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Chapter Text

Carmody rubbed his eyes blearily as he slowly descended the stairs, holding tightly to the bannister. He’d finally felt up to getting out of bed today, but not enough to change. He’d grabbed Tristan’s dressing gown from the hook on the door and wrapped it around himself for warmth.

He could hear Siegfried singing from the examination rooms as he turned left down the hallway towards the kitchen. He poked his head into the dispensary, hoping to find Tristan there, but found it disappointingly empty.

Continuing to the kitchen, Carmody paused in the doorway. Tristan was there, with his back to the door, working at the stove. Carmody pressed his palms into his eyes for a moment to check his fuzzy head wasn’t playing tricks with him. Sure enough, when he removed them, there was Tristan, in Mrs Hall’s apron, examining a freshly peeled potato.

He grinned widely at Carmody as he spoke. “I was about to come and check on you. Feeling better I take it?”

Carmody nodded as he took a seat and Tristan placed a full teapot and a teacup in front of him.

“Fancy anything to eat?” Tristan prompted gently. “Toast?”

“Some toast would be great, thank you,” Carmody replied, voice still ragged. He coughed into his elbow, wincing in pain as he did. “Where’s Mrs Hall?”

“She’s out seeing Edward today,” Tristan explained, taking it upon himself to pour Carmody a cup of tea when the other man didn’t do it for himself. He pushed the teacup closer and Carmody reluctantly wrapped his hands around it.

“So, you’re taking her job for the day?”

“Don’t look so worried.” Tristan pressed his hand to his chest in mock offence. “I think you’ll find I have learnt a great amount of skill from helping Mrs H in the kitchen.”

This made Carmody smile. “I would never doubt you.”

“I know.” They stared at each other fondly for a moment before Tristan turned away to spread Carmody some marmite on toast, his favourite. Carmody watched Tristan as he placed the toast in front of him and returned to the bowl on the side.

“What’s with all those potatoes?” He finally asked.

“I’m trying my hand at mashed potato for lunch.”

“Right. Not tempted to push the boat out a little further?”

Tristan turned back to Carmody with a secretive smile. “Give me time.”

Siegfried’s voice boomed down the passage between the kitchen and the rest of the house. Both men turned towards it in surprise.

“He sounds chipper,” Carmody observed, sipping his tea, grateful for the way it soothed his throat.

Tristan nodded. “A boy came in this morning for a day's work experience. Siegfried seems rather taken by him.”

Carmody frowned at the bitterness in Tristan’s tone but before he could ask him about it, Siegfried appeared. 

“Richard, you’re up!” He exclaimed. “Feeling any better?”

“Much, thank you, Mr Farnon.” Carmody smiled politely.

“Don’t even think about asking him to work today.” Tristan had materialised at Carmody’s side, hand protectively on the back of his chair. He was pointing the potato peeler threateningly at his brother. Siegfried held his hands up in defence. 

“I wasn’t going to. We’re quiet today and I have Andrew to assist if I need him to.” Siegfried said, referencing who Carmody assumed to be the work experience boy.

Once Siegfried had left again, Carmody stood. “I should go and change anyway, just in case.”

“Here, take this.” Tristan picked up a pile of clothes from the side and pressed it into Carmody’s arms. “Freshly washed and ironed by me.”

Carmody raised his eyebrows. He had to admit he was sceptical but there was something so endearing about this new side of Tristan.

“Then, I’ll bring you some more tea and you can relax in the living room.” 

“Will you be joining me?” Carmody asked hopefully.

Tristan’s smile brightened. “If that’s what you’d like.” He took a step closer to smooth his hands over the collar of Carmody’s dressing gown. Well, his .

“Don’t,” Carmody whispered. “I don’t need you catching this cold as well.”

Tristan’s eyes returned to Carmody’s eyes from where they had been lingering on his lips.

“It would be worth it though.”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

Tristan’s lips quirked softly and he pressed a kiss to Carmody’s cheek. “Go on, I’ll finish up here and join you.”

Carmody smiled back, cheeks pink where Tristan’s lips had just been. He’d never get used to that.

Chapter Text

“It’s a bit wet out there,” Siegfried observed as he closed the back door behind him against the pouring sheets of rain. The house shivered around them as the wind shook the windows and trailed its icy fingers through the draughts under the doors.

“You don’t say.” Mrs Hall was not impressed as Siegfried stood dripping with rainwater. She wasn’t about to admit how relieved she was to have him home in one piece, though. “Is Carmody not with you?”

Siegfried met her eyes with a frown. “Is he not back?”

Mrs Hall shook her head with a tight-lipped, anxious expression. 

Siegfried glanced back at the door. “I’ll go and find him.”

“You don’t even know where he is.” Mrs Hall protested. “Just–” She lowered her voice to a hushed whisper, not taking any chances of being overheard. “Go upstairs, have a bath, change clothes, give him time. I don’t want you worrying Tristan further.”

Siegfried nodded in understanding. Tristan hated storms. Mrs Hall had set him up in the living room with a cup of tea and reassurances every time a clap of thunder or shock of lightning made him jump. She’d left James and Helen in there now, hoping their presence would be enough to distract him. Once he discovered Carmody was still out there, it would only panic him further.

Unfortunately, his brother hadn’t quite managed to be quiet enough and, as he snuck through the walkway between the kitchen and the rest of the house, Tristan appeared. He took one look at Siegfried and then brushed past him to look into the kitchen where Mrs Hall waited guiltily.

“Where’s Richard?” He asked.

Siegfried exchanged a look with his housekeeper, fear pooling in his eyes. She knew whatever he was about to say would be the wrong thing, so Mrs Hall approached Tristan and placed a reassuring hand on his forearm. 

“He’ll be back, don’t you worry.” She managed a quiet smile for him, but Tristan looked anything but content in her answer.

“He must be driving home now, else he would have called to let us know if he was staying up at one of the farms,” Siegfried added.

Tristan’s eyes flickered between the two of them, wide and anxious. 

“He’ll be okay.” Mrs Hall gave Tristan’s arm a squeeze. “How about I make you another cup of tea, hmm?”

Tristan looked so small and afraid. He slumped into a chair at the table as Siegfried slid from the room to get dry. For a moment, Mrs Hall saw the grieving teenager she’d met ten years ago. Tristan had been to war, he was one of the strongest people she knew, and yet he was still that scared little boy, her second son. 

Edward had always been afraid of storms too. She hoped wherever he was now, he was safe and far from this awful weather.

Mrs Hall poured the tea and pressed a cup into Tristan’s hands. He stared into the clear gold liquid but didn’t take a sip. He didn’t trust his shaking hands.

The windows rattled with a strong gust of wind and a vibrating groan of thunder caused Tristan’s spine to go rigid, freezing him in place.

“Go back into the house, it’s worse out here.” Mrs Hall urged. Tristan didn’t need telling twice. He stood slowly and carried the tea with him. Then, he settled on the third step of the stairs where he could wait for the telephone to ring. He occupied his thoughts by watching the tendrils of steam swirl in patterns above the teacup, occasionally interrupting them with his finger and watching as it bent and twisted around his skin, breathing warmth.

Tristan squeezed his eyes closed as he struggled to relieve himself from images of Carmody lost in the rain. He felt a deep shame when he struggled to remember whether Carmody’s fear of storms was as extreme as his. He never had a moment to notice because Carmody was always grounding him.

The phone rang and broke him from his reverie. Tristan jumped to his feet, tea sloshing over the rim like a small tempest, but he didn’t care. He let the teacup clatter on the side table and pulled the phone to his ear.

“Darrowby 2297.” He said on reflex. 

“Tristan?” The connection crackled with the harsh sound of the storm on the other end, but Carmody’s voice was unmistakable. 

“Richard, thank God!” Tristan’s relief drew Mrs Hall and Siegfried back into listening vicinity. “Are you okay?”

“Having a bit of car trouble,” Carmody replied nervously. “And, if I’m honest, I’m a little scared to drive further in this weather.”

“Where are you?”

“Tris, you can’t–”

“Where are you, Richard?”

“Um, I’m not far from the Dobson’s.”

Tristan nodded. “Hang tight, okay?”

“I will. But, Tristan, are you okay?”

Tristan took a heavy breath. “I will be once I know you’re home and safe.”

“I love you.” The line crackled again but Tristan knew what he was saying. He’d said it a thousand times before.

“Love you too. I’ll hand you over to Mrs H if you want to talk while you wait.”

Tristan didn’t wait for a response as he thrust the receiver at Mrs Hall. She didn’t protest and greeted Carmody happily, hopefully lightening his mood. She’d have him talking about bacteria in no time. They’d probably struggle to get him to put the phone down once they got there.

Tristan started pulling on his wellies and coat and then began to rummage around the kitchen for his car keys.

Siegfried appeared, holding them up. “I’ll drive.” He said, and without further prompting, hovered by the door waiting for Tristan to give the signal.

He smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Siegfried.”

Tristan followed close behind his brother as they hurried the short distance to the car. Tristan was grateful to be inside again, though the car was a simple tin can against the elements. Siegfried started the engine and wasted no more time as he turned the car out of Darrowby.

Tristan clutched to the inside of the door, eyes frantically scanning the side of the road. Finally, they stopped outside a red phone box, and, illuminated in the headlights, was Richard Carmody. 

Without much thought, Tristan swung the door open and climbed out, desperate to get Carmody to safety. He was soaked through even after a few seconds in the rain but he didn’t care. Carmody reached out for him and Tristan swung the back door of the Vauxhall open and pulled them both inside.

With the door shut on the rest of the world, Tristan could finally hear his heart beating in his ears. He hadn’t realised how hard he was breathing. They both lay in a pile on the back seat of the car and Tristan wrapped his arms around Carmody, holding him against his chest. 

Siegfried stole a glance at them in his mirror, deciding to give them a moment. Eventually, Carmody untangled himself and sat up, breathing a deep breath of relief.

“The car’s further up the road.” He explained. “Sorry I–”

“It’ll still be there tomorrow.” Siegfried smiled reassuringly. “For now, let’s get home.”

Carmody was pleasantly surprised by that reaction. He had expected Siegfried to lose it, he was very protective of his cars after all. Tristan leant all of his weight into Carmody’s side then, and he was distracted again. 

Carmody had to commend Siegfried’s knowledge of the Dales for getting them safely back to Skeldale. With the rain lashing so thoroughly against the windscreen, it was near impossible to see out. 

Mrs Hall was infinitely grateful to have them all home. She embraced each of her boys with a tight hug and insisted they go upstairs to change (again in Siegfried’s case) and then insisted on making everyone a hot chocolate.

“Why don’t you choose some games to play. We’ll make the most of this cosy night in.”

The rest of the evening was spent in the living room as each member of the household attempted to beat Siegfried at chess. Carmody was the only one who ever managed it, but tonight he had very little interest in his victory. 

He spent most of the game with Tristan’s head in his lap, a worthy distraction. He was grateful when the game ended and Siegfried challenged Mrs Hall next, so that Carmody could settle down next to Tristan on the sofa, wrap his arms around his quivering body, and murmur soothing words into his ear.

Tristan had hated storms long before Carmody had known him, but his fear had only grown since coming back from Egypt. Tristan wasn’t sure why, he couldn’t explain it. Carmody reassured him that he didn’t need to know why, that he didn’t need to justify himself. 

The storm died off in the early hours of the morning. The family remained together in the living room all the while, silently there for each other. Tristan had eventually drifted off to sleep and Carmody subsequently followed. When Carmody awoke it was to the comforting murmuring of Helen and Mrs Hall. He sat up, careful not to disturb Tristan, and took in the slither of sunlight that crept through the net curtains. A shimmer of hope in the form of a watery line of gold across the floor. Siegfried was fast asleep in his favoured armchair, an almost empty chess board on the table before him, and James had his head in Helen’s lap as she stroked his hair away from his temples.

Carmody smiled sleepily at the image and his heart swelled with affection for the home and family he finally had. A family willing to stay together all night to look out for each other. 

“Cup of tea?” Mrs Hall asked, noticing Carmody blinking out at her.

He nodded with a soft smile. Standing, she too looked around the room, taking in her little family. Not related by blood, but a strong and protective love for one another.

Chapter Text

“Morning.” James groaned as he took his seat at the table. 

“Morning, James.” Mrs Hall smiled knowingly as she placed a few slices of thick toast into the toast rack. James helped himself before anyone else could arrive and snatch it from under his nose. He decided against having tea and downed a glass of water instead.

“Good night?”

“I only went for one drink. You know how persuasive Tristan gets.”

“Did I hear my name?” Tristan came striding into the room, chipper as ever. Carmody followed close behind him, immaculately dressed but with dark rings under his eyes.

“Just discussing how good you are at leading people astray.” Mrs Hall explained. “What’s up with you? I didn’t think you were going out last night.” She asked Carmody as he sat down in his usual spot opposite Tristan.

“I didn’t. But Tristan came in at one in the morning, crushed me as he got into bed and then proceeded to talk nonsense at me for the next hour.” Tristan grinned as he slapped a generous helping of butter onto his toast. “And then he snored loudly in my ear the rest of the night.”

“And you love me for it.” 

“You’re lucky.” Carmody glared. “Now, pass the Marmite, will you?”

Tristan screwed up his nose in digust as he passed the jar over. “I promise I love you too despite your lack of taste.”

Carmody smiled back tightly.

“Morning, morning, morning.” Siegfried entered the kitchen next, whistling as he did. He collapsed into the seat beside Carmody.

“Richard are you– oh, good god man what happened to you?”

“Your brother,” Carmody replied bitterly.

“Alright, no need to put me off my breakfast.”

James nearly spat out his water as Tristan and Carmody blushed furiously.

“Where’s Helen?” Mrs Hall asked to change the subject.

“She’ll be down in a moment,” James replied. “Do we have any marmalade?”

“In the pantry.” Mrs Hall showed no sign that she was going to get it. She was already serving more toast to the table before taking her seat to tuck into her own breakfast. “Could you pass the butter, Tris?”

Tristan was hesitant as he stared at the small knub left over. Mrs Hall rolled her eyes. “I’ll buy more, don’t worry.”

Satisfied with that answer, Tristan passed it over, along with the strawberry jam he knew she favoured. 

“You could try something a little more exotic than just butter for once, you know.” James teased as he unscrewed the lid of the marmalade. He always liked to tease Tristan on his toast preference.

“Oh god, don’t get him started, James.” Carmody frowned as he munched on his Marmite on toast. “Have you seen the monstrosities he calls snacks?”

“Don’t knock it 'til you try it, Richard.”

“You could be putting yourself to good use if you actually learned to cook.” Siegfried chipped in, staring pointedly at Tristan as he debated what condiment to use.

“Are you trying to put me out of my job?” Mrs Hall asked, raising her eyebrows in warning.

“I just thought you might want a bit of help sometimes. He’s the one always eating the most.”

“Morning.” Helen walked in, interrupting what would have inevitably become an argument. 

“Morning, Helen. I’ll just make up some more toast for you.” Mrs Hall went to stand, looking purposefully at Tristan devouring his fourth slice of buttery toast, proving Siegfried correct.

“No, it’s fine, Aud. I can manage it myself.” The whole table fell silent to stare at Helen. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m sure I can manage toast .”

James held his hands up in surrender. “I have every bit of faith in you.” He countered.

“Good.”

“So, um, Richard.” Siegfried began, trying to steer the conversation back around. “Have you given London any more thought?”

“Stop pestering him.” Mrs Hall frowned. “Let him finish his breakfast first, at least.”

“As a matter of fact, I have,” Carmody responded. Now, all eyes were on him, apart from Tristan, who looked gloomily into his mug of tea instead.

“We discussed it at length last night. Or should I say this morning since Tristan undoubtedly doesn’t remember a thing.” Tristan’s brow crinkled, proving his point. “I’m staying here, and that’s final.”

Tristan smiled fondly across the table at him. As did everyone else, but those smiles slowly became frowns as they detected the smell of burning in the air.

Helen jumped to attention, rescuing the burning bread from under the grill. 

“You’re not going to eat that, are you?” Siegfried asked.

“I can scrape it off easy.” Helen shrugged, readying a knife.

“I feel it’s my job to protest.” James piped up, watching his wife warily.

“No time. We’re already late to Heston.” Helen protested as she took a large bite of the charcoal toast. “Come on.” 

She hurried away, toast in hand, and James pushed his chair back with a groan to follow.

“Heston Grange? Why are you going to Heston Grange?” Siegfried asked, catching up with their exchange.

James paused on his way out. “I told you I’m checking up with Candy and Joan this morning.”

“But I need you.”

James looked helplessly around the table. “You have two other vets to help you. I’ll be back this afternoon.”

“Yes, but one of those vets looks like he’s going to fall asleep in the Marmite.” Siegfried snapped with a look to Carmody, whose eyes drooped as he mindlessly stirred his mug of tea.

Mrs Hall gave him a pat on the shoulder as she stood and passed behind him. Carmody bolted upright, blinking rapidly. Tristan stifled a snort behind his tea.

Siegfried stood too, brushing invisible dust from his jacket. “You two will have to run surgery this morning.” He said.

“And where are you going?” Tristan asked suspiciously.

“Just a few house calls.”

Tristan wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t push further. After he’d left, Tristan and Carmody remained where they were, sipping their tea leisurely until Mrs Hall pointed out the time.

“It’s nearly nine. Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

Carmody immediately scrambled up from the table as Tristan sighed and followed close behind. Mrs Hall smiled and shook her head, taking in the chaos left in their wake.

Chapter Text

“Have you ever actually cooked before?” Edward asked doubtfully as he watched Tristan tie his mother's pink apron around his waist.

“Enough to know what I’m doing,” Tristan replied. “Here, put this on.” He thrust another apron into Edward’s hands.

“Do I have to?” He held the blue fabric up, unsure how it even worked.

“Yes, it’s all dedication to the cause,” Tristan said, dead serious as he skimmed the ingredients list for the shepherd's pie from Mrs Hall’s old recipe book. The pages were crinkled and stained from so much use, reminding Edward of his childhood. And subsequently reminding him why he’d agreed to do this with Tristan.

He watched as the other man heated the stove and rummaged for an appropriate pan. He’d lined the vegetables they’d need along the table, having been out to the market to pick them up. Edward stood dumbly, waiting for instructions.

Tristan saw him loitering and pointed to the carrots. “Those need dicing.” When Edward didn’t move, he added. “Just chop them into small pieces.”

That, Edward was sure he could do. Tristan dealt with the minced lamb he’d acquired. It fizzled over the heat, emitting satisfying hisses as he stirred it around. Then Tristan joined Edward at the table to help with the onions. They both pretended their eyes weren’t leaking down their cheeks when Siegfried wandered in, gave them a strange look, and left again without saying a word.

They’d managed to get Mrs Hall out of the house for the afternoon so they could surprise her with dinner. Dorothy was in town, and they’d gone out to the tea shop to unwind. Siegfried had been slightly hesitant in letting them do their thing in the kitchen, but Tristan had been very persuasive. Meaning that Tristan had gone ahead anyway, without Siegfried’s consent. Edward had to admit he was still a little wary of the older Farnon and his unpredictable attitude. Tristan was nonplussed.

He was also surprisingly confident in the kitchen. It annoyed Edward a little because he felt he should have taken after his own mother. But truthfully, he’d been away for too long, and all of her skills had clearly rubbed off on her other son. Edward appreciated Tristan’s enthusiasm and his love for the woman, but that didn’t change anything. Biologically Edward was her son, and so Mother’s Day should have been about them . He hadn’t been a model son until now, but he wanted to do better. How could he do that when everyone else wanted to step on his toes?

He took a deep breath through his nose as they mashed the potato together. Paddy always told him to take a deep breath when he felt his thoughts spiral like this, and it had helped a lot since their move to Darrowby. Skeldale was rather crowded with two more people, but it was obvious his mother loved it. She loved Paddy as well, and for that Edward was most relieved.

“How’s Richard getting on with his research project?” Edward asked once the pie was in the oven, and they stood awkwardly staring at the chaos they’d caused in the kitchen. He wanted to make more of an effort with Tristan and with everyone in the house, but Tristan was the easiest. He was so easygoing and open with his feelings. And he was probably the person Edward had most in common with…

“Really good, I think. If not a little stressed about deadlines.” Tristan replied. “I really miss him.” He sighed wistfully.

Edward frowned but nodded along. “It must be a lot of work.” He added to keep the conversation going.

“Better him than me.” Tristan laughed, but his eyes were downcast in thought. “How’s Paddy adjusting?”

“Still getting used to having the use of his arm back.” Edward shrugged. “I think he’s struggling more than he’s letting on.”

They exchanged a sympathetic look, and Edward took comfort in it. They were in similar positions, he and Tristan, but they only silently acknowledged it. The rest of the house knew how important Paddy was to Edward in the same way they knew the nature of Tristan and Carmody’s relationship. Edward wasn’t used to feeling so accepted.

They got to work cleaning and putting everything away and then started to prepare the dishes and cutlery to lay out in the dining room. Tristan had been out to collect a flower bouquet for the centrepiece earlier in the day. Again, Edward felt woefully unprepared. 

They both froze at the sound of the front door, caught between covering their tracks and hiding entirely. They listened closely for the footfalls as whoever it was made their way through the house. Then Carmody appeared around the corner, raising an eyebrow at the two of them in their static positions.

“It’s just you.” Tristan relaxed with relief. 

“Just me?” Carmody’s brows wrinkled together as his eyes darted about the kitchen.

“We’re preparing dinner for my mother,” Edward explained.

Carmody nodded, but he was still frowning as though he wasn’t quite following. Thankfully, Tristan stepped in to help, taking Carmody’s hand as he did.

“It’s Mother’s Day.” 

“Oh.” Carmody’s eyes were far away, fixed on a spot somewhere over Tristan’s shoulder. Tristan rubbed his hand up and down Carmody’s arm. Edward didn’t know much about Carmody; he was quite a private person, but he was aware the man wasn’t close with his parents. Neither was anyone at Skeldale. Except for James, everyone in this house was in need of a mother, and that was what Audrey Hall had become.

“Would you like to help lay the table?” Tristan asked. Carmody, glad to be put to some use, agreed, and the two of them left Edward alone in the kitchen.

He felt a little lost on his own. A strange feeling for someone who valued their quiet alone time. This was something Edward had had to get used to moving into Skeldale. You rarely got a quiet moment amongst the crowd of clashing personalities, but occasionally, he would find himself alone with Carmody or his mother or, if he was lucky, Paddy. All people who also valued those precious moments of peace.

Edward jumped a little as the back door swung open. He was ready with excuses until he turned to see Paddy standing in the doorway.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He said, dropping his bag to the floor.

“Oh, no, don’t worry.” Edward cleared his throat. “I thought you were mother.”

Paddy understood. Edward had told him all about Tristan’s dinner plans the night before and his anxieties around it.

“How’s it going?” Paddy asked.

“It’s fine.” Edward was eager to move on. “How’s your day been? How’s your arm doing?”

“I told you my arm’s fine, Eddie.” Paddy placed his hands on Edward’s shoulders as if to show him. “And work is good.” 

Feeling bad that his injury had taken him away from the Navy, Paddy had sought a job up at one of the farms. It was hard work, work neither of them was used to, but Paddy insisted on earning his keep while he stayed at Skeldale. Edward hadn’t quite worked out what he was going to do next, but for now, he was content to be making up for lost time.

Edward didn’t argue further as Tristan sauntered back in. 

“Ah! Perfect timing, Paddy. Our dinner will be ready shortly.” 

Edward was grateful for Paddy's reassuring squeeze of his shoulder as he passed through the kitchen. He was suddenly very nervous. What would his mother think if this meal failed? She’d be disappointed all over again, as would the rest of the house. Tristan seemed to notice and sent him a confident grin. 

“Moment of truth.” He said as he bent down to take their pie out of the oven. The potato on top looked golden just the way it was meant to. It looked pleasantly promising.

A chorus of dogs barking signalled Mrs Hall’s return. 

“As if on cue.” Tristan chuckled and started to untie his apron. Edward frantically pulled at the strings of his own as he scrambled to follow Tristan to greet her.

Luckily, Siegfried had intercepted her for a chat about her day before she could make it any further down the hall. 

“Good afternoon, Mrs H?” Tristan asked with ease. Edward didn’t understand how Tristan could be so calm while he pulled the sleeves of his shirt over his hands anxiously.

“It were lovely, thank you, Tris.” Mrs Hall looked happier, more content as Tristan insisted on taking her coat and hat.

She gave them all a strange look before attempting to push past. “What are you all doing? Dinner won’t make itself, you know.” She tutted.

“Well actually–” Edward began.

“You’ve only just got home. Come through and put your feet up for a moment.” Tristan interrupted, taking Mrs Hall by the shoulders and guiding her into the living room. Edward followed, irritated that he had been interrupted and that he hadn’t been allowed to talk to his own mother.

This was all part of Tristan’s plan, though. Get her close enough to the dining room to spot the setup. Carmody was just fixing something on the table as she entered. He jumped away like he’d been burned, but it caught Mrs Hall’s attention. She approached the table in awe. 

“Oh.” She sighed in realisation. As the four of them crossed the threshold into the dining room, Edward finally saw what Tristan and Carmody had done. The centrepiece of flowers was a stunning array of bright yellow and white daffodils, and beside the vase was a small pile of cards. Edward’s heart sank. Everyone else had written cards, and he, her actual son, had done nothing.

“Dinner’s almost ready, so feel free to take your seats.”

“Dinner? Tristan what have you–” Tristan silenced her with a cheeky grin. Edward couldn’t bear to watch. He reluctantly followed Tristan back to the kitchen to help present the pie to the rest of the house. When they returned, everyone was seated, including James and Helen with little Jimmy in a highchair at the corner.

Mrs Hall gasped in pride at their handiwork. “Did you two make this?” She asked, eyes darting between Tristan, Edward and the shepherd's pie.

Tristan nodded in confirmation and let the table help themselves, starting with Mrs Hall. 

“Edward got the flowers, and we thought we’d make you a surprise shepherd's pie for dinner.” 

Edward’s head snapped towards Tristan, who slapped him on the back as they took their seats opposite Mrs Hall.

Her eyes glanced up to meet Edward’s. So much love and pride brimming inside.

“I hope you like them, mother.” Edward finally spoke.

“I love them. Thank you, Edward.” She smiled tearfully.

Edward stared down at his plate. Paddy sat beside him and gave his hand a squeeze under the table. It gave him a small ounce of confidence.

