Chapter Text
Those are not Leonard’s pyjamas, Daniel notes with mild surprise. Amongst the many things of Leonard’s that have migrated to Daniel's house over the course of their relationship is a pair of blue striped pyjamas. He’s not wearing those though; tonight, for whatever reason, he’s put on a pair of Daniel’s.
Daniel’s been reading in bed while Leonard took a bath, and when he appears at the bedroom door Daniel smiles, as always, at the sight of his lover with damp, unruly curls. Leonard hesitates in the doorway, seeming to manage to withdraw deeper into the soft flannel of the slightly too large pyjamas. He’s been distant all evening. Or if not distant exactly, then at least not terribly present, as though his mind is somewhere else entirely. Somewhere, Daniel suspects, not terribly happy.
Setting his book down, Daniel cocks his head on one side, curious about the choice of nightwear. Much as he always enjoys the rare sight of Leonard wearing his clothes, something about this seems like a desperate plea for comfort. Deciding not to ask for now, Daniel holds out a hand to him, “Come to bed before you catch cold.” Unlikely, even for Leonard who feels the cold much more than Daniel does, but it gets him moving again.
He crawls into bed beside Daniel, and curls against his side, without saying anything. Daniel turns out the light and puts an arm round Leonard, holding him close.
Leonard’s visits have been sporadic at best over the past year and he’s all too rarely spent the night, having spent months living in absolute terror of getting caught again by Mrs C. Following their holiday abroad though, and the night of the Eurovision Song Contest, things have resettled to much the way they were before that dreadful afternoon last summer. Leonard’s been more willing to risk staying the night, and Daniel would swear some part of Leonard enjoyed the thrill of sneaking him out of the Vicarage that morning. He remembers fondly Leonard’s hilarious account of Mrs C praising him while berating poor Will for things that were very much Leonard’s doing.
Daniel had expected the incident to send Leonard into a spiral, instead his response had been amusingly like a teenager who’d pulled the wool over their parents’ eyes. Instead of the anticipated guilt and anxiety, Leonard had been giggly and elated at getting away with it.
He’s far from giggly and elated now. A consequence of those long months of semi-separation is that it’s been some time since Daniel's seen Leonard quite like this. He wonders how many nights he’d curled up miserably on his own, and the thought makes Daniel hug him closer.
He strokes gently over Leonard’s back, his arm, his side, anywhere he can reach. Soft, repetitive motions that eventually mean Leonard’s body shows some sign of releasing the tension trapped in his muscles. Daniel wishes there was a simple way to have a similar effect on the mind. He waits until Leonard’s uncurled slightly, muscles releasing some of the last of the tension that the warm bath hadn’t managed to dissolve. His breathing’s gone slow and even, but it’s clear he’s nowhere close to sleep. “What is it, love?” Daniel asks quietly.
Leonard curls back up, just a little, and takes a long time to respond.
Daniel doesn’t push him, just waits patiently. He’s learnt from several fairly terrible missteps, that Leonard needs patience, he does not respond favourably when pushed.
Leonard in turn has learnt he can trust Daniel, and he always does in time. A hand reaches out in the dark and finds Daniel’s own. “I’ve just been doing some thinking.”
It’s not a phrase to fill anyone with confidence when coming from their significant other. Daniel however stays quiet, remains calm, and gives Leonard room to talk when he’s ready.
Leonard is silent for a further long moment, before blurting out, “One day we’re both going to be dead.”
It takes every ounce of self-control Daniel has not to respond to that. In fairness it’s accurate enough, but it’s not the sort of thing people say for any reason that can be classified as positive. His grip on Leonard’s hand tightens unwittingly and, though he curses himself for letting Leonard see he’d shaken him, it does at least spur his lover into clarifying a little.
“I could die tomorrow and no one would ever know what we meant to each other.”
That’s a morbid thought, but Daniel’s got used to the fact that, though Leonard’s sunny optimism is genuine, there’s this other side to him that’s no less intense. “Will and Sidney would, Geordie would, the people who matter to us would.”
“And when they’re all gone?”
“History forgets most people, Leonard. Quicker than maybe we’d like to admit.” He’s not entirely sure what Leonard’s getting at.
“But it doesn’t.” Leonard insists. “Not really. Other people get shared headstones, and old wedding announcements in newspaper archives, and one day when there’s nothing else left there’ll be some mouldering parish register in a vestry somewhere and some bored curate will open it up on a rainy afternoon and see their names linked forever.”
That sounds like an admission of what might have brought all this on. It also sounds like the kind of thing Leonard would do, decide to peruse old parish registers. It’s touching and revealing that he thinks it’s the registers that will last.
