Through the Years: a Bridget Jones Fic 2/2

[eggsbenni221]

Through the Years: a Bridget Jones Fic
By Eggsbenni221
Words: 12855
Rating: M
Summary: Mark hadn't wanted a surprise for his birthday, so naturally he got one anyway.

Saturday 19 November, 2016
A shaft of late-autumn sun crept through the curtains, greeting Mark as he stirred beneath the duvet and reached automatically for Bridget without opening his eyes. Pulling her to him, he rested his cheek against the top of her head and let the gentle rhythm of her breathing lull him back to sleep. He’d just begun to slide back into a doze when he felt her shift beneath his arm. Gently, trying not to disturb him, she extricated herself from his embrace, but the next moment the door burst open with a flurry of footsteps, and a pair of voices accompanied by two thumps on either side of the bed announced, “Happy Birthday, Daddy!”
“Mabel!” hissed Bridget. “Billy! Daddy’s still sleeping!”
“Not precisely,” grumbled Mark, grudgingly opening one eye.
“Oh shit,” Bridget exclaimed.
“Mummy, you said a swear word,” Mabel scolded gleefully. “No swearing in front of the children.”
“I’m wondering,” said Mark, “if we could possibly tone it down about 5 decibels. Your poor old dad would appreciate it. Clearly,” he added, offering his wife a tired smile, “they haven’t inherited your talent for waking me with thought vibes.”
Mabel giggled; then gave Mark a serious look, her mouth pulled down in concern. “Sorry, Daddy. We just thought we’d surprise you.”
Smiling, Mark sat up, stretched, and pulled his daughter into a hug. “It’s all right, sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “Thank you very much.”
“Well,” said Bridget, with an apologetic look at Mark, “maybe we should mollify your dad with his present.”
“I’ve got it here,” Billy announced, tossing an imperfectly but lovingly wrapped package with a home-made card attached to the blue paper. On the front of the card, Billy had sketched an impressively detailed picture of an owl reading a book; Mark recognized Mabel’s touch in the reading glasses perched on the owl’s beak that bore a striking resemblance to the pair that currently sat on mark’s bedside table. Below the drawing, Bridget had scrawled the message, “If wisdom increases with age, that must be why dads are so wise. Happy Birthday to the best and wisest dad. We love you.”
“Very funny,” said mark, hugging Bridget and each of the children in turn.
“Open your present now, daddy!” exclaimed Mabel, bouncing up and down in the center of the bed. The significance of the drawing on the card became clear when Mark pealed back the wrapping paper to reveal a brand-new Kindle eBook reader. Even as he turned to Bridget, one brow raised in curiosity, she held up a hand to silence him.
“We don’t want to hear it. I know how curmudgeonly you are about reading the ‘old-fashion way’, but in case you haven’t noticed, it’s the 21st century.” In spite of himself, Mark smiled; while Bridget had embraced the minutia of the digital age, Mark, though not technologically incompetent, preferred a more minimalist approach to technology. As much as the connectivity of the internet, smartphones, and tablets increased the efficiency of communication, it also, as with many high-stress professions, blurred the boundaries between his personal and professional life to such an extent that his only recourse for maintaining any degree of sanity was to keep his use of technology to a minimum when possible. Reading was one such area, particularly when he had begun reading to his children. He had always found simple joy in taking Billy or Mabel on his knee and watching their wide-eyed delight as they turned pages and journeyed through the stories together. Billy had gradually taken increasing enjoyment in reading independently, but while Mabel had learned quickly and even enjoyed reading, she would still occasionally forego reading on her own in favor of curling up in Mark’s lap for one of her favorite stories or, more recently, the chapter books they’d begun to take on together. Mabel would, Mark knew, eventually lose interest in the ritual, but for now, he admitted to himself, he remained content to indulge her.
