Never Give Up

Disclaimer: Sadly, I can claim no ownership of this remarkable series, although I do own the DVD.

A/N: Once I managed to dry my tears after watching the Christmas special, I sat down to write this short bit about what might have happened if Dawn hadn't come back to the party. Not that I thought the original ending could be improved on, mind you! I hope I got the British vernacular more or less correct, and I apologize for any glaring errors in that regard.

Summary: Three years after the Christmas party, Tim and Dawn are reunited once more. Will they finally act on their feelings for each other, or will Dawn's lies tear them apart forever? AU ending for the Christmas special. Tim-Dawn romance, all episodes game for spoilers.

"She'll have to ask me…she'll have to ask me…Take care of yourself. Have a nice life…Take care of yourself. Have a nice life."

Tim awoke with a start, propelled out of his sleep by the nightmare that haunted his dreams regularly. He slung off the covers and lay on his back, staring up at the darkened ceiling. Had he really said those words? What a fool he had been! He'd allowed his stupid pride to squander his last moments with Dawn, telling her to have a nice life instead of begging her to ditch Lee and stay in Slough with him.

Tim turned his head to the side and stared at his alarm clock. Four am. He sighed and pulled the covers back up over his head. Perhaps today would bring a letter in the post from Dawn. It had been almost two months since he'd heard from her, heard how she was doing in America – heard how she was getting along without him.

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Dawn threw one final blouse into her suitcase and slammed it shut. That was enough. Actually, it was likely more than enough, but after five years in Florida, she was scared that she'd freeze to death in England. Just last month she'd been in New York, launching her new children's book – a book that she'd not only illustrated, but also written – and had spent the entire week listening to her teeth chatter.

The book had been a smash hit, so much so that her publishing house had moved up its premier date in the UK, hoping to ride in on the shirttails of its US popularity. Dawn wasn't as confident about the UK launch. American preferences were decidedly different from those of their British counterparts, despite that famous quote that was always bandied about – what was it - something along the line of America and Britain being two countries separated by a common language. Sometimes Dawn thought the only thing the two people had in common was the language.

Despite her hesitancies about the book, Dawn was excited about returning to the UK for one reason – Tim. She looked at the framed piece of paper hanging over her desk which had been tucked away inside of the paint set Tim had given her so many years ago. That piece of paper had set her on the path to her new career. The gift had been touching – after years of not believing in herself, of Lee not believing in her, Tim had come along and encouraged her to pursue her dreams. With just three words – never give up - Tim had changed her whole life. It was finally time to show Tim that she hadn't given up – on her career or them.

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True to his word, Tim had stayed in touch with Dawn, sending a battered letter across the Atlantic a few months after the Christmas party.

Dearest Dawn, he'd begun. Despite living in a time dubbed as the e-revolution, it seems fitting that our correspondence be of the same medium that brought us together – paper. This is an especially fool-hardy decision to make when one is separated by an ocean, but bear with me for a while. If you decide in the future that email will be easier, I will happily acquiesce to your desire. In the meantime, I'll walk with an extra spring in my step as I go to retrieve my post, wondering if today will be the day that a letter from you arrives. I hope that life finds you well, with tan skin and a happy heart. As I was pulling on my boots and heavy coat to go to work last week, I found myself thinking about you walking down the streets of Florida in shorts and flip-flops, and wondered if I was the mad one for staying in a place with such terrible weather. Despite the dreary weather (and would England be England without it?), life in Slough continues on much the same as it did before you left. Tormenting Gareth is not much fun without you, as I haven't been able to recruit any decent new help. Rosie, my current desk mate, finally had her baby (surely you remember that fiasco at the party about the smoking?), and has left me with six whole weeks of blissful silence. I didn't think it could get any worse than Gareth, but at least he was good for a laugh, if nothing else. Rosie ate so much Jell-O early on in her pregnancy that I am now as repulsed by it as Gareth, which serves me right, I suppose. I won't bore you with any more details on the mundane routine here, except to mention that I finally (at the tender age of 32), moved out of Mum and Dad's and got my own flat. Rent takes quite a cut out of my pay, but I still have enough – usually – left over for a few pints down at the pub, although I find myself lacking in anyone to share them with. But enough about me. Give Lee my regards.

