Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He stares at the phone in his hand, at the last message he received from her sent well over an hour ago. Silently cursing himself for being such a goddamned fucking coward. He met another Penelope!? That’s the excuse his brain decided to come up with? He couldn’t just admit he had drunk himself into oblivion and gotten back to his hotel room, stared blurry eyed at the photos on her Instagram account, his nightly ritual for months now and texted the first thought that popped into his head.

No, instead he’d managed to make it even worse between them somehow.

Infinitely worse.

And more awkward than it already was.

And weirder. Definitely weirder.

And he knows it’s all of those things because she responded without punctuation. She never responds to text messages without punctuation. She’s fanatical about using proper sentence structure even over text. It’s the writer in her. The only time she loses the commas, questions marks, exclamation points and periods is when she’s shrunk back into herself and retreated and just wants the conversation to be over, the less she has to type the quicker she can do that.

He knows this, because he knows her. He’s always known her. And that was the problem for so long wasn’t it? He thought he knew everything there was to know about her and he was comfortable with her steadfast presence in his life. He’d never contemplated why he took such an interest in her or allowed her to become the single most important person in his life outside of his immediate family. Never gave it a second thought, until one day he did.

He knows everything about her. Like she knows everything about him because he lets her see every part of him that doesn’t quite fit the mold, like he was a Bridgerton toy that was manufactured with a slight defect and found on the clearance rack because he had only one floppy ear instead of two. He didn’t quite fit anywhere, but with her, and she was happy to have him whatever way he came.

The one teeny, tiny little fact that she didn’t know about him though? That for the past few months he’s realized he’s so far gone for her, he can barely form words when she’s around, which is why it’s super helpful that he keeps finding these random assignments to take that give him space and distance from her, as she tries her best to put herself out into the dating world, no matter how much of a disaster so many of her attempts turned into. She just got right back up and kept trying, because she’s not a coward like he is. Not too afraid to let the world see how fragile she really is and how the wounds don’t seem to heal, they just compound and fester.

But she doesn’t want to die alone. That’s what she told him that night in her garden after some god awful date or another. That no matter how badly it was going she can’t imagine spending her life alone and unloved. And she’d just looked so soft and vulnerable, tears dotting the corner of her eyes and threatening to spill over, dejection written in every line of her face.

He’d taken her hand and tried to assure her she’d never be alone and unloved, they - all the Bridgertons, himself included - loved her and would always be there for her and she’d just shook her head, the smallest of exasperated breaths escaping her lips before she whispered “I don’t mean like that and you know it.”

Of course he knew it, but the feeling of her hand in his had sent some kind of jolt to the tip of his nerves and short circuited his ability to form rational thoughts.

“What can I do for you,” he’d asked.

She contemplated his face for a moment, looked down at the ground, unable to continue to meet his eyes, before she’d answered “would you kiss me?”

The rest rambled out of her, it wouldn’t have to mean anything, she just wanted to know what it was like to be kissed. He couldn’t really hear sentences, just fragments of phrases as the noise in his brain became a constant whooshing sound like he’d swam too far out and couldn’t fight the tide and was drowning in it.

It was only when she’d stood to leave and take her hand from his, clearly embarrassed at having to ask such a mortifying favor and getting complete silence in return that he’d returned to his body, pulling her by the hand back down to the bench.

And all it had taken was looking at her crystal clear blue eyes half shocked and half fearful and the tremble of her full lips and he knew whatever platonic friendship had been between them for so long was gone, never to return.

The actual first kiss was almost an afterthought, because it was the fact that she’d been brave enough to ask in the first place that turned his entire world upside down. It showed him what a joke his bravado had been, pretending he was a man about town, unaffected by the whims of love. He cared for nothing and no one.

So it was the second, more intense moment when he’d pulled his head back and found her staring straight at him, reflecting back the awe he felt and he dived right back for her mouth, because he’d been drowning and she was oxygen and he didn’t know how badly he needed to breathe her in, that he’d realized what an absolute 100% certified, Grade A King of Kick Myself In the Head Dumbassery he’d been.

He cared for something and someone and it was her, only her. It had only ever been her and he didn’t want to die alone and unloved either, but more specifically he didn’t want to die alone and unloved by her.

So when she’d thanked him in the most perfunctory way possible and swiftly removed her hand to run into her house, his true descent into lovesick madness began.

