finally, oh so gently, kissed those warm waiting lips. He could feel them curl up into a smile under his own and he pulled her closer. Raising his head to look into her eyes again, “it is worth the pain,” he stated.
“Yes, it is,” she agreed. “With the right person. Oh yes, it most definitely is.”
Long (long) moments later, he asked, “So, ah, even though you are not engaged, can I still give you your engagement present?”
“William,” she said, looking like she wanted to swat him with a sofa pillow. What was it with her and pillows? “I don’t think that’s quite relevant now, is it? Or appropriate.”
“Well, no, but maybe you’ll want it anyway. You let me know,” and with that thought he disentangled himself from her arms and disappeared for a few minutes. He returned, pulling out a squirming tiny bundle from under his shirt. “I know how much your dog meant to you when you were young and how hard his loss was for you.”
She squealed. In his arms he carefully held an adorable puppy, a Jack Russell. She hugged the soft puppy with delight and then included him as well, remarking, “she looks just like Skip.”
He laughed at her delight. “If I had known how you were going to react, I would have given her to you sooner." Relishing in her joy, he asked, “what will you name her?”
“Hmmm.” She thought for a moment, using both hands to hold the ball of fur up in front of her face. “Agatha, I think. Aggie, for short.”
“Agatha?” he laughed again. “Perfectly suitable.”
She joined in with him, hugging them both tighter. As happy as she’d ever been.
The End, for now...