He'd ended the letter with a simple Yours – Tim, a phrase that brought more tears to Dawn's already damp eyes. Had she really told this man no? Had she actually turned down his affections not once, but twice? Had she returned to Slough and allowed the moment to slip away, not realizing the depth of his affection until she unwrapped his gift in the car?

Dawn had kept the letter close to her person, re-reading it so frequently that the paper threatened to disintegrate from overuse. Two weeks later, she had finally mustered up the courage to write him back, thus beginning a three year long correspondence by mail. She never phoned; he never emailed. It was sweet, even if their communications were separated by two or three month long stretches. Perhaps that was what made it so sweet – she heard from him so infrequently that she treasured every word he wrote. It was hard to feel the same way about email.

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Dawn turned away from the picture and looked doubtfully at her bed. It was almost eleven pm. Her flight didn't leave until five pm tomorrow, but she had a million errands to run between now and then. Dawn quickly calculated the time change, and wondered what Tim was doing. "Silly girl," she told herself, pulling back the covers and sliding under them. "It's four am in Slough. He's asleep, as you should be." Dawn closed her eyes, but sleep was not instant. She was too nervous about her upcoming visit to sleep, wondering if Tim had even received her letter telling him about the trip. It was almost one am before she finally sank into a fitful slumber.

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The following evening, Tim came home, exhausted from the day. Gareth had been especially trying today, and Rosie had just informed him that she was pregnant – and craving Jell-O – again. To top it all off, there had been a horrible accident on the motorway, and he was two hours late arriving home to a dingy flat he could barely afford. Despite his ill temper, he stopped to check his post. He was expecting a letter from Dawn any day now. He had almost reached the end of the large pile – were all these circulars really necessary? – when a pale pink envelope caught his eye. Tim dropped the rest of his mail in an unceremonious heap, ripping apart the tattered letter with shaking hands. It was pathetic, really, how much he looked forward to these letters – from an engaged woman, no less! - how they were the one bright spot in an otherwise dull existence. Still, his heart pounded as his eyes danced across the pages, absorbing Dawn's latest news.

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He'd been thrilled to learn that soon after Dawn had returned to the States that she had finally decided to take her illustrating seriously. Within six months, she'd sent a portfolio off to several publishing companies. It was a tough time – the rejection letters stung, and several times she told Tim that she was considering abandoning her dream – but eventually a series of well-timed events paired her up with a famous children's writer who was looking for a new illustrator. The writer was impressed with Dawn's work, and signed her on for a five book deal. When Dawn had written Tim with the good news, he'd jumped in the air and yelped with joy, ignoring the stares and muted whispers of his nosy neighbors.

Tim had begged Dawn to send him copies of the book, but she ignored his requests, sending him instead rough sketches and half-finished pieces. Tim was hurt at first, but was so impressed with what she sent him that he nearly forgot that he hadn't seen the work in full. After the contract ended, Dawn confessed to Tim that her next project was a children's book that she would both illustrate and write.

I'm tired of bringing to life someone else's creation, someone's else story, she wrote. Working with Emily Morris was a terrific experience, but I am now ready to try my hand at it myself – I have so many ideas! I'll let you know how it turns out – my agent isn't thrilled with the idea, but assures me that the work I did for Emily should open doors. Wish me luck! I thought nothing could be more terrifying that sending off my illustrations, but presenting a work that is wholly mine to a publisher is by far worse!

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Dawn's most recent letter, the one Tim now held in his hands, bore the best news yet - Dawn's book had been such a success in the US (just as he'd known it would be), that her publishers were planning a large UK launch, and were bringing Dawn over for a month of book tours and signings. It was Dawn's post-script; however, that caused Tim's heart to lodge in his throat.

