After working on some difficult writing, I needed a break and wanted to write some Turnadette fluff (although don’t get me wrong. Good fluff is hard to write-as you may soon read). Alas, I was fresh out of ideas. So I turned to my fellow Nonnatuns on Tumblr and begged for prompts (hey, I’m not proud).

One came in almost instantly from Clonethemidwife:  “Shelagh teared up, looking at the silver tree on the table, and the natural tree in the corner, both decorated with love by her family. She looked down at the sleeping girl in her arms, and knew that her daughter’s childhood would be so much better than hers…

With mushy stuff and fluff and some minor feels as Patrick learns more about his wife by what she tells him she wishes for their daughter’s future.”

I played with the prompt a bit, so it doesn’t address Shelagh’s childhood, but there are two trees, a loving family and lots of mushy stuff. Plus you may find a few lines dropped in from the series. But I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.

As Christmas Day eased into Christmas Night, a gentle quiet descended on the Turner family. Timothy struggled to hide his yawns while his parents sat close together, Angela sleepily finishing her last feed before bed. It was hard to imagine the chaotic scene that had been just this morning.

“Mrs. B. didn’t like it much when you caught her under the mistletoe at Nonnatus, Dad. I heard her say later that she always thought you were too charming for your own good.” Timothy’s eyes rolled Heavenwards.

“Tim,” Patrick’s smug smile belied the scold.

“She did,” Tim asserted. “I saw her wink at Mrs. Buckle when she said it though, and she always makes sure there’s Battenburg for you, so I think she rather liked it.”

“Oh, no. Do I have some competition on my hands, Patrick?” Shelagh teased.

“Not likely, sweetheart. You make a lovely Battenburg cake yourself.” He leant down and pressed a kiss to her lips.

Tim groaned. “Really? Angela’s still eating, you’ll put her off her bottle. Why was there mistletoe in a convent, anyway? Seems an odd place for it.”

“I was wondering that myself,” Patrick mused. “Weren’t you in charge of the decorating this year, Shelagh?” His grin became wolfish.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Patrick,” his wife returned, blushing fiercely.

Tim reached into a nearby box of airplane model parts. stifling yet another yawn.

“Right, then. Bed for you, Tim. It’s been a long day, and you have the entire holiday to build airplanes and ride your new bike. No, no arguments.” Patrick stood and turned to his wife. “Shall I take her?” he asked.

“No, thank you, Patrick. I’ll let her doze just a bit before I bring her to bed.” Shelagh smiled. “I think we’ll sit here in the quiet for just a bit longer.”

Patrick nodded and followed Tim down the hall.

A small mewling sound escaped Angela’s lips as she released the bottle, then smacked her lips in her sleep. Shelagh touched a fingertip to the swollen upper lip. Was there a blister starting? No, just a drop of formula.

A sudden flood of emotions filled Shelagh’s heart. She teared up, looking at the silver tree on the table, and the natural tree in the corner, both decorated with love by her family.* How very different this Christmas was from the last. Joy replaced anguish, and with the addition of Angela, the family was complete.

She looked down at the sleeping girl in her arms.* How was it possible she was such a mix of the two of them? Barely two months old, Angela’s face revealed glimpses of both her father and mother. Would her hair stay fair, would her eyes keep their blue or turn greeny-brown like Patrick’s? Her neck was still not strong enough to show any discerning Patricky tilt, but Shelagh was certain Angela’s ears did stick out, just a wee bit.  

A tear escaped and trailed down Shelagh’s cheek. “You were ours from the start, Angel,” she whispered. The baby mewled again in response.

With Tim successfully in bed, his book a show of false staying-up-late bravado, Patrick returned to the sitting room. “Shelagh?” he asked, his voice husky. “What’s wrong?”

Her smile was wide, the tears glistening behind her glasses. “Nothing’s wrong, dearest. I’m just so very happy.”

Patrick released his breath in relief as he rejoined her on the gold sofa. “It’s been quite a time of it, hasn’t it?” he agreed. He slid his arm behind her shoulders, pulling her close to his side. “This is a much better Christmas than last year.”

Shelagh snuggled in closer. “Indeed. Timmy’s healthy, Angela’s safe with us, and I have the most wonderful husband I could ever imagine. I am a very blessed woman.”

“I wouldn’t say very blessed,” Patrick denied, his mood darkening. “I almost ruined everything. What if the Agency hadn’t approved us? I kept such secrets, Shelagh. It was you–you were the one that kept us together. I can’t imagine what would have become of us all if it hadn’t been for you.”

Shelagh reached up carefully and turned his face to hers with her free hand. “Listen to me, Patrick. That most certainly is not true. So much happened this year, and yes, there was sadness. I thought my heart would break in two when I learned of my diagnosis, and we did have our own struggles together. But this is important. I wouldn’t change a single moment of it. Not one. God put us on this road together for a reason. If we changed even one thing, we wouldn’t be here today.”

“Shelagh-”

She pulled his face to hers and pressed her lips to his, her thumb caressing his lined cheek. The kiss deepened and Patrick released some of his guilt.

“It wasn’t me, Patrick. It was both of us. It was hard, but you came back to me. I made mistakes, too, don’t forget. We learned to trust each other in ways we never could have if we hadn’t gone through all that.”

Patrick nuzzled his nose against her temple. “I’m not certain you’ll convince me of that entirely, sweetheart, but I do know I would have done anything to make things better. You’ve given me so much.” He pressed a light kiss to her cheek. “I thank God for you.”

The moment was broken by the sudden squall from the infant between them, then the abrupt burst of wind. Almost instantly, Angela settled back down to sleep. Laughing, Patrick reached for his daughter. “You, little girl, are very lucky you’re about to go into your cot. I am about to do all sorts of mushy things to your mother, and you most certainly would not approve.”

Fortunately for the infant girl, she had no idea what her father was talking about.

*italicized lines taken from Clonethemidwife’s prompt.