Daniel's never been particularly sorry he couldn’t remarry before. “I wish I had something comforting to say.” He returns to stroking Leonard’s back. “I think I’d quite like to hear it myself.” Marriage as an institution isn’t something he feels strongly about, it’s so tied up with the Church that rejects them and really he just doesn’t see a point. Put like that though, ‘their names linked forever’, he feels an unusual pang of loss at their exclusion from society's traditional milestones.
“I’m sorry, I’m being depressing.” Leonard pulls away and Daniel doesn’t crowd him, just takes back hold of the hand that’s left brushing against his own.
“There’s nothing you need to apologise for.” Daniel can’t fix the world for them, he can’t think of anything comforting to say right now, but he can try to make sure Leonard at least doesn’t make himself feel worse by get sucked down by guilt for his perfectly understandable feelings. It isn’t fair, of course it isn’t, and though dwelling on misery isn’t helpful Daniel doesn’t think it’s safe to dismiss it either.
He’s also now trying to avoid the thought that his name is in a parish register somewhere, paired with the name of a perfectly nice young woman who he has no desire to be linked to by any future historians as though she was the one who mattered most in his life.
Now is the last time he wants to think about his ex-wife though, his focus is firmly on the man lying beside him. “The world is changing, you know,” he says quietly, trying to offer a reassurance that is by no means sure, but that Daniel himself has to believe in. Leonard is usually the optimist in this relationship, but this is one area in which he constantly fears the worst. He’s declared the world is against them one too many times for Daniel to write it off simply as him being a little dramatic.
Leonard doesn’t say anything in response but makes a quietly despairing noise that suggests now is not the time for Daniel to start talking about the government report that he’s heard is close to release, and which might signal some hope for change.
Even if it does though, he supposes Leonard’s got bigger problems than the merely legal. It’s hardly like the Archbishop of Canterbury is about to turn reformist on the matter.
It’s probably not easy when you work for one of the primary defenders of the status quo in ‘sexual deviancy’ (as well as many other things) to believe that life can change for the better for people like them.
Saying that though while Leonard’s already unhappy, and with Daniel’s track record of saying undiplomatic things about the Church, would likely be taken the wrong way. Besides, right now Leonard doesn’t need vague promises of what might change. He needs comfort, and if Daniel can’t think what to say he at least knows what to do. “Come here, love,” he pulls an unresisting Leonard back into his arms.
Leonard settles half on top of him, and Daniel slides a hand under the pyjama top to stroke the smooth skin of his back.
“I’m sorry,” Leonard mumbles, head pressed into Daniel’s chest, right above his heart.
“That’s alright, sweetheart, nothing to apologise for.” Daniel holds him close and kisses the top of his head.
No matter how low his mood, or how morbid his conversation, Daniel would always rather have Leonard here than not. He’d also very much prefer that Leonard wasn’t alone when he was in these moods. What Daniel’s never quite got used to though is the feeling of sheer helplessness that overcomes him when he sees the man he loves suffering like this.
There’s nothing he can do, he can’t fix it. He can’t make the world accept them, and he can’t keep the Black Dog from Leonard’s door. All he can do is hold him through it all and wait for the worst to pass. It doesn’t feel like enough, but Leonard has made it clear numerous times that it means a great deal to him simply having Daniel there.
They lie for a long time in silence, Daniel staring at the ceiling in the darkened room. He can hear a gentle rain begin to tap against the window and thinks idly that that’s good news, the garden’s needed it. The condition of his garden’s important to him. He’s always found something very comforting about the resilience and beauty of nature, something he and Leonard both share. He makes a mental note to drag Leonard out for a long walk on the meadows soon, fresh air and beautiful surroundings always help to lift his spirits. Maybe they could even take a trip into the botanical gardens in Cambridge. None of that will solve the problem, but with something like this it’s not about solving it but learning to live with it. Learning how to live around it, to live despite it. Daniel always hopes for better, for change and for progress, but he won’t pin his life and their future on it. They can, and he hopes will, be happy whether the world wants them to be or not.
Maybe, he realises, there is something he can say, or something he should say. Something he hopes Leonard already knows. “You know I would if I could.”
“What?” Leonard’s voice is slurred with sleep.
“Sign my name in a parish register beside yours.”
Leonard doesn’t say anything but goes very still, for a moment it’s like even his heartbeat has stopped. Then he buries his face further into Daniel’s chest and Daniel wonders if he’s said the right thing. A moment later though Leonard’s hand has made its way into his again and he just catches a mumbled, “I love you.”