A/N: Hi. Sorry I've been away. And thanks for the lovely reviews and messages since. Life just got in the way a bit... well, a lot... and meant I wasn't really in the zone for fanfic. That sounds like a really poor excuse, but really it did. Big time. Anyway, I am back - and very rusty, so apologies - with a final chapter. I say 'final' but I think there is a perhaps little bit of mileage left with this story and some readers have said they would like to know how it all pans out, so I have started writing an epilogue of one shots which I will post on to the end of this story when they are finished. Whilst I enjoyed Series 8, I found it fairly disappointing from a character development perspective and, to this day, I have no idea what the kiwis were about, so I've returned to my little far-fetched AU to get some Robson joy back in my life. Hope everyone is well and, as ever, thanks for reading.

[Recap (because it has been so long). Relations have thawed considerably between our hesitant couple, but Laura still has something she needs to say].

The wind was calmer on the beach later that day. Leaden clouds lingered in the sky, punctuated by occasional flashes of piercing sunlight. They walked in silence, at first, the wet sand giving slightly beneath their feet, their hands plunged deeply in pockets against the bite of the increasingly autumnal air. They were due to return home to Oxford - and reality - later that evening.

Laura paused to pick up a small piece of driftwood, toying with it absently, running her fingers over the smooth, moist bark. Robbie turned back to look at her, his shoulders hunched a little against the cold, but his face open and relaxed.

She squinted against another sudden appearance of the sun reflected in the puddled shore and looked up at him.

"Robbie?"

"Mmm hmm?"

"You know what you said last night?" She continued to toy with the driftwood.

"About you being easy pickings?"

She laughed, loudly. Genuinely. "No!"

She discarded the driftwood and crept up to him, sliding her hands between his coat and the warmth of his jumper. He looked down at her, a wry smile playing on his face, as he pretended not to know to what she was referring.

"About how comfy your bed was compared to mine?"

"No… not that." The slightest agitation flickered across her face.

Tenderly, he tucked a wayward tendril of her hair behind her ear before slipping his arms around her.

"Oh… you mean when I said I love you." He emphasized the words deliberately and playfully, but the depth of his stare matched their significance.

He watched as the agitation on her face dissipated for a fraction of a second and she laughed shyly at the repetition of his words. She nodded, her face flushing.

"Yes, I remember."

"Well…" Her voice was quiet. He loved it so. "I just wanted to say… um… ditto."

"Ditto?" He laughed. Despite his frivolity, his heart thumped in his chest.

She looked up at him and, for the briefest of moments, he forgot entirely where he was. Her eyes were wide with nervous but electrifying affection. He couldn't remember ever seeing her look so beautiful. A sharp intake of salty, coastal air filled his lungs as everything around him seemed to still.

She smiled again, shyly, caught slightly off guard by the force of his stare:

"Robbie… I love you too." She squeezed him gently, "You do know that, don't you?"

With a wide grin, he pulled her in for a deep kiss. She relaxed fully against him, cocooned against the softness of his jumper and the strength of his embrace.

"I think so." He whispered, eventually, withdrawing to rest his forehead against hers.

"I know I haven't exactly shown it these past few weeks." She murmured.

"You've had a lot on your plate, love." His thumb brushed her cheek as her insides twisted at his relaxed and unexpected use of the term of endearment.

"We both have."

"And… all being well, we'll have a lot on our plates for a long time to come." He smiled knowingly.

"Yes..." She withdrew from nestling against his chest to look up at him. "I suppose we will."

"I know it's going to take a lot of getting used to, Laura. And it won't be plain sailing, but I think... I hope … we've got a lot to look forward to."

The warmth of his words caused a flare in her chest, despite the cold. In this moment, on this remote beach, with just seagulls and the rush of the sea for company, it suddenly felt easy to believe him. She smiled, hesitantly, but openly.

Robbie's hands dropped to her waist as he twisted her round to face the sea, pulling her to lean backwards against him. They stood like this for a moment, his arms wrapped around her shoulders, both taking in the vast, watery grey as it blended almost imperceptibly into the sky. Laura allowed herself to rest the back of her head against his chest and he tucked it gently under his chin. She closed her eyes and felt her mind still, for the first time in weeks. The quiet warmth of his arms around her seemed to set the tension in her body adrift. With each breath of bracing air, she sensed the turmoil of the past two months begin to ease.

She let everything – all of the noise, the questions, all of the anxiety, the apprehension… everything – stop. Just for the moment. She allowed herself to feel only the steadiness of his body against hers and the rise and fall of her breath.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In time with the tide.

She started slightly as Robbie moved one hand down towards her middle. His fingers slipped under the hem of her jumper and t-shirt and her breath caught as she felt the warmth of his palm spread against her stomach. The baby. Their baby. Looking down at his hand resting on what had become the most important part of her body and feeling him press a kiss into her hair whilst tightening his grip around her, she fought back a sudden urge to cry. Happy tears. Grateful, thankful tears for the prospect of something of which she had given up hope. Something which had seemed to come so easily to everyone else, but had evaded her… until now.

Until Robbie.

Robbie held the woman he loved tightly in his arms. It was she who held the key to a future he had long since dismissed. He had sworn never to love again. Never to need and be needed. Never again to run the risk of loss and grief. Loneliness, however painful, however soul-destroyingly solitary, was the safer option: an option that held no surprises and could be almost relied upon in its relentlessness. For him, loneliness had been the devil he knew. Always better than the devil unknown. Or so it had seemed. Yet, here with Laura in his arms, holding her, needing her, he fully acknowledged that a far more potent devil had won over, in spite of his own resistance:

That old devil called Love.