I'll be arriving in the UK on February 1. I do hope this letter reaches you in time. I'd love to see you during my visit, and will be quite sore if you don't take time out of your busy schedule to come into London to see me. I'll be staying at the Dorchester – can you believe it? Apparently my publishing company has money to burn.

Tim quickly re-read the letter, then picked up his abandoned mail and skipped the two floors up to his flat. Dawn was coming to London! Dawn was coming to London! In a moment of clarity, he wondered if Lee would be with her. Dawn never mentioned Lee in her letters, and Tim certainly didn't ask. He hoped not. "So what if he does?" Tim muttered to himself. Lee or no Lee, he wasn't letting Dawn slip through his fingers this time.

Tim hurried to the phone, ringing up a local flower shop where his old school mate worked. Dawn's plane would arrive tomorrow morning, and there would be a large bouquet of yellow tulips to greet her when she arrived at the Dorchester, along with a card offering his congratulations. His second call was to Gareth, informing him that he was taking a holiday from work for the next two weeks. Gareth instantly began to fret and rattle off company policy, but Tim resolutely said, "I'm taking a holiday, Gareth. If my job's not there when I return, so be it." He could still hear Gareth's squawks as he hung up the phone. For once, Tim slept soundly, his dreams not plagued by the mistakes of his past.

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Unlike Tim, Dawn found herself unable to sleep as her plane raced across the Atlantic, even though she was seated in the relative comfort of first class. Her empty stomach churned; her anticipating heart fluttered. Dawn sighed and stared out the window into the inky black night. What would Tim think of her, after all this time? What would he say when she revealed the secret that she'd hidden from him ever since she'd last left Slough? Would he believe her when she said the omission had been for both their sakes? That she needed to find herself, apart from Lee and apart even from him, and that she'd spared him the news of her and Lee's breakup out of concern for his feelings, hoping that he'd be able to move on in her absence even though she prayed he wouldn't? Dawn pictured the dust jacket of her book, the little blurb on the inside back cover. Would those few sentences be enough to convince Tim, or would her lie cost them everything?

Just as Dawn's plane taxied down the runway at Gatwick, Tim's train into London pushed away from the Slough platform. Tim stared out the window at the passing countryside, rehearsing what he would say to Dawn and imaging the outcome of his proposal. Surely her rejection couldn't hurt as bad the third time around, right? As the train neared London, the formerly blue skies turned to a dull gray, and a fine mist appeared on the train's windows. It was typical London weather for February, and nothing like the sunny skies Dawn must have grown used to in Florida. He hoped that she'd remembered to bring her brolly.

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"Welcome to the Dorchester hotel, Miss Tinsley. We are so pleased to have you staying with us." Dawn tried not to look too surprised when the doorman greeted her by name. Unfortunately, as soon as she saw the luxurious interior of the hotel lobby, her jaw dropped and she simply stood and stared.

"Miss Tinsley?" A soft, well-polished voice jolted her out of her reverie. "If you'll just follow me, please." The bellhop escorted Dawn to her room and unlocked it for her, even though Dawn insisted that she was quite capable of doing so herself. "Simon will be right up with your bags, Miss Tinsley. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, thanks," Dawn managed to murmur as she gaped at the opulence of her lodgings. Her attention was soon drawn to a large spray of yellow tulips on the table near the window. She paused briefly to admire the tulips' beauty, and then opened the card that had been left next to them. Dearest Dawn, the card began. Dawn smiled, knowing that the card was from Tim, even though the neat handwriting was definitely not his.

Congratulations on the success of your book! I just received your letter yesterday, and am mostly like on my way to London as you read this. My train arrives around noon, and I hope you'll allow me to take you for a quick lunch before tonight's big launch. If not, best wishes on your book tour. The Brits don't know what is about to hit them! Yours - Tim.

Dawