A/N: Well, it's been much longer than I intended; but here it is: the final installment of this fic that was meant to be "1k a day for the month of January 2019" and then took on a mind of its own!

I enjoyed the process, and will certainly miss my baby – but I look forward to writing more for this bittersweet couple. 3

On that note: please enjoy! And drop a review if you've made it all the way to the end. It's a tiny fandom, and I appreciate any bit of love I can get. Thank you for joining me on this journey! xx


As minutes turned to hours, the unison chiming of each well-wound clock was the only indication that life went on in the big old house. The master was invigorated in joy, in compassion and shock, and in the contented bliss all too familiar to those who have been lucky enough – determined enough – to take that small step back into reality after a tumultuous journey through the empty abyss of one's own lying mind.

Whilst the moon rose higher and the stars burnt bright, Archibald Craven admired their beauty with newly-opened eyes. In his suite, the velvet curtains were parted. In his bedchamber, the wide windows were open. And the sweet sweet air, so reminiscent of his childhood spent exploring the moors late at night, drifted into his sanctuary.

Soon, his eyes were closed; but he could not sleep. He was too full – too alive – from the afternoon surprise, the dinner table chatter of magic and mystery; the storytime shared over tea and cakes had rejuvenated him.

Though not so lost was he in the unfamiliar sensation of a smile that he was deaf to the knock at his door. He promptly beckoned his visitor to enter. Framed by the doorway and illuminated only by the orange glow of the light in his hand, Archibald almost mistook his brother for a spectre. Then he stepped into the room, and his visage grew even paler as the moonlight reached him fully. A cold moment passed as the two looked each other over. The doctor had been held up in town late in the evening, but the elder surmised from the former's stunned expression that he had already been informed of the excitement he had missed.

Archibald finally cracked the atmosphere. "I implore you sit down."

"I've just come in not twenty minute ago," the doctor began with measured patience, "and I went to check in on Colin before I came up to bed. He was like a stranger, Archie – did you know about this? Is that why you came home so suddenly?"

"Pray tell, what gives you the impression that I would even have the opportunity to be brought into the confidence of such a conspiracy as they concocted, Neville? I think I've spoken to Mary more than my own child – I was as speechless as you when first I beheld him standing straight before me, particularly with all the knowledge of his condition that you had granted me be privy to."

It may have been his newly awakened mind, exhaustion from the day's excitement finally setting in, frustration over supposed negligence for personal gain – the latter of which Archibald was so sworn against that he curse himself inward for even daring to think such, and dismissed the consideration immediately – or perhaps a poisonous melange of all three facts; but the master's words poured out suddenly, backed by a bitter bite of suppressed malice and incredulity. Though, as the words did flow, brewing and bubbling with unshed tears of reluctantly-acknowledged betrayal, he managed to maintain his voice, keeping it frightfully level.

"You dare have the gall to present yourself to me at my door at such an hour to enquire if I had prior insight of something you failed to notice – something you failed to recognise and encourage? Think, please dear brother, think and try to arrive at a reason for their keeping secrets from you than plain fear and mistrust! I should be asking what you did to deserve such from mere children.

"Nay, I am asking: what reason could you possibly have given them for harbouring such resentment toward you?"

Neville took a deliberate breath, exhaling forcefully as though he hoped to expel his temper in doing so. "I've always done what I thought was best for Colin–"

"Well, clearly it wasn't enough."

The doctor's blood boiled at those simple words, the straightforward tone of deliverance only adding fat to the fire.

There was an invisible box he knew sat at his feet, sat for many years, one which he dared not open before. But it had been growing and growing all these years to the point of bursting; and though a part of him feared that the improvement he now saw in his brother's face would dissipate the moment he looked inside – the moment they both looked inside – his patience was running out, and it was now well worth the risk. He decided.

Like Archibald before, the words soon tumbled out bluntly, pitifully. "I was so afraid of losing him too." His voice broke (he cursed himself quietly for it) and any residual resentment that was being held in his brother's warming heart melted away at the vulnerability behind the younger's confession.

He wanted to let Neville continue at his own pace. Neither spoke, but the man who sat half-shaded by the moon's weak rays was fighting through repressed tears to find the voice to go on.

"I've never lost a patient before that, I'd never allow it, Archie – and I haven't since. There's no room for error in this field." His voice was further from broken now, his throat dry and fresh tears caught in the corners of his eyes. "I told myself she was lost already, a hopeless case before I arrived. So, I determined to save her child – your child – because of it. Oh, I'm sorry.

"I'm sorry for not saving her, for not being strong enough to see how you needed help.

"I'm sorry I didn't try harder; I'm sorry I let her– oh my god, I let Lily die."

There was a tense pause as his truth set in.

"And I'm sorry for not doing more for Colin. I was afraid of losing him too. It was unprofessional, but Hell – he's my nephew, he's my godson, I– I threw my studies to the wind to try to protect him, and it took a little girl throwing a tantrum in some foreign tongue to convince me of how foolish I had been. She made me realise that in trying so hard to keep Colin alive, I hadn't let him live."

He laughed somberly, bitterly, as the last phrase of his apology dissipated into the dense air between them. He had worked himself into a passion, and now sat pathetically in a state he would be embarrassed to be seen in by anyone, even his brother, had it been any other night – and had he been a little more sober.

Archibald, meanwhile, had kept quiet through the confession, wanting to be sure every word registered – every underlying intention had made its way to him – before he formed an opinion on the matter. He was already unsure if he was unjust in his anger, but now a new clarity came to clear away the weeds that had grown during their exchange.

He understood now what was happening. "Grief manifests differently in everyone, and I only wish we could have discussed our different ways of coping sooner."

Then he sat up a tiny bit straighter; he was surprised by his own supposed enlightenment.

"I think you need a rest – a long one. Perhaps the flat in Paris will be comforting." Archibald thought back years ago when the doctor had made him a similar suggestion. It had not been much help to him, but the doctor's dilemma was different from his.

"You've driven a wedge between me and my son," he continued bluntly; "and though I know there is blame which I too need take in the matter, I think I need time with my son before I can fully forgive you."

Then softly he commanded, "I expect you gone before breakfast, and I will bear the brunt of any enquiries the children may have regarding your absence." As he spoke, he rose and tied on his dressing gown, taking up his night light.

"Now," he said standing over his brother, "I will speak with the children - I've a suspicion they're not quite yet asleep. Goodnight Neville, and safe travels," and he left the doctor alone in the dark to show himself out at his leisure.

The time spent weaving amongst the dark abandoned corridors seemed but an instant once he was stood facing away from the tapestry-covered door which had granted him access to the hall of his son's room. Faintly, the light voices of the children seeped through the walls, confirming his previous assumption.

A low moan from the floorboards, the only protest offered to the master, echoed in the stillness of the night as he made his way along the corridor. His slippers rubbed against the carpet, silencing his approach until, at least, he arrested at the second door on the left and gently knocked.

The whispers ceased. The bed creaked. Archibald heard hushed shuffling from within the chamber. Then the door gave way a tentative crack, before the boy on the other side recognised the mysterious midnight visitor and jubilantly flung wide the portal which would grant admittance to his father. His face was filled out with a grand smile.

"Welcome, father." The greeting was friendly and genuine, if a little hoarse. Having their secret exposed that afternoon, the children had shifted their private tones and excited whispers to the secret society of Colin's bedroom, accepting that they could no longer keep their garden a secret from the master.

Hours of conversations in this fashion had rendered the boy's attempt at a proper timbre unnatural, almost foreign. Even as his own father crept into his room, that foreign feeling did not fade. Instead, he sought comfort in the more familiar embrace of his cousin, who was kneeling with her cheek pressed indifferently against the far-side post of his bed.

It was in such a moment that Mistress Mary arrived at the conclusion that she had more experience speaking with the master of the manor than his own son had. Thus, from her position in the corner with an arm draped protectively across Colin's shoulders, she furthered the conversation which Colin had first offered.

"What brings you here so late, Uncle Archie?"

Her casual tone – and her wide, inquisitive eyes – struck him. "I couldn't sleep," he lied.

Then, joining the children on the edge of the bed, he added, "I've a few things to discuss with the two of you; and I had a feeling you may still be awake."

There was a seriousness to his tone that no amount of measured concentration could conceal; and it worried Colin.

But not Mary, who replied, "how could we possibly sleep after such an exciting day!" with a familiar youthful glint in her eyes.