“It’s actually really cool, Dad,” Billy said now, breaking into Mark’s reverie. “You can put lots of books on and take it anywhere, so you don’t have to worry about carrying heavy books around with you when you travel for work and stuff.” This, Mark had to admit, was one of the perks that had been nudging him toward the switch; minimalist as he generally was, he saw the attraction in anything that had the potential to condense and organize his possessions. It had certainly proven invaluable in Bridget’s case as they were no longer waging a constant battle against overflowing bookshelves with no logical cataloguing system that Mark could discern.
“I think he’s weakening, Billster,” said Bridget, beaming at their son.
“And the print is really clear and easy to read,” Billy continued.
“For when your eyes get tired,” chimed in Mabel. Mark chuckled; count on Mabel to forego delicacy in favor of arguing the perks of his gift.
“Look. We’ve already loaded a few things on for you.” Billy took the device, powered it on, and handed it back to Mark, who found copies of several of the titles he was currently working his way through as well as a selection of a few of his favorites by Graham Green, and one or two of the legal reference books he consulted most regularly.
“This really is quite lovely,” he said, surprised as much by his own delight as the degree of thought his family had devoted to the gift.
“You really like it?” asked Bridget, eyes narrowed.
“It’s wonderful, love,” he replied, leaning in to hug her. “Thank you all so much.”
“But Daddy, you didn’t see the best part!” Mabel chirped, seizing the device and pointing to the screen. Directing his gaze to where she indicated, Mark spotted two other familiar titles; The Velveteen Rabbit, one of Mabel’s favorites, and The Wizard of Oz, which they had recently begun together.
“So we can still read together when you have to go away,” she explained.
Eyes moist, Mark reached over to pull his daughter into an embrace. “Mabel, I love this. Thank you, sweetheart.”
“Breakfast!” Billy declared, hopping down from the bed.
“Mummy, can we have Daddy’s cupcakes for breakfast?” asked Mabel.
“Mabel!” Bridget chided, “those were supposed to be a surprise! Crème brulee cupcakes,” she added to Mark. “I picked them up yesterday; I thought, since we’re going to Magda’s tonight, they might make a festive breakfast.”
“Actually,” said Billy, “the bigger surprise is that Mum hasn’t already eaten half of them.” Everyone, including Bridget, burst into laughter, until she suddenly winced and pressed a hand to her side.
“Bridget, are you all right?” Gingerly Mark placed one hand on the small of her back, afraid of causing her more discomfort.
“I forgot,” Bridget said shakily. “I guess laughter isn’t always the best medicine.” Mark spared a moment to glare at his wife before turning to the children to ease their obvious worry. Mabel’s eyes were wide with concern, while Billy was frowning deeply at his mother with a half-tender, half-severe expression that Mark suspected mirrored his own.
“Billy, will you get your mother a glass of water, please? Mabel, go down and start laying the table for breakfast. We’ll be down in a few minutes.” After both children had followed his instructions, Mark rested a hand on Bridget’s back again, reaching with the other for the water glass Billy had left on the bedside table.
“It’s okay, mark,” she said quietly.
“Sh. Don’t talk. Just breathe,” he directed, though her breathing had already begun to return to normal. “Okay?”
“Fine,” she said, smiling reassuringly. “It was nothing, really. I just forget sometimes that I’m still a bit sore, and it catches me by surprise.”
“Remember what the doctor said; slow, deep breaths.”
Bridget rolled her eyes. “Oh, look who’s suddenly a yoga instructor now,” she scoffed.
“Bridget, I’m serious. If you’re having difficulty breathing normally, that can create other complications.”
“I think I know my own body, thank you very much,” Bridget snapped.
Mark sighed, sliding an arm around her waist and gently pulling her to his side. “I’m sorry, darling,” he whispered. “You know I can’t help worrying about you.”
“I know.” Bridget tilted her head up to peck his cheek. “It’s okay. I’m sorry too. Let’s not argue; it’s your birthday.”
“Agreed.” Mark pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Just one thing. If you don’t feel up to this evening, why don’t we postpone?” Despite his protests, Bridget had convinced him that some celebration was in order; both Billy and Mabel would be having sleepovers at friends’ houses so that he and Bridget could have a quiet, relaxing, “grownup dinner” at Magda and Jeremy’s. the guest list, as Mark had clearly stipulated, included only his parents, Bridget’s mother, and a few of his colleagues; Jude, tom, Talitha, and Daniel would complete the circle. Now, however, he wondered if having a cozy night in with Bridget wasn’t a more sensible option.
“No, Mark,” she said firmly, obviously guessing his line of thought. “We’ve been through this. If you want to be an old curmudgeon for the rest of your life, fine, but not tonight. Tonight we’re celebrating your birthday.”
“Bridget, please. You’ve recuperated so well; I just don’t want you to suffer a setback.”
“Mark, I’m going to be sitting on Magda and Jeremy’s sofa, probably permanently attached to a bottle of chardonnay, not swimming the fucking English Channel.”
“Bridget--”
“Mark, no. We agreed; no arguing.”
He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I’m not arguing. I’m merely voicing my concern about your health and strongly urging you to take my concern into consideration.”
Bridget folded her arms and glared back at him. “Don’t go all hoity-toity barrister on me now. Besides, you don’t want to be rude, Mr Darcy. What happened to your scrupulous sense of decorum?”
Mark scowled. “I should have known you’d latch onto my impeccable, English breeding precisely when I’m feeling least inclined to follow it. Well played, although, if memory serves me, Mr Darcy quite detests parties; he’d much rather go to bed.”
“Oh,” laughed Bridget, “come on, Mark. You’ve become much more sociable.”
“I don’t think I have, actually. Why does this mean so much to you anyway? All things considered, this isn’t exactly my top priority, and there’ll be--”
“Other birthdays?” she finished. “Mark, how can you say that after everything we’ve been through? After we almost lost you once, after losing my dad, after, you know…” She trailed off, gesturing to herself. “We can’t take anything for granted. We have so much to celebrate, Mark.” She reached over to take his hand. “We’re together; we have our health; we have the children; we have friends who love us-and who, by the way, have gone to a lot of trouble to make today special for you-and we have each other.” As she gazed up at him, Mark saw more than earnest pleading in her eyes; he saw, for the merest instant, a flicker of panic.
“Bridget?” Placing a finger under her chin, he tilted her face up to study her expression. “What’s going on? What’s this all about?”
“Nothing,” she replied, quickly and all-too suspiciously averting her eyes.
Mark chuckled. “I’ll say it again, darling; you’re an appalling liar, but now I’m curious. I suppose we’ll have to go then, but only--” Before he could finish, Bridget pounced on him, swallowing the remainder of his protest with her kiss.
“Right, that’s settled.”
“Bridget, you didn’t let me--”
“Sh. Nope. End of discussion,” she declared, laying a finger over his lips. “You’re going, and I don’t want to hear another word of protest. Now come on. Let’s go down before Mabel eats all of your cupcakes.”
----------
Bridget fiddled with the clasp on her handbag, jiggling her foot impatiently as Mark pulled to a stop in front of Magda and Jeremy’s house. They’d driven almost entirely in silence, her fingers crossed in her lap as the culmination of weeks of planning approached. She knew, in part due to her abysmal lying, that Mark suspected something, though she couldn’t work out how much he’d guessed. He’d left her alone to her frantic thoughts, but now he reached across the seat and closed his fingers over hers.
“Are you all right, darling?” he asked gently.
“Fine. Super,” she said, offering him a tight smile.
He frowned, brows drawn together. “You’ve been unusually quiet. Anything the matter?”
Bridget shook her head. “No, it’s just-well, you’re not cross with me for dragging you out tonight, are you?” This concern wasn’t entirely fabricated; she did wonder how reluctantly Mark had agreed to attend tonight’s dinner, though she hoped that any irritation he felt would recede into the background once the surprise had been unveiled.
Now he raised one hand to cup her cheek as he bent to lay his lips on hers. “Of course not, darling. I didn’t mean to be such a stick in the mud.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice quavering slightly; damn it, she needed to keep herself together, but expecting her to keep a secret without cracking was like expecting her to eat only one chocolate a day in an Advent calendar. “Because I mean, this is all about you, and I really, really want you to just enjoy the night and, well…” She punctuated her unfinished sentence with a shrug. Wordlessly Mark reached down and enfolded her in his arms, and she rested her head against his chest, inhaling the dark, woodsy fragrance of his aftershave. Her palms began to tingle, and only when Mark caught her wandering hand and brought it to his lips did she realize her fingers had been reaching for the buttons on his shirt.
“oops,” she giggled, pulling her hand back. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Mmmhm,” murmured Mark, kissing the end of her nose. “Don’t misunderstand me; I still want the rest of my present, but I don’t think this is quite the right time to unwrap it.”
As they walked together up the path to the front door, Mark drew Bridget’s arm through his own-an endearingly chivalrous gesture that she never tired of, and in the chilly evening air, she appreciated the added warmth as he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. She kept her gaze locked on his face as he pressed the doorbell, but despite her preparedness, the chorus of “Surprise!” that greeted them as they walked through the door nearly knocked her off balance. Distracted in the act of steadying her, Mark apparently hadn’t processed what had just happened, but when he turned to the source of the commotion, his usually impassive face registered a hilarious mixture of incredulity and delight, as if it hadn’t ever had to handle so much emotion and couldn’t work out just the right expression.
“I… I don’t… believe this,” he stammered finally.
“Big fucking surprise,” came Sharon’s voice. “Mark Darcy can’t believe people love him enough to fly across a fucking ocean to celebrate his fucking birthday.” As everyone applauded, she weaved a bit tipsily across the room, flinging her arms around Mark in a surprisingly enthusiastic hug, particularly for Sharon.
“Sharon,” Mark said carefully, “are you drunk?”
“’course I am, stupid! Happy Birthday!”
“Crikey, Shaz,” he laughed, returning her embrace, “I think I’ve actually missed you… a bit.”
“Bastard,” grumbled Sharon, winking at Bridget.
“Come on, babe,” said her husband Greg, coming up behind her and gently prizing her off of Mark. “I think your glass is empty. Let’s go refill it. Happy Birthday, mark,” he added, leaning in to offer a one-armed hug while he kept the other wound securely around Sharon’s waist. “Great to see you.”
“And you,” said Mark. “I can’t believe you came all this way.”
Notwithstanding his general aversion to finding himself the center of attention, Mark graciously accepted hugs, handshakes, and pecks on the cheek from various guests. Most of them, with the exception of Sharon and Greg, weren’t a surprise. Everyone he held dear, in one way or another, had managed to attend: his parents, Bridget’s mother, and Una Alconbury, who as usual pressed a hand to her bosom and gave a tinkling laugh when Mark kissed her cheek, insisting he didn’t look a day over 40 and prompting Mark to whisper teasingly to Bridget that either her mind or her eyeglass proscription was in need of a check. Jude, Tom, Daniel, and Talitha were present, as were most of his colleagues in chambers. Even Cosmo and Woney-whom Bridget had debated about including on the guest list-had put in an appearance, ultimately because she decided that Cosmo’s harrumphing and Woney’s simpering smugness lent their own charm and sense of tradition to the gathering. As Bridget watched her husband exchanging greetings with everyone, she felt a tap on her shoulder and glanced around; spotting the person standing just behind her, she nodded, gesturing toward Mark, who turned away from Giles at just the right moment. Bridget’s eyes filled as a broad smile stretched across Mark’s face and Constance flew into his open arms. After finishing university, she’d spent the past several months abroad, studying architecture; she’d just completed her tour of Florence and was on her way to Athens, but insisted on returning home when Bridget had disclosed the plan for Mark’s surprise party.
“Constance, darling!” Mark exclaimed now, enveloping her in a tight hug. “What on Earth are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Greece.”
“I was,” said Constance, raising herself on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “But when Mum and Auntie Bridget told me about your birthday, I couldn’t miss it.” For most of their lives, Constance and her brothers had considered Mark an adoptive uncle, and since Peter’s brief marriage hadn’t yielded any children before his divorce, Magda and Jeremy’s children had held the places of nieces and nephews in Mark’s heart. Constance had always been especially fond of him; now an intelligent, sophisticated young woman in her early twenties, she still enjoyed chatting animatedly with him. All that had changed was the topic of conversation, now focusing on her studies and career ambitions rather than the merits of Pingu, and Bridget had always loved the way that Constance, like Mabel, had tenderly excavated a rarely-glimpsed softness in Mark’s nature. As he gazed down at her now, tears welled in his eyes.
“Happy Birthday, Uncle Mark,” whispered Constance, leaning in to hug him again.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” he murmured, stooping to kiss the top of her head. “Thank you so much. I’m so very glad you’re here.” Over her shoulder, his eyes met Bridget’s, and the smile he gave her might have lasted her another sixty years.
As Constance detached herself to say hello to Jude and Sharon, Mark slipped an arm around Bridget and pulled her to his side. “Well done, darling,” he whispered, kissing her cheek.
“You were really surprised?” she asked, eyes narrowed skeptically as she looked up at him.
Mark chuckled. “Well, I wouldn’t recommend trying to transition into a career with British Intelligence, but I must say I’m impressed. I knew you must be up to something, but I never expected all of this. I still can’t believe Sharon came all this way, and Constance…” Tears glistened in his eyes again, and Bridget reached up to pat his cheek.
“You almost gave me a heart attack this morning, Mark Darcy, when you said you didn’t think we should come,” she scolded. “I thought I was going to have to club you over the head with a broomstick and drag you here.”
“I feel terribly guilty about that now,” said Mark, squeezing her shoulders. “I’m sorry, darling. Had I known--”
“It wouldn’t have been a surprise.”
“I honestly thought you were going to have to club him, Bridge,” said a voice just behind her. “But it looks like he came of his own free will. That might be a first for Mr antisocial Mark Darcy.”
Mark’s eyes widened as his gaze landed on the speaker; he blinked, frowned, made a failed attempt to speak, cleared his throat, and said finally, “Peter?”
“In the flesh,” said Peter, grinning and striding forward to pull his brother into what looked like a rib-cracking hug. “God, Mark, it’s good to see you.”
Mark, who still appeared to be flailing in a sea of emotions and struggling to regain his equilibrium, said weakly, “what-what are you doing here?”
“all your wife’s doing,” answered Peter, turning now to Bridget and sweeping her off her feet. She laughed as Mark’s expression settled reflexively into a stern, elder brotherly look of caution, at which Peter chuckled and gently set her down.
“My apologies,” he said, stooping to peck her cheek. “Didn’t break anything, did I?”
Bridget giggled. “Everything’s intact,” she assured him. At a glance, anyone unaware of the relationship would never have guess Mark and Peter to be brothers despite the surface resemblance. Peter, while seeming to be cut from the same cloth, had followed an entirely different pattern. His dark hair, like Mark’s, was shot through with grey, but he’d chosen-to his father’s dismay and his mother’s surprising amusement-to wear it longer and pulled back into a ponytail. He sported an earring (which Elaine Darcy openly detested but secretly admired), and beneath his long-sleeved, crisp white shirt, the only part of his ensemble that seemed at all Darcyish, Bridget knew there was a tattoo of a dragon on his forearm; in different clothes, he might have passed for the lead singer of a rock band rather than an investment banker. The tattoo in particular had caused something of an uproar at home the last time Peter had visited London. Billy, on spotting his uncle’s body art, had immediately declared it to be “super cool” and boldly announced that he planned to get one as soon as he was old enough. He’d peppered Peter with endless questions about the process and whether or not it hurt, until Mark, entering the room and overhearing the conversation, had avowed that he would disinherit both of his children if they as much as put a colored pencil to their skins, and then promptly ended the discussion by pouring himself a scotch.