The next time they’d seen one another three days later, it was nearly dusk in the park, the sun beginning to set over the horizon. He’d been walking around for an hour, as he had the three days prior, preparing for the “accidental” run-in he’d planned by appearing to be casually out for a stroll. He knew eventually he’d have to find her cutting through on her way back from the tube after work and he’d never been happier than the moment he’d spotted her near the giant willow tree, her face half lit by the golden hue of the last rays of the sun and soft shadows of the cotton candy pink clouds starting to appear in the sky. He’d been so hopeful that it was going to be the first page of the next chapter of their life. When she’d told him that it was best if they just never spoke of it again to save them both the embarrassment of having to address it, he was so caught off guard, he didn’t know what else to do but nod numbly and go along with the plan of pretending it had never happened.

And that’s what they’d done the last few months, just pretended everything was fine and normal sometimes to an almost absurd degree where it almost felt like they’d become a parody of platonic friends. Look at us being good friends who never had anything weird happen between us because we are the best of friends who wouldn’t let anything change that, right bestie… was pretty much how all of their interactions began to feel after a while.

So it was just easier for him to not have to witness the moment she started to have small triumphs in the dating world firsthand.

He did what came most naturally. He ran, because of course he did.

Now he’s sat in an Amsterdam hotel room, his assignment over, with absolutely no reason to stay but two additional nights booked anyway, staring at his phone and cursing every life choice he’s ever made.

He just wants to be able to talk to her like he always has. See her face light up the screen on Facetime, hanging on every word of his adventures, telling him about her monotonous daily routine and whatever book she’d become obsessed with, falling asleep and waking up to the sound of soft snores in his ear.

He wanted her to see him again. See through all the pretense and bullshit and pretending he was okay.

He just wants to go back to the moment he held her hand and she looked at him like he was the actual sun and she didn’t have to shield her eyes from it, she could stare right into it.

For that he’d have to take a page out of her book and be brave and he just didn’t know if he had it in him to do that.

His phone pings in his hand startling him out of his reverie.

His oh so kind mum and her daily attempts at a morning motivational quote to the family group chat, to keep them all connected as they grew up and began living separate lives was both embarrassing and incredibly sweet.

And sometimes it left him on the verge of tears with a side order of nausea which he couldn’t quite tell you the cause of, whether it's from being hungover or because he wants to cast up the entire lining of his intestines after being kicked in the absolute emotional gut.

Today was one of those times.

He had to stop running. He had to face this head on. He had to stop making up phantom Penelopes who might reject him or phantom Penelopes he used to cudgel the real Penelope because he wasn’t sure if he was more scared of her rejection or her acceptance. It’s a heady thing, the concept of being told you have no future with someone or being told this is your entire future, because really there was no question that if she returned his feelings there was no one else for him, she was the endgame and he’d have to start building a life around that fact. And if she did accept him immediately then did that mean she’d felt something for him too because he couldn’t put a finger on when that might have happened given the distance she’d put between them. What if they’d both just been slowly torturing themselves for no reason the past few months? Or maybe she’d just accept him out of pity. Every possibility was an endless self-made roadblock and he just had to man up and face her for real.

That was as vulnerable as he could get for the moment. Full sentences with punctuation to show he was serious and not just firing off random texts in an attempt to smooth things over like he always did because he hated disappointing anyone, especially her. He’d apologize even if he knew he wasn’t in the wrong, just to make it easier on whomever felt offended.

She was a good texter, rarely left anyone unanswered for more than a few minutes at a time. As far as he knows she didn’t have much going on this weekend except for Prudence and Harry's mutual hen/stag do being held at some country estate and he wasn’t quite clear on the exact details or when and where it was happening. He can picture her already, tucked in a corner engrossed in a book, completely avoiding having to actually interact with her family. He smiles at that. Chances were good she’d make herself scarce, since no one would notice anyway, and they could have a good long conversation free of distraction from anything else. And one way or another he’d have the rest of his life figured out by the time the sun set and the night air began to settle into the shadows.

All he had to do was wait for her response.

When fifteen minutes went by he chalked it up to her just trying to find a quiet place to call him back in a strange house.

When half an hour went by he figured maybe she was having lunch and had to at least show her face in order to be considered semi-social and not have her mother berating her for not even making an effort.