She threw her arms up, laughing at her own joy. The pleasure soon spread, engulfing the other two into her childish bubble – and Archibald felt a new relief flow through him. It quickened his heartbeat and loosened the tension in his shoulders ever so slightly, making him feel more alive than ever before.

The element in the atmosphere which served best to satiate his anxiety, however, was the pretty portrait above the mantle. Exposed, yet accentuated still by a curtain of rose-coloured velvet, Lilias appeared to be laughing along with them; sharing in their enjoyment, encouraging her husband to pursue the new path he had discovered that day – the one which would lead him back home to his family.

Archibald returned his focus to the children, reinvigorated with the courage which swelled within him. He took a breath and prepared himself for the inevitable disappointment his next confession would bring. Though he was afraid of ruining the newly-established precious balance which now hung in his son's room, his wife's memory filled him with the belief that everything would work itself out, so long as he did what he knew was right.

"I owe both of you an apology; to Mary, for failing to be the guardian I was supposed to be; but more so to Colin, for failing to be the father I was meant to be, the father whom your mother entrusted with her son.

"I've always tried to do what I believed best for this family. I realise now that I was selfish. I was so caught up in my own grief and memories that I forgot how to live. And in doing so, I forgot that there were other people hurting for the same reasons.

"I am not asking for your forgiveness. Should you wish to offer such, I would accept it gratefully; but, after nearly eleven years, I understand if you don't believe I deserve it."

"I do forgive you father," Colin replied resolutely, "because you do deserve it. Of course I would have loved to have been closer with you growing up, but I had Uncle. Now, too, I have Mary, who has taught me two very important things: just like flowers, we can't grow unless we nurture ourselves in hopes of a better future – and we can't do that if we are stuck in the past.

"And the other thing is that I'm still a child, I'm still growing bigger and stronger – and, even if we can't change the past, we can still choose what our future is like, and I want you and Mary in it.

"I understand what you've gone through. You miss mum a whole lot. So do I. But you knew her better than I ever could, and I know it must have been so hard for you to accept that she's gone; but I think what she would want most is for us to be happy together."

Archibald nodded in agreement, unrestrained tears escaping as Colin concluded, "let us turn our grief into love and use it to honour her memory."

"I know Lilias is looking out for you," he replied finally, "for both of you," taking Mary's hand as well as his son's. "All she ever wanted was to be a mother, and to be loved. I'd thought she'd lost those opportunities; but, even if she is no longer a part of this world, that does not change how much she means to us – it does not mean she is not a part of us."

As Colin jumped into his arms, Archibald noticed an unpleasant expression creeping onto the visage of Mistress Mary, the lines of her face intermittently falling deeper into shadow with the flickering of the nightlights.

"You are a part of this family too, Mary." She lifted her head and refocused her eyes when she heard her name spoken in such a warm and loving tone.

"I didn't love my parents like you loved Aunt Lily," she replied bluntly as she sat pulling feathers from a small hole in the bedclothes, her voice remaining soft and distant.

"Even if that's true, that does not mean you aren't allowed to miss them," her uncle replied gently, "and it certainly does not mean that you belong any less to this family.

"I ask only one thing of you, Mary," his voice suddenly serious, "promise me that you will do what I couldn't: promise me that you will allow yourself to feel." He punctuated his request with a caring smile.

The girl agreed with an enthusiastic nod and a tighter embrace. Her sudden shift in mood fueled her girlish energy and reminded him of someone else he once held close, whom he now knew he could still hold near.

He could not erase the past – that much Archibald had long since accepted. His former mistakes would never go away; but such an acknowledgment only served to strengthen his resolutions. No amount of desperation could bring his bride back, but neither still was the future set in stone. In seizing control of his heart, Archibald realised he had also taken the reins of his own life, whatever may be waiting in the years to come.

But in order to get there, he wished to revel in the present. He could make up for time lost by using the now he was given to make a home of his foreboding house; and such a home could be filled with endless days of laughter and joy from children and father alike, if only he would allow it.

Such were the visions that now filled his dreams, as he drifted off into a deep, contented sleep with the two most important people to him nestled safely, comfortably, on each side of him. And the master slept with a smile; for he knew, just as certainly that Lilias was looking gratefully down upon them with her protective hazel eyes, that – for the first time in a long time – he would not find when he awoke a cold, empty bed.