Now Peter stood back and placed his hands on Bridget’s shoulders, giving her an appraising look not unlike his brother’s despite the cheery crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “You, my dear, look wonderful.”
“I feel wonderful,” said Bridget.
“I’m so glad you’re up and about. Mark hasn’t been giving you too hard a time of it, has he? I know he can be a bit, well…”
“Solicitous,” interjected Mark.
Peter chuckled. “Ah, overbearing was actually the word I was searching for, but once again my elder brother has managed to comport himself with far more tact than I carry in my little finger.”
“I wonder,” said Mark, the teasing glint in his eye belying his disapproving frown, “how you ever manage to conduct business if you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head for more than five minutes.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Peter replied airily. “It’s funny how easily you can fool people into thinking you’re important if you stride around in a suit with a mobile pressed to your ear, pointing bossily at people all day, but you’ll know all about that, Mr top-notch barrister. At least I don’t have to wear a wig.”
“Harrumph!” boomed Admiral Darcy, galumphing over, red in the face; Bridget wondered if he might be about to spontaneously burst into a recitation of Kipling’s “If” and willed herself not to look at Mark; one sly glance out of the corner of her eye, however, revealed that her husband’s thoughts appeared to have followed a similar line as his mouth twitched at the corners. “Your brother’s right, Peter,” the Admiral went on, wildly flailing one arm until it came to rest around his oldest son’s shoulders. “It’s astonishing really how different you boys turned out; I always said, if I hadn’t seen you both come out of your mother with my own eyes--”
“That’s quite enough, Malcolm,” said Elaine, breezing over serenely and placing a hand on her husband’s arm. “Let the boys catch up. Oh, Happy Birthday, Dear,” she added, leaning in to peck Mark on the cheek. “Didn’t get a chance to pop over when you came in.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
“I’m so glad everything’s all out in the open now; I’ve been terribly afraid for weeks I might let something slip.”
“Well,” Mark smiled, “you had me completely in the dark. I never expected this.”
“Your wife deserves all of the credit,” said Elaine. “it was all her idea. Well done, dear,” she added, pulling Bridget into a gentle hug.
“I’m just glad it’s all worked out so well,” said Bridget. “And that reminds me, I should probably, um… say a few words.” Moving into the center of the room, she raised a tentative hand. “Um, everyone? If I could just--”
“Oy, you lot! Shut it!” bellowed Sharon while Cosmo unhelpfully clanged a spoon against his wine glass. “Right,” Bridget squeaked, feeling a lump rise to her throat. With a deep breath, she let her eyes travel around the room until they landed on Mark; as his gaze met hers, she swore she saw his mouth form the words ‘Inner poise.’
“Right, well, thank you all so much for being here tonight. When Mark and I were first flung unceremoniously at each other’s heads over twenty years ago, if you’d told us then where we’d be now, we’d both probably have said you were mad; we did, actually, as both of our mothers never tire of reminding us.” She caught Una, her mother, and Elaine Darcy exchanging their customary smug ‘Didn’t I tell you?’ look. “I thought long and hard about how to make today special for Mark, because, I mean, what do you give a man who’s given you everything and more than you ever asked for? Then I realized that the one thing Mark needs is the one thing he can’t ever seem to wrap his head around: to know how very, very much you all love him. Mark has been an important part of all of your lives; he’s been a valuable colleague, a reliable friend, a model son, a dependable brother, and an affectionate father. He’s not a bad husband either, actually.” She paused, blushing as her eyes met Mark’s again. “I, uh, I know I’m rambling a bit, and Mark, I’m sure I’m embarrassing you right now, and if you could make yourself disappear, you probably would.”
“I think,” said Mark, his gaze locked on hers, “that you’ll find I can surprise you there.” Swiftly, purposefully, his eyes never leaving her face, he crossed the room, drew her into his arms, and kissed her. The shock of it shot a bolt of heat straight through her, and for several moments the room dissolved; nothing existed for her except the taste of his mouth on hers and his hands cupping her face.
“Oh my godfathers!” exclaimed Pam above the shouts and applause and a wolf whistle from-Bridget suspected-Cosmo.
“um, right,” said Bridget breathlessly, her blush deepening. “As I was saying, um…”
“Happy Birthday, Mark, old boy!” boomed Giles tipsily.
“Happy Birthday!” everyone echoed.

----------
Mark crept down the hall and into the bedroom, careful to avoid waking Bridget. She’d quickly retreated upstairs when they’d arrived home from the party, leaving Mark and Peter to linger over a nightcap. The evening had been a decided success; Bridget’s toast had inspired an impromptu string of speeches culminating in a rousing, slightly inebriated rendition of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” bravely led by the admiral. He moved about the room making as little noise as possible as he undressed, expecting to tumble headlong into sleep the moment his head touched the pillow. Tiptoeing into the loo, he only just registered that Bridget had forgotten to switch off the light and went about cleaning his teeth, only to choke on a mouthful of toothpaste as he glanced into the mirror. He’d assumed that Bridget had gone directly to bed when she’d retired upstairs; yet there she was, reclining in their luxuriant but little-used bathtub, her skin smooth and pink as ripe fruit beneath the water, her lips just parted in a satisfied smile.
“Mark?” Bridget frowned, propping herself on one elbow to study his face. “Are you okay?”
Mark realized that he’d been standing still, staring down at her without speaking for at least a minute. “I-yes, I just-you just gave me a shock.”
“Oh. I thought maybe you were having a stroke or something.”
“What are you doing?” he managed to ask, the back of his throat tingling slightly from the mouthful of toothpaste he’d just swallowed.
“Giving you your birthday present,” she replied.
“I see.” Mark arched a brow and rested his hip against the sink. “Is this a private party?”
“It is,” said Bridget. “but,” her eyes traveled down his bare chest to rest on the pajama bottoms he’d slipped into, “I’m afraid you’re really overdressed.”
“That’s easily dealt with,” he said, removing and tossing them aside before lowering himself into the tub beside his wife.
“Did you and Peter have a nice catch-up?” she asked.
Mark nodded impatiently; he loved his brother, but at the moment he could have wished Peter anywhere but in a guestroom down the hall. The children, at least, were thankfully away for the night, and Mark was counting on the hope that only a nuclear explosion would manage to penetrate Peter’s scotch-soaked slumber.
“tonight was so perfect,” Bridget continued. “I mean, I was really worried I’d make such a mess of it, and you’d find out, and I came so close to telling you everything and--”
“Bridget,” he said, touching a finger to her lips, “Can you do something for me?”
“What is it?” she asked, eyes shining.
“I need you to stop talking,” he said, “because I have something very, very important I’d like to say.” Before she could reply, he lowered his head and locked his mouth on hers, sliding his arms around her back, pressing her against his chest, feeling her heart pulsing beneath her breast. As he caught her lower lip between his teeth, her hands slid from his shoulders and down the thatch of damp hair on his chest, her fingertips dancing over his stomach until he felt the heat of her touch against the insides of his thighs. His own hands were working feverishly, massaging the warm, wet bead between her legs until she twisted urgently against him and he felt her need throbbing against his fingers.
“Bridget,” he groaned, struggling against the wave of his rising climax. Eyes locked on his, Bridget thrust her hips forward, wrapping her legs around his waist in a swift, dizzying motion that sent water splashing over the sides of the tub as he plunged himself into her. Feeling Bridget moving beneath him, white hot and pulsing with life, Mark vowed then and there to never again let himself take a single moment for granted. Until tonight, he hadn’t ever considered sex exactly life-affirming, and yet he realized now how much he had needed this; to hold Bridget, to feel her solid, tangible, dependable presence. What a gift indeed, to have her here with him to cherish for as many moments, as many days, as many years as they had left.
When at last they had spent themselves, they lay in each other’s arms, their bodies rocking gently in the water-or what remained of it. Lulled by the movement, Bridget closed her eyes and dropped her head onto Mark’s shoulder. His throat tightened as he gazed down at her, warm and soft and sleepy as she nestled in the crook of his arm.
“I think we’ve graduated from the paddling pool,” she murmured drowsily.
Mark chuckled. “I think you’re right.” As he bent to press a kiss to her temple, his mind wandered back over the past several weeks, stumbling over that morning: that phone call from Daniel, when for one paralyzing moment Mark felt his perfect, well-ordered universe spin wildly out of control. His breath suddenly caught in his throat, and he drew back, cradling Bridget’s face between his hands. Having once assured himself that she was out of danger, Mark had, for the most part, buried his emotions beneath the need to focus on her recovery, and as she’d said that day in the hospital, it all might have been much worse. He knew now what he needed to do-what he ought to have done months ago, but better late than never.
“Bridget?”
“Mmm?”
“Bridget, there’s something I need to tell you-something important.”
Eyes open now, she lifted her head, biting her lower lip as she stared up at him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Sh, nothing’s wrong,” he whispered, pulling her closer. “I promise. It’s only-well, I’ve been doing some thinking, and maybe it’s time I start to trim back my caseload a bit-at least, take on less work that requires me to travel.”
Bridget frowned. “But Mark, you love your work.”
“I do,” he agreed, “but it gets more and more taxing and, frankly, I don’t have the stamina I used to.”
“Really, Mark?” Bridget arched a brow and gave him a playful nudge in the ribs. “If you can’t remember what we just did here, I don’t think your energy levels are the problem.”
“Yes, well, I have special reserves for… certain activities.”
“But seriously, Mark, why now? What’s this about? Unless…” She paused, lips pursed as she considered his words; then smiled knowingly. “You’re still feeling guilty about what happened-about the accident, not being here. Honestly, Mark, I love you, but you’re not Superman; your mere presence doesn’t just prevent bad things happening to me or to the children. You know that. It could have happened just as easily with you here, or on another continent; it could have been you instead of me.”
Mark sighed. “Bridget, it isn’t that; at least, that wasn’t the catalyst. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and I was actually considering talking to you about it when I came back from France, but then, well, it slipped my mind, naturally. I came back around to the idea though, after everything settled down a bit. If I’ve learned anything from these last few weeks, it’s that time isn’t a luxury.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” said Bridget. “It’ll be lovely to have you home more, but I’d hate to think you’re just doing this because you feel you have to or you think you’ve been neglecting us or something, because that’s ridiculous.”
“Bridget, listen to me.” Mark cradled her face in his hands, tilting her chin up so that their eyes met. “I’m doing this because I want to; it was going to happen eventually. In case you haven’t noticed, neither of us is getting any younger.”
“speak for yourself,” she grumbled, poking him in the side again. “And if you’re sure it’s going to make you happy; I mean, you love your job.”
“Yes,” he said, dropping a kiss on the end of her nose. “But the thing is, I love you just a tiny bit more.”
“Oh, Mark.” Bridget wound her arms around him in a tight hug. “This really has been a day of surprises.”
“In deed,” said Mark. “And thank you again, by the way, for everything.”
“Happy Birthday,” she whispered, resting her head against his chest. “and there’d better be many, many more.”
Mark laughed. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, and kissed her.

The End