When an hour went by he thought perhaps she was taking a nap even though she never silenced her phone at home and was such a light sleeper, the dings of text messages woke her up. Because he knew her. He knew everything about her.

At hour two he gave up on having an explanation because this was not the Penelope he knew. No matter how upset she’d clearly been about his callous response that morning, she would at least acknowledge him, even if it was to tell him that she didn’t feel like talking to him.

The bile rose up again, against his will. His hangover long since passed.

He knows he sounds desperate but he doesn’t know how else to get her attention. He could just call her but somehow knowing she’d press ignore on purpose would cut him even deeper. There was still some safety in imagining she somehow just hadn’t seen his texts.

Another half an hour and nothing.

The only thing he can think to do is run.

Only this time he’s going to run towards her, not away.

He has to get out of here, out of this country, by train, plane, car, hell on a bike… he doesn’t care, he just needs to see her face, see those beautiful blue pools shining back at him, the fullness of her mouth, distracting him from whatever words she might be saying.

It’s almost dusk and he knows there won’t be many flights left that can get him to her tonight. He picks the very first one he can make in time, buying it sight unseen. He throws everything into his duffel bag with a fury he didn’t know he possessed, just willing it all to somehow fit because he can’t be bothered to pack carefully. He doesn’t have time for that. He has to get to her.

He’s in the elevator when the dings start on his phone but there’s no reception and he’s 16 floors up. The longest 16 floors of his fucking life.

And it’s there in the hotel lobby that his phone comes alive.

He drops his duffel bag because his entire body has gone slack and he’s either going to be sick or pass out on the marble floor.

He’s too late.

Chapter Text

The next five hours of his life are an absolute blur of frantic text messages and phone calls trying to piece together what happened to Penelope and how to get to her as quickly as possible. At some point he ditched his duffel bag entirely in a trash bin because it was yet another thing he’d have to stand and wait to get scanned. He’s shocked he wasn’t arrested at the airport when he could have very nearly become an internet meme of a disgruntled traveler insisting that he needed to get on the last flight to Gatwick instead of Heathrow because it dropped him off closer to Surrey. A place he didn’t know he needed to go until a round of text messages and dropped calls somehow routed through four separate people until they ascertained exactly where this hen/stag do was being held.

It took his mother taking charge of trying to get in contact with Portia Featherington to get him the name of the hospital Penelope had been brought to.

And the last call he’d had before boarding his flight was with Philippa who was blissfully unaware on the best of days and bordering on low functioning on the worst of days. All he’d managed to understand between her easily getting distracted by everyone walking past her was that Penelope had taken a fall by the pool and hit her head on the ground. She’d seemed to be fine on the way to get stitches from bleeding that wouldn’t stop after her fall, but as they got closer to the hospital she started getting sick and seeing double and by the time they got her into A&E she’d gone limp in Albion’s arms and hadn’t woken up since. He’d just about made out the words “swelling” and “brain” before the call was lost and the flight attendant admonished him about turning off his phone for the flight.

He’d watched the lights of the runway fade and darkness overtake the world outside his window and spent the next hour and change in some fugue like state where he couldn’t even move his limbs as every awful outcome filtered through his brain, like being stuck in a loop of watching a loved one get horrifically murdered in a horror movie as the one dream he’d have for the rest of his life.

His own phone was nearly dead by the time he deboarded the plane and sprinted out of passport control, so more calls and texts were out of the question because he had to save whatever power he had left to order an Uber.

The car crawled through the inky black night of dark backroads towards the small hospital and it felt like a nightmare he was never going to be allowed to wake up from. But he would have gladly chosen for it to all be a dream, some drunken stupor he’d fallen into after he’d closed his eyes the night before, having hit send on the dumbest and most regrettable text he’d ever written in his life.

He didn’t even really get what “step on me” meant outside of seeing Hyacinth’s little school friends always posting it in response to any picture she posted of herself on her Instagram account and sometimes in the comment section of his own account.

It made him feel like a creeper when they commented like that on his profile.

He just thought it was funny considering how short Penelope was and the visual of her trying to lift her leg to step on him made him laugh but also kind of turned him on. Mostly for the part where he’d be able to look up her dress as she brought her leg up to attempt it. So he’d just sent the text off and went to bed and he’d give anything for the next several hours to have just been an extremely elaborate dream his guilty conscience had decided to torture him with.

