Chapter Text
The late afternoon light shone through the garden, the golden glow of sunset flowing across the sweeping Somerset countryside.
Side by side, as always, Titch and Derek were curled up on the garden swing seat. Titch sat with his legs pulled up beneath him, his battered copy of British Botanical and Horticultural Literature open on his lap. Beside him, Derek was gazing out at the view of the rolling fields of aubergines laid out before them: his foot planted firmly on the ground gently rocking the swing while his arm lay across the back of the seat, rubbing comforting circles into Titch’s shoulder with his thumb.
Mugs of steaming tea sat on the patio beneath them occasionally being picked up and sipped at, as the pair sat in companionable silence.
Titch had been quiet for most of the day and Derek had of course noticed. Usually, Titch was contemplative but open, always willing to narrate his thought process as he farmed or chat over village gossip with Derek as they kneaded dough in the kitchen. But today, Titch had been unusually brief in his responses and evasive with Derek’s questioning.
The realisation hadn’t occurred to Derek until late in the afternoon, when he’d come across Titch staring thoughtfully at an old accounting file in the office. Derek had watched as his husband’s fingers trailed across the pages of black scrawling handwriting, following every swirl and dot of the text. He’d watched Titch from the doorway as he smiled sadly at the book before closing it up and placing it carefully back onto the groaning accounting shelf.
It was a file from around 10 years ago, before Derek had even begun his employment at the farm, filled with the familiar scribbling hand of Titch’s late-father.
As soon as he’d clocked what Titch had been looking at, Derek had made it his mission to look out for his husband for the day - not that he ever didn’t look after Titch - but he took extra care to make sure Titch always had a presence nearby. Just in case.
When Titch had taken his old book out into the garden and got comfortable in the swing seat, Derek had headed out soon after: handing him a warm mug of tea and planting a gentle kiss on his forehead.
Watching the sun set over the fields of western Somerset with his husband curled into his side, Derek smiled softly at the little slice of paradise he had carved out for himself.
“It’s coming up soon, isn’t it?” Derek said gently, not wanting to pry but simply to let Titch know that he was looking out for him.
Titch glanced up from his book, startled at the sudden interruption to his reading.
“What is?” He asked.
“Your dad’s anniversary, right? Next week?”
Closing up his book but keeping his finger held in his page, Titch nodded slowly - an expression of distant contemplation gracing his features, which had not seemed unfamiliar for the day.
“Five years,” he said simply. “Feels like yesterday. Or a century ago.”
Derek sat in silence, letting Titch process beside him and continuing his soft motion of comfort on his shoulder. Just as Derek was about to break the moment, give his husband an escape route from a difficult conversation, Titch spoke again, quieter and less certain.
“He changed everything for me, you know,” Titch murmured. “Before I came here, life was so chaotic. He gave me stability when I needed it most.”
Derek hardly dared to breathe. Reminiscing about life before his adoption was rare for Titch, so rare that after nearly three years of marriage Derek couldn’t think of a single detail of the man’s first ten years on Earth.
“The day I arrived on the farm, I was terrified. I’d never really been to the countryside before, not the proper countryside anyway. I was amazed by how big the sky was, it seemed huge!” Titch gazed up at the orange hues of the evening sky sprawling out before the pair, flowing into tones of red and purple as it reached the distant horizon.
“He was just what I needed. I mean, you knew him well enough: he wasn’t one for big gestures, no gushing speeches or trying to hug me. He was just steady. He… I don’t know… showed up. He was there, every day. He taught me how to milk the goats, attended every parent's evening, bought my favourite cereal even though he thought it was too sweet.”
“He was a decent man, your dad,” Derek agreed, dropping his arm to properly rest around Titch’s shoulders.
“The best.” Titch’s voice caught slightly but he cleared his throat quickly, swallowing down any hint of emotion. But he was too slow and Derek had already clocked it. He slipped his hand down and carefully took hold of Titch’s hand where it was resting atop his book, stroking loving circles into his palm.
Titch looked over at him, his watery eyes searching for something. Anything.
“He was a good father, I only knew him for a short while but I know he was good for you,” Derek said slowly, carefully. “You know, you don’t talk about your life before him, before your adoption.”
“I know, I’m sorry but-”
“No, that’s not what I-” Derek stumbled. “I’m not asking you to tell me, you don’t have to tell me anything. But if you ever want to, you know. If you ever want to talk, then I’m here and I’ll always listen.”
Titch’s expression softened. The tiniest, most gentle smile appeared on his face and a note of tender appreciation flashed through his eyes. He squeezed Derek’s hand softly: raising it to his lips and placing the smallest kiss to his husband’s skin before nuzzling his cheek against his warm fingers.
“Maybe one day,” Titch murmured into their intertwined hands. “One day.”
“Whenever that day is, I’ll be happy to listen. And if that day never comes, then I’m more than happy to just sit with you.”
The gentle glow of evening settled around them as Derek continued to swing them back and forth with careful precision, rocking the pair into a sweet and comfortable rhythm. Titch didn’t open his book again, instead he rested it carefully on the edge of a terracotta pot beside him. He curled up and ducked his head down to rest on Derek’s chest, kissing his husband’s long fingers over and over. The pair watched as the final flicker of the sun’s corona dropped beneath the distant fields and crickets began to chirp rhythmically in the undergrowth.
***
Later that evening, the pair had retreated inside from the growing chill. The fire crackled quietly and a warm glow of amber and gold spread out across the living room - the only light in the cosy atmosphere of the farmhouse.
They had tucked the children into their beds with loving kisses to their foreheads as Johnny whispered his usual ‘I love you’ into the darkness and Janae murmured something about quantum fields that he would almost certainly spend the night dreaming about.
With the boys fast asleep upstairs in their twin room, Titch and Derek had begun their usual evening routine by finishing off the washing up side by side at the sink, locking up the farmhouse doors, and flicking on an old documentary about bees to watch as they slowly wound down from the day, before they inevitably fell asleep sitting up, waking hours later with cricks in their necks.
Derek had settled down on the sofa with his long legs extended out onto the coffee table, sinking back into the plumped cushions with a sigh. He listened as Titch finished up in the kitchen before shuffling into the room and curling up beside him. As always they began cuddled together but as they watched they slowly migrated closer until Titch was practically fused to Derek’s lap, his legs tucked over Derek’s thighs and his head resting on his shoulder.
Derek’s fingers carded gently through Titch’s strawberry blonde hair, soft and soothing. But his husband was still absent - his eyes unfocussed and vacant, barely watching the TV as the little bumblebees flitted about in their hives.
And then, quietly, barely above a whisper, so hushed Derek had to strain to hear him:
“I still talk to the moon sometimes.”
Derek’s caring hand stilled in Titch’s fringe, not speaking, just sitting quietly and waiting for Titch to continue.
“Back when I was in care, I used to look up at it from the window of whatever bedroom I had to sleep in that night and talk to the moon,” Titch whispered. “I used to tell it everything, pour my heart out to that big lump of stupid rock and then, when I was done, I’d send it like a messenger to go and tell everything to my mum.”
Derek hardly dared to look at him. He’d of course known that Titch must’ve had biological parents, logically Derek knew that to be true, but it might as well have not been because he’d never acknowledged it before.
“She got ill when I was quite young,” Titch continued, “I didn’t really understand it at the time, I was only about five. All I knew was that she was going to the hospital all the time. My father was no good, he was never around and whenever he was he was… no good.”
Stroking his hand through Titch’s hair once again, Derek sat patient and silent like an anchor grounding Titch as he spoke.
“Social services stepped in pretty quickly once they realised mum couldn’t look after me anymore, took me into care. I cried for like a week, maybe longer. I kept thinking that they were looking after me until mum got better and then they’d give me back to her. You’d think I’d lose hope over time but with every day that passed I thought I was one step closer to being back with mum.”
“That must’ve been hard,” Derek said, unable to formulate anything more helpful.
“I bounced around place after place: foster families, group homes, you name it. And every place I went, I found the best window with the best view of the moon and talked to my mum.”
Titch took a shaky breath and shuffled infinitesimally closer to his husband, curling against his shoulder with a sigh.
“She died when I was eight,” Titch murmured, his voice cracking ever so slightly as he spoke. “No one even thought to tell me, I didn’t find out until months later. Didn’t get to go to her funeral, didn’t even know that she had one.”
Derek’s heart shattered into tiny pieces as he visualised an eight-year-old Titch, all little with strawberry blonde hair and rich brown eyes, sitting quietly in an unfamiliar bedroom with tears rolling down his freckled cheeks, trying desperately to stifle his sobs from the veritable strangers elsewhere in the house.
“I’m so sorry,” Derek whispered, kissing Titch softly atop his head.
“I have basically no memories of her now: I don’t really remember what she looked like, I don’t remember her voice at all, I can’t remember what her favourite colour was, or what her cooking tasted like. But, I know she loved me, I can remember that much. I know she used to brush my hair while I squirmed and tried to get away, we’d clean our teeth together and make faces in the mirror, she’d give me hugs when I grazed my knees, and she was so warm.”
“She sounds wonderful,” Derek murmured into Titch’s hair.
“She was,” Titch nodded. “Sometimes I wonder what she’d think of me now.”
“She’d be so proud of you, love.” Derek didn’t really know what to say, but he knew that much for certain. He rubbed gentle circles into Titch’s back with one hand and his knee with the other.
“Oh, she’d have loved you, she’d have worshipped you, Derek,” Titch said with a wet laugh. “And not just because you’re tall, dark, and handsome, although that definitely would’ve helped.”
Derek chuckled softly, still pressing kisses into Titch’s hairline.
“No, really. She’d go all soft for you, swooning even, tease me about your stupid, beautiful face. She’d think you were so kind, and thoughtful, and she’d love the way you were so good with your hands- don’t!” Titch warned, batting Derek’s chest as he moved to make a joke.
“I didn’t say anything!” Derek laughed.
Titch leaned back into Derek again, his voice suddenly dropping to be low and quiet - a lump forming in his throat.
“And the boys, she would’ve adored the boys.” Titch swallowed heavily. “Johnny, she’d be so wonderful with him. All his night-time anxiety, all his fears, his emotions, the things you and I battle every day as we try to help him, she’d know what to do. But more than that, she’d see the beautiful little boy with so much love to give and so much good to put into the world, and she’d nurture that.”
Derek simply smiled sadly, watching Titch as he closed his eyes and imagined a future that could never be.
“And as for Janae, she’d think he was wonderful - a genius. She’d take him around museums and explain… okay, she’d let Janae explain the exhibitions. She’d sit through every one of his living room physics lectures, taking notes and asking questions. I know that those boys would’ve meant everything to her.”
“I know, love,” Derek whispered.
“She could’ve loved them,” Titch’s voice wavered. “She could’ve loved me.”
“She did love you, she still does,” Derek murmured.
“She never got to see that I’d be okay.”
Turning his face completely into Derek’s chest, Titch rubbed his cheek into the soft material of Derek’s jumper. And then the tears came. The flood that he’d been fighting finally released after the dam he’d used to hold it back for all these years suddenly broke. He was silent at first, just sniffling softly into the tightly woven fabric, but then came the deep and heavy sobs.
HIs gasps rang out into the quiet living room punctuating the air of a room otherwise filled with the gentle crackling of the fire and the muffled northern lilt of the documentary voiceover. Titch breathed hard and fast into Derek’s chest: with the cries that could only come from someone finally spilling years of unshed grief into the arms of the only person who had ever made him feel truly safe.
And Derek for his part, simply held him: happy to be the arms of comfort his husband so desperately needed. He clutched him close in his strong arms, solid and unmoving.
“She would’ve been so proud of you, you know.”
Titch just cried harder. So Derek just squeezed him harder.
The pair sank down into the soft embrace of their warm sofa and cosy living room, simply allowing the moment to wash over them. No longer fighting the tears, no longer talking, just simply existing in the broken-heartedness of it all.
They sat for a long time until Derek pulled a heavy woollen blanket from the back of the sofa, throwing it over himself before carefully tucking it around Titch as well.
Titch’s wracking sobs soon softened into quiet sniffling. Derek grabbed a tissue from the box on the side table and found Titch looking up at him for the first time - his eyes red and swimming. His fist was clutched into Derek’s jumper, pulling himself closer and closer - each quiet sniffle tugging at Derek’s heart as he carefully wiped the tears from Titch’s damp face.
“I’m sorry for asking about your adoption,” Derek whispered as he cleaned Titch up.
“Not at all,” Titch said with a wet smile. “It’s not a secret, I don’t have secrets from you. It’s just not something that’s come up before.”
“But I hate seeing you like this,” Derek mumbled, his lips brushing Titch’s hair. “I feel useless.”
“You’re not,” Titch said defiantly. “Just being here is helping more than you could imagine. Just listening.”
Derek cupped Titch’s cheek gently and brushed away a rogue tear that fell without warning. He then pulled his husband in from his jaw and kissed him softly with warm insistence. It was brief but filled with love and adoration. Derek shuffled impossibly closer and wrapped his arms around Titch’s waist, pressing their foreheads together in collective silence.
“You want to know something weird?” Titch asked quietly.
“Always.”
“My dad, like my biological dad, he’s probably still alive somewhere,” Titch said with almost a grimace. “He probably has a gaggle of other grown up children by now. Maybe he’s a good dad for them, maybe he loves them.”
“He should’ve loved you,” Derek said simply, kissing Titch’s head once more for luck.
“I’ve got a dad,” Titch shrugged, smiling slightly through the tears. “He loved me more than enough to make up for it.”
“He really did.”
“I don’t really think about my biological dad at all, but mum, I think about her all the time, every day probably.” Derek watched in silence, waiting patiently for Titch to continue. “But the thing that really gets me, that really hurts, is that I don’t have anything of hers. Just a photo would’ve been nice so I never forget what she looks like but, I was taken into care so quickly, and then bounced around a lot and so anything I did have got lost along the way.”
Derek’s arms tightened around him instinctively.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m forgetting her. I don’t remember her voice at all, her face I can only just picture. It’s been so long, I hardly remember her.”
Resting his chin atop Titch’s head, Derek held him close: an ever present anchor, fiercely protective and loyal.
“Then we’ll remember her together,” Derek murmured. “We’ll make space for her in our story, she’s part of our family and we’ll remember her forever.”
“I don’t deserve you,” Titch whispered.
“You deserve the world.”