Finally, as everyone tucked into the successful meal, Edward looked around the table with a new perspective. Mrs Hall was a mother figure for this whole house. For James, she was a step-in for the one he had left behind in Glasgow, but for Tristan, Richard and Paddy, in many forms, she was the mother they’d never had. And this only became more apparent as she opened the pile of cards.

One from James, Helen and Jimmy. One from Paddy. One from Tristan and Carmody, who sat shamelessly close, holding hands on top of the table. And then one more… from Edward.

He hadn’t written a card, he hadn’t even thought to write a card, but someone had been one step ahead of him.

He glanced quickly around the table in confusion until his eyes landed on Tristan again. He was doing a great job of acting nonchalant, but Edward knew it had been him. He’d been too quick to judge Tristan. He wasn’t trying to be a better son for Mrs Hall, but he was helping Edward to be. Edward hadn’t quite got the hang of it yet, but the examples he had sat around this table were great ones. He was grateful his path had finally led him to Darrowby. 

Mrs Hall was quite tearful for the rest of the evening, and as they each went to bed that night, she hugged each of her sons tightly, thanking them profusely. Paddy disappeared upstairs last, leaving Edward alone with his mother for the first time all evening.

She held him tighter and longer than she had anyone else. 

“Happy Mother’s Day,” Edward murmured into her shoulder.

She pulled away, hands on his cheeks. “I am so lucky to call you my son.” She beamed. “And I’m so glad to finally have you home.” 

Edward smiled and embraced her again, squeezing his eyes shut tight. He was happy to be home too, in her arms.

Chapter Text

“That was a really nice thing you did today. I’m sure your mother appreciated it.” Paddy was already in bed with a book open in his lap. Edward turned from where he was combing out his hair in the mirror.

“I didn’t do much.” He mumbled.

“Don’t be modest. That shepherd's pie was a triumph.”

Edward smiled at Paddy’s tone.

“I just helped. It was Tristan who did most of it.” He sighed, climbing into bed, lying against the pillows and staring at the ceiling. Paddy watched him tenderly.

“I didn’t get the flowers, I barely made the dinner, and I had nothing to do with the card.” He couldn’t meet Paddy’s eyes. He felt too ashamed.

“She knows how much you love her. She didn’t need any material thing to tell her that.” Paddy ran a hand through Edward’s hair, putting his book away and shuffling down to lie beside him. “But I understand. Tristan should have spoken to you about it first. He means well, though.”

“I know. I don’t know why he’s so nice to me.”

“I suppose he sees Audrey as his own mother in a way. So he probably sees you as a brother. That and, well, he and Richard and us… we’ve got to stick together.”

Edward nodded. They spent a few minutes in thoughtful silence, Paddy’s gentle fingers sifting through Edward’s soft hair.

“In a way, tonight has helped me feel more accepted. Like I might finally be able to accept that this is my home now.”

Paddy beamed. “This is our home now. No one has made us feel like a burden, like you were worried they would. No one has punished you for your past. Here, we’ve got a new life together.”

“If you don’t feel like a burden, then why do you leave me every day to work?” Edward turned towards Paddy with wide, vulnerable eyes.

“I just want to feel useful, Eddie.” He chuckled. “There’s still a war going on, even though we’re excused from the fighting for now.”

“It’s strange. You can almost imagine it’s all over within these walls.” Edward pondered. “I like that no one talks about it. Other than Mother’s warden rounds, you wouldn’t know.”

“It’s nice to know there’s an escape from it all.” Their eyes met, and something passed between them. All their time on The Repulse, the letters after Paddy had left, the panic of not knowing if Edward had made it—

“A little paradise on Earth,” Edward muttered.

“Hmm?”

“It’s something Mother said to me before the war. Darrowby is a little paradise on Earth.”

“That it is.” Paddy smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to Edward’s cheek. He snuggled down, pulling the blankets further over them to ward off the late March chill and rested his head beside Edward’s shoulder.

Edward was still staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of Skeldale House. It was quiet, bar the ticking of the clocks, which Edward often found unnerving. He was used to the waves lapping up against the boat, and he missed the sea dearly.

“Paddy?” He whispered. Paddy didn’t respond. “Pads?”

“Mmm.”

“When the war is over, I want to move to be by the sea.”

Paddy, eyes closed and almost asleep, smiled.

“Me too.”

Chapter Text

Carmody was anxious. He was often anxious, but for some reason, he had been more on edge over the last couple of weeks than usual. No one else seemed to have noticed, and Carmody prided himself on keeping his guard up. It wasn’t an easy feat.

He was certain the reason for his raised anxiety rested solely on Tristan Farnon’s conscience.

Since Tristan’s redeployment to Africa and Carmody’s placement in London, he had received regular letters and the occasional telephone call when possible. Still, Carmody had now returned to Skeldale and hadn’t received correspondence from Tristan since. He’d informed Tristan of his return home in his last letter, so Tristan knew where to contact him from then on. The lack of information was unnerving, and Carmody was getting worried. The rest of the house didn’t seem as bothered, clearly they didn’t hear from Tristan as often as Carmody did, but he wasn’t about to tell them that. Carmody was desperately trying to reassure himself that, had anything happened, they would have received a telegram already. Then his mind reeled back to the previous Christmas and the lack of information after the HMS Repulse had sunk. He hadn’t been there, but Tristan had kept him updated in all of his letters.

Every morning, Carmody awoke with a sense of dread and hope, which only grew when he heard the post arrive. He would roll onto his back and stretch his arms out to the cold side of the bed where Tristan should have been, hugging the blankets close to his chest. Carmody missed Tristan’s warmth and the feeling of his strong arms around his body. He missed having someone to hold on to.

Carmody felt like he was drifting without Tristan as his anchor. In London, he had been kept busy enough that he hadn’t noticed the time passing. But now, with only Tristan’s old letters to reread, there was nothing more that Carmody could do but wait impatiently for news.

After a month had passed, Carmody became used to the weight of his anxieties gathered in the pit of his stomach. He wouldn’t go as far as calling it a comfort, but somehow he felt like Tristan was with him in a way. Whether that was a good thing or not, he couldn’t decide.

It was a quiet day in the practice - it had been quiet a lot recently -  and everyone but Carmody and Mrs Hall were out. Carmody was helping Mrs Hall bake scones when they heard the front door. Dusting flour from his hands, Carmody discarded his apron and hurried to greet the client in the hallway.

But it wasn’t a client, and Carmody froze at the top of the hall at the sight of the figure, clad in army green. As Tristan turned to close the door behind him, Carmody allowed himself that moment to take it all in, but it wasn’t until Tristan turned fully, dumping his bags on the floor, that Carmody could be sure it was him. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

There had been no word, no action to indicate Tristan was coming home, and the relief Carmody felt didn’t last long before panic set in. As soon as their eyes locked, Carmody’s walls crumbled. He just stood there, unable to do anything other than feel every fear he’d pushed down hit him at once in a choking swell of tears.

Tristan looked just as shocked, as though Carmody was the last person he’d expected to see. Without exchanging a single word, Tristan jogged the length of the hallway to meet Carmody, wrapping him tightly in his arms, and Carmody was finally home. They both were.

They held tightly to each other, rocking side to side as Carmody buried his face in Tristan’s chest, and he felt Tristan nuzzle into his shoulder, warm breath on the back of his neck. Carmody never wanted to let go, but neither, it seemed, did Tristan. Even the dogs came to see what the fuss was about after a while, and Tristan only kept squeezing Carmody tighter as though he would slip out of existence if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

“Richard, I didn’t expect you to be here.” He eventually whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Carmody pulled back just enough to look into Tristan’s face, to take it all in. His hat hid his light hair, but he still had the moustache that Carmody loved so much. His eyes were glistening in the light, and Carmody held him at an arm’s length, inspecting for damage and grateful to find him unscathed by war in all the physical senses.

“You’re okay.” He whispered more to himself. “I can’t believe you’re okay.” Carmody pulled Tristan back into his arms, removing his hat in one swift movement to rest their foreheads together. Their breath mingled as Carmody took calming breaths, his fingers playing with the hair at the nape of Tristan’s neck. Tristan huffed a laugh and grinned at Carmody, so when he opened his eyes, Carmody was gazing directly into the misty orbs of Tristan Farnon, skin crinkled at the edges in a smile.

“Welcome home,” Carmody murmured before pressing forward and covering Tristan’s lips with his own. He could taste the salt from his own tears and smell the comforting scent of pine that he associated with Tristan as it all mixed into one as Tristan kissed him back softly.

When they pulled apart, Tristan moved his hands from Carmody’s waist to rest on his cheeks, wiping away any leftover tears.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Tristan said in amazement, biting back a grin as his own eyes misted over.

“You didn’t get my letter?” Carmody asked, pulling back a little further. He still had Tristan’s hat, hanging between his fingers as they remained around Tristan’s neck.

Tristan shook his head with a frown. “I’ve been on the ship from Africa. When did you send it?”

“I’ve been back over a month now.”

Tristan’s eyes dropped sadly. “It must’ve gotten lost. I’m guessing you didn’t receive mine then?”

It was Carmody’s turn to shake his head. 

“So, no one’s expecting me back?”

“Not at all,” Carmody said, dropping his hands to grasp Tristan’s arms, afraid that he would move on before this conversation was over. “Is there a reason you’re back?” He asked nervously.

Tristan’s eyes had wandered over his shoulder but quickly snapped back to Carmody’s anxious gaze. “I’m needed back in Doncaster for the foreseeable.” He said with a gentle smile.

Carmody let his body sag wth relief in Tristan’s arms. He pulled him back in for a hug, cradling Tristan close. He needed to be the one doing the comforting now. Tristan had had a long journey, and the longer they stood in the hallway, the more apparent Tristan’s exhaustion became.

Carmody returned the hat to cover Tristan’s ruffled and unkempt hair before taking his hand and leading him towards the stairs. Tristan lowered himself onto the edge of the bed as he settled back into his room. Carmody collected his bags, wanting Tristan to feel as at home as he possibly could after being away for so long. 

“It’s only us and Mrs Hall at home for the time being. I’ll tell her you’re here and make you a cup of tea.” Carmody said, leaving no room for debate as he pressed a kiss to Tristan’s cheek and left the room. It was obvious that Tristan was overwhelmed at the fact that he’d turned up completely unexpected. Carmody was half-dreading announcing his arrival to Mrs Hall, wishing they could remain just the two of them for a little longer.

As he helped Mrs Hall brew the tea and pile a plate with her famous shortbread, Carmody couldn’t help but feel that this was the most content he’d felt in a long time. Tristan was home, and a tiny part of him hoped that this was it; Carmody wouldn’t have to lose him to war again. 

There would, of course, come obstacles. No one could truly be okay after the war, and Tristan hadn’t been fairing well after his return from Cairo. Carmody had been terrified of letting him go. All he wanted to do now was wrap him in all the blankets he could find and never let him go again.

But Tristan was home and safe, and that was all Carmody could ask for.

Chapter Text

Tristan was lost in thought as Helen entered the kitchen. He was sitting at the table, twiddling a pen between his fingers as he stared at the only four words he’d managed to write so far. 

He sighed as he read over them for the tenth time. 

“What’s with all the huffing and puffing?” Helen inquired as she filled the kettle with water and set it on the hob. 

“I’m trying to write a letter for Richard,” Tristan said vaguely. 

“A letter? But you two share a room, why not just have a conversation?”

Tristan groaned and leaned back in his chair. “It’s not that simple.”

“Ah.” Helen realised after a moment's silence. “A love letter.”

Tristan cringed. “Yes, a love letter. Just keep your voice down.”

“I won’t tell a soul,” Helen said, hand to her chest in sincerity. “Tea?”

“Please.”

After pouring two mugs and handing one to Tristan, Helen took a seat opposite him. “Tell me what you’ve got then.”

Tristan only just managed not to choke on his scalding sip of tea. He pulled the paper closer to himself protectively. “I really don’t think that’s necessary.”

“I only want to help.”

“And you have… experience in this field, do you?” Tristan asked, uncertain. 

Helen looked offended. “I’m married, Tristan, how do you think I managed it?”

“You certainly have had your fair share of wooing.”

“Oh, certainly .” Helen agreed. “I could barely set foot in Darrowby without being wooed from all sides.”

“Now that’s not quite how I remember it—“ Tristan stopped himself as Helen sent him a look of warning. “Right, I’m– okay.” He cleared his throat. “I just thought a poem might be nice.”

“Go on.” Helen encouraged.  

“Right.” Tristan shuffled uncomfortably on his chair, straightening the paper in front of him. 

“Love.” He declared. “Love is a… bird!”

Helen watched him thoughtfully. “Is that it?” She asked when he didn’t elaborate. 

“Yes. Oh, it’s awful, isn’t it?” Tristan slouched in his chair, covering his face with his hands. 

“No, I like it,” Helen reassured. “But, you know, a poem usually has more lines.”

“Okay.” Tristan nodded. “Love is a bird…” he repeated. “Gathering twigs and— and then building a nest in my heart .”  He cringed internally and externally at the slop that had just come from his mouth. 

Helen leaned back. “Keep going…”

“And just like a bird, it is singing a song that is sweeter than—“ Tristan’s eyes landed on the dessert that Mrs Hall had prepared for later. “Strawberry tart!”

Helen grinned. “Awww, I’m feeling all fuzzy.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“ Yes .”

With newfound confidence, Tristan picked up his pen and scribbled his new idea down. He was so invested that he didn’t hear Siegfried enter the kitchen. 

“What are you two up to?” He asked suspiciously. 

“Tristan’s writing a letter for Richard,” Helen said innocently as Tristan tried desperately to gesture for her not to give him away. 

“Traitor.” He muttered as Siegfried snatched up the paper quicker than Tristan could guard it. 

His eyebrows raised as he skimmed over Tristan’s words. Then he lowered his glasses and gave Tristan a weary look.

“Is this really how you think people write to each other?” 

Tristan could barely defend himself before Siegfried continued. “And strawberry has two r’s in it. Honestly, Tristan, what did you learn at college?”

“Strawberry isn’t a common word in veterinary vocabulary.” Tristan defended weakly. 

“What you need is a little more substance. A poem means very little.” 

“And you would know, would you?” Helen asked cheekily.

Siegfried pointedly ignored her. “Try some Latin, Richard will appreciate that.”

Tristan rolled his eyes. “My Latin is awful, and it’s got to come from me .” He argued. 

“I’m sure he can appreciate a bit of effort.” Siegfried scoffed. “That’s the thing with you, Tristan, you rarely understand how much effort is involved in these sorts of things. That’s why you’ve never successfully maintained a relationship before—“

“Excuse me?!”

“Now what on earth is going on in here?” Mrs Hall called through the walkway, on her way to save the day as per usual. 

Tristan and Siegfried both fell quiet, and as Tristan slumped down in his seat, Siegfried paced across the room to brood. 

“Tristan’s trying to write a letter for Richard,” Helen informed, again. “You have some experience writing letters to Edward. Maybe you could offer some insight.”

A shadow passed across Mrs Hall's face as she took in Helen's words. Then she nodded with a smile and came to sit beside Tristan, not towering over him like Siegfried had. 

“Let’s see what you’ve got.” She took Tristan’s poem as the man sank further into his chair. 

“I see. It’s sweet, Tristan, but it’s not very you. I think the best thing to do is to write from the heart.”

“Well, maybe that’s all my heart can do at the moment.” Tristan huffed. 

“Don’t be silly. Just start writing like you’re talking to him in person, and it’ll start to flow.” She stood again, patting Tristan on the shoulder. 

“Is that it?”

Mrs Hall raised her eyebrows in question. 

“Just… write like I’m speaking to him?”

“Or better yet, just have a conversation with him. You share a room for goodness' sake, what were you planning on dropping him a letter and leaving because that’s not very mature—“

“ No . No, that wasn’t the point.”

Mrs Hall looked satisfied. “He’ll like it whatever it is.”

“I do still think—“ Siegfried began, but Mrs Hall silenced him with a sharp look. He mumbled something incoherent before following her out of the room. 

“You’ve got this!” Helen whispered across the table before leaving Tristan alone with his thoughts, feelings and a terrible poem.