But it was the utter paralysis he felt when he’d finally reached the doors of the hospital and had to talk himself into walking in to the potential of finding out the worst thing he’d ever have to hear in his life, that told him this was all too real.

The only thing he could compare it to was the warm, sunny Spring day he’d gotten off the bus from school with Penelope, when he was 11, and the closer they got to his front door and saw all the commotion the more he’d begun to go into a blind panic.

Penelope had been stood by his side, bringing home a book for Eloise who’d been stuck at home sick with strep throat for two days.

She blindly reached out for his hand, sensing how wracked with fear he was, and when he’d looked at her small little face, he could see she too could sense something bad had happened and was trying to be brave for him, by offering him an encouraging nod towards the door, her face resplendent with warmth as always, but her eyes darkened with shadows.

It’s not that losing his father wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened in his life until that point and helped shape the man he’d become, it’s just that this was Penelope… it wasn’t a comparison or a competition, it was just different on such a profound level. He’d known her for so much longer and through so many more mutual difficult times. She was what had held him up that day and the thought that he would never be able to simply reach out for her again felt like the world was cratering at his feet and he was sinking into it.

He let three people pass him by before he gathered the courage to enter the doorway.

All he remembers is the antiseptic smell that only exists in hospitals, asking at the nurse’s station where to find the neurology department and then turning the corner when he got there and seeing every Featherington and Featherington adjacent member of Penelope’s family sitting in chairs talking quietly amongst themselves.

Portia had stood to greet him and explain that they were treating her with medication and a shunt which seemed to be working as the swelling had gone down considerably, but she was not yet awake.

White hot rage coursed through him, unlike anything he’d ever felt before in his life.

How dare they leave her alone.

He demanded to know why no one had bothered themselves to sit with her and talk to her and make sure there was a familiar face when she woke up and they’d all just stared back at him blankly as if it had never even occurred to them that this was an option they should entertain.

The thought of her waking up alone and scared in a hospital room was what brought the first round of tears he’d allowed himself to shed that day. And he didn’t care how emotional he’d gotten in front of everyone, it was just the sheer relief that there was still a very good chance she’d make a recovery and this whole ordeal would be just another chapter they added to the story of their lives.

There was no question he would be the one who went and sat with her and he’d almost made it to her door without incident but something made him turn around and ask how she’d fallen and Harry in all of his innocent honesty said she’d been texting on her phone from a lounger next to him and seemed fine but then she seemed very upset at whatever she’d read and Prudence told her she was ruining the vibes, so she’d tried to leave without causing a fuss but slipped in her hurry to go unnoticed.

He nodded and thanked Harry for the information and that’s how he’d found himself sitting at her bedside for the next few hours, holding her hand, exhausting himself from the bouts of tears and from trying not to cry and blame himself for the chain of events that led her here.

But the idea that the very last thing she may have ever thought about him was that he’d found a better Penelope and she’d been thoroughly replaced in his life was horrifying.

If the last conscious thought he’d ever had in life was that Penelope had simply discarded him, he wouldn’t want to wake up to that world either.

He feels her small, clammy hand limply resting between both of his as he rhythmically rubs her thumb with his own in a circular pattern. It’s soothing, having a steady pattern he can follow.

He stares through the cracks of the sterile blinds on the window, the very first tiny hints of sunrise being near beginning to seep through them.

They’ve been alone like this for hours now, the only interruptions coming in the form of nurses and doctors walking in occasionally to check vital signs and to make sure everything looks okay. They assure him she’s probably just tired and her body needs the rest. Portia came in once to tell him she was bringing everyone home and he should call if anything changed, otherwise they’d be back in the morning.

He just shook his head in disgust and let her go.

The only sounds are the various beeps of machines next to her bed and the occasional thought that runs through him that he can’t help but verbalize. “You look cold, let me fix your blanket.” “You’re lucky they only had to shave a little bit of your hair on the back of your neck but I’d think you were beautiful even if they shaved your whole head.”

Just small, meaningless thoughts to fill the silence.

But none of them seemed to be enough to quiet the noise in his head.

How he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t get that upset over a text message if she felt nothing for him at all.

How that day under the willow tree she’d apologized for putting him in such an awkward position and he’d been so caught up in his own feelings he never really picked up on the fact that she’d said she knew he’d be embarrassed if anyone ever asked and she didn’t want to cause either of them more embarrassment.

Because when had he ever indicated he’d be embarrassed of her?

And he remembered how she had felt safe enough to even suggest asking for a kiss from him, of all people, so surely she felt comfortable with him in a way she didn’t with Benedict or Anthony, if he wasn’t married. But she rambled so much and was so scared of his reaction to her suggestion, like she was prepared for him to humiliate her for even asking. Why would she ever think he’d be anything less than kind to her?

And then he remembered that drunken night with his friends at her birthday party when they were on him about his relationship with her and he knows he said something dumb and defensive, though he can’t remember exactly what, because he’d just gone through this shit, with his ex, a few months before when she’d accused him of feeling more for Penelope than he did for her (and Penelope had just stared at him like a deer in the headlights when he later jokingly asked her if she found that as ludicrous as he did) and he just wasn’t in the mood to explain himself.

She’d spent the next couple of weeks responding to his text messages with one or two word unpunctuated responses until he finally confronted her and she told him what she’d heard but said it had hurt because it was simply rude to talk about a friend like that.

He hadn’t quite been able to piece how all of these things fit together until he sat in deafening silence with nothing but time and his memories and regret, staring at the small amber glow of the lone lit light above her head framing her face so that it almost had a halo affect.

She loved him.

She had loved him all along.

And that didn’t scare him at all.

It just made him so beyond elated to finally understand the truth but so fucking sad that he’d wasted so much time and she literally almost had to slip through his fingers to finally see it.

He leans his elbows on the mattress and his dampened face onto the frame of their intertwined hands, holding her up for once in his life and just stares, trying to will her into opening her eyes for him.

Trying to get her to see him again, see what is waiting for her on this side.

See the promise and the possibilities and all the love he wants to pour into her.

“Pen, I need you to wake up,” he whispers. “And watch this sunrise with me. I need you to see we can both put all of the yesterdays behind us. It’s a whole new day. We can be a whole new us, have a whole slew of tomorrows, because I think you want that as much as I do. I want you to step into the light with me. Please… Pen…”

When her lashes begin to flutter he’s convinced he’s seeing things until the weak sound of his name escapes her beautiful mouth.

“Colin…”

It’s happy tears he sheds now.

“My beautiful girl… I’m so happy to see you.”

She looks around the room, a little dazed and confused trying to get her bearings and adjusting her unfocused eyes but they settle on him like he’s the only steady thing she recognizes.

“The last thing I remember was bleeding in the car…”

He shakes his head, as he kisses her hand over and over.

“Don’t think about anything right now, it doesn’t matter. You’re here… and I’m here… and you’re stuck with me, because I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

“Well, that’s a little weird,” she quips through a pain tinged grimace.

“I think my weird and your weird go together pretty well if you ask me,” he sniffle laughs.

“Are you sure you have the right Penelope?” She looks to him with well earned skepticism.

He has to force down the groan threatening to escape his throat. “I made her up because I was embarrassed at my drunk texts to you.” He can feel his face growing redder and redder by the second.

She doesn’t say anything for what feels like an absolute eternity, just stares pointedly until her eyes begin to come alive again, in the way he would recognize in any crowd, life breathing back into them and the same awe that flashed on her face during their first kiss, settles into her irises.

“I’m gonna need a stool, I guess,” she snarks so softly he thinks he’s hearing things until he can see the corners of her mouth begin to form a smirk.

He laughs a much louder sound than was probably appropriate, a laugh full of appreciation and reverence and promise. A laugh meant only for her.

He should probably get a doctor to check on her but he wants to hold onto this moment for just a little longer.

Him and her. Her and him. As it always should have been, as it always will be.

He’s never felt more sure of anything in his life.

“I will never let you leave this life feeling alone or unloved. I’m not going anywhere… because I’m in love with you to an almost stupid degree.”

He goes to squeeze her hand in reassurance, realizing for the first time that he’d stopped rubbing her thumb at some point and she had taken over instead, tracing circles on the back of his hand, comforting him even in her most vulnerable moments.

“The sun is out.” She looks at him, full consciousness dawning in her eyes, never once looking over to the window, never blinking… and he understands.

She heard him.

She came back for him.

She has always thought the sun rose and set with him and never looked away, even when he couldn’t see it.

And she is every one of his tomorrows.