A/N:  A special thanks to ThatGinchyGirl for her work beta-ing this fic.  Her insight was they key to getting a little bit of nonsense make sense.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been to the cinema on a Thursday night, Patrick!”  Shelagh could barely contain a giggle.  

Patrick smiled back and squeezed her hand.  “I think we’ve earned it, don’t you?  Now that Tim’s on the mend, we should take a moment to let off some steam.  Before we know it, he’ll be coming home, and a weeknight out will be impossible.”

“He’s so much better now, I can hardly believe it.  All that hard work–I’ve never met a boy with such determination.  To think he’ll be on his feet in a month!”  Her hand slid up around his forearm and she pressed just a bit closer.  

Patrick’s eyes were warm, causing Shelagh to blush ever so little.  “I think he’s nearly as eager for us to get married as I am.”  

The blush deepened.  “There’s plenty of time, Patrick.”

The theatre was quickly filling up with people.  “Where would you like to sit?” Patrick asked as he scanned the large open space.

“Oh, I don’t mind, Patrick.  I’ve not been to enough films these last years to really have much of a preference.  Why not there?” She pointed up the staircase towards the last row, empty of any theatergoers but a couple at the far end.  “Right on the aisle?”  Her question was more a statement of fact.

She climbed the steps, fully expecting Patrick to follow, and with a shrug of his shoulders, he did.  At top row, Shelagh turned to let him help her with her coat.

“I’m starting to notice a bit of a pattern, my love.  You ask me to decide and somehow I end up following you.”

A dimple appeared.  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Patrick.”  She smiled archly and settled into her seat.  

He shook his head in resignation.  “I’d like to point out from the very start that you chose these seats.  I had nothing to do with it.”  He shrugged his own coat off and sat beside her.

Two lines of confusion appeared between her eyes.  “Is there anything wrong with these seats, Patrick?  I’m sure we can find something else just as suitable if you like.”

He leaned in, his face close to hers.  “I’m not so sure, my love.”  His voice grew husky.  “You may not realize it my dear, but we’re in the snogging section.”

“The sno–Oh, Patrick you’re teasing me!”  She swatted at his arm playfully.

“I most assuredly am not teasing you, Shelagh.  We are in fact right dab in the center of it.”  His eyes smiled as she blushed fiercely.  “Don’t worry, Shelagh.  Nothing’s going to happen up here.”  He leaned in even closer, and she could feel his breath against her ear.  “I can’t say as much for when we’re alone, however.”

The blush raged to a bright red.  “Patrick!”  She squeezed her hands together tightly in her lap.  

He pulled away and patted her hand.  “I know, I shouldn’t tease, but when you pink up so prettily, I can’t help myself.  I promise.  I’ll behave.”

The lights dimmed and the newsreel started.  News of Cyprus’s Independence flashed by unnoticed as Shelagh tried to regain control of her breathing.  She knew Patrick enjoyed making her blush in the rare moments they were alone, but he would never embarrass her.  Besides, she assured herself, there really weren’t many people this far back in the theater, anyway.

She turned her attention to the screen but was distracted by the pairs of silhouetted couples in the rows before her.  For years, all ideas of courtship had been far from her mind but as the detachment required by the Order began to wane, thoughts of nights just like this one began to sneak into her dreams.  A tingle of awareness ran through her.  This wish had come true.  Tonight, she sat in a darkened theater, not with some man, but with Patrick, the man she loved.    

Shelagh felt her body flush with the thrill.  She twisted her hands together as she tried to concentrate on the screen.  Images reflected off the lenses of her glasses, and she found her focus drifting to Patrick’s hand on the armrest, so close to her.  She knew its touch, loved the feel of his smooth dry palm against her softer hand.  Her eyelids fluttered closed as she remembered the first time he cradled her hand in his, her own pain forgotten even before he pressed his lips to her palm.  That gentle touch felt so right in that moment in the kitchen, even as she fought against it.

Patrick’s hand stretched over and clasped her clenched hands.  He seemed to understand her confusion.  She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder.  Their hands seemed to fit just so.  Hers was so much smaller, and yet it didn’t feel swamped in his.  No longer even trying to watch the film, she studied his long fingers with their neatly trimmed nails and large knuckles, the short hairs on his fingers and along the back of his hand leading up under his sleeve.  His wrists were fine, elegant even, and she wished for a moment that she could roll his sleeves up and gaze at his forearms.

A hot blush flooded her cheeks.  What was she thinking?  Roll up his sleeves!!  A crowded movie house was certainly not the place to indulge in such thoughts.  She sat up straight in her seat and felt the tug of his hand as he refused to relinquish hers.  

“It’s alright, Shelagh,” he assured her, his voice a husky whisper.  “We’re only holding hands.”

She resisted the urge to meet his eyes and instead kept hers locked on their entwined fingers.  How could “only holding hands” feel like so much more?  

The warm stillness of his hand soothed her, and in the flickering darkness she gave in.  She spread her fingers wide and delighted when he mimicked the movement.  Her palm shifted against his and she grazed the tips of her fingers against his palm, brushing its coarse surface.  Her hand turned in his and they began an intimate dance, hands stroking, nestling, seeking closeness.

Her breath shuddered again.  Her body felt tense, every nerve ending focussed on their joined hands.  She swallowed thickly, trying to gain control of herself.  For the first time since the picture started, she let herself look at him.  He was nearer than she realized, his face close enough to block out all other images.  His eyes glittered brightly with something she recognized but could not name, and she felt her heart race.  Blood rushed in her ears and all sound was blocked but the quiet sussing of her own breath.  Her gaze travelled lower and came to rest on his mouth.  

Oh! She wanted to kiss him.  She wanted to press her mouth to his, breathe him, taste him.  But they couldn’t, a voice whispered.  Patrick had only been teasing.  Snogging in the cinema was for young lovers, not two mature, reasonable adults.  Even when she had been a teenager herself, she hadn’t done such things.  School had been her single-minded focus in those years, keeping company with the boys from the local school not a priority.

He moved his face closer, not more than an inch, and in that moment, Shelagh forgot she was a mature, reasonable adult.  Their surroundings faded from her attention.   Her free hand slid around his neck and pulled him closer, her fingers lingering against the warm skin above his collar.   For a moment they hesitated, their faces a scant inch apart as their breath mingled.  Unable to resist any longer, Shelagh kissed him.

His lips were soft and gentle, but she felt something in his response that emboldened her.  Her fingers slipped into the short hair at the back of his neck as she deepened the kiss.  His scent filled her head, the roughness of his evening stubble teased her to a state of heightened awareness.  

Gently, Patrick broke the kiss.  With a sigh, he rested his forehead against hers. She had not noticed how his arms wrapped around her as they embraced, but she felt their lack when he withdrew them.  

“I’d like to kiss you all night,” he whispered.  She could hear the regret in his voice.   

Her fingers shifted around to trace his jawline, and she whispered, “I think perhaps it’s time for us to set a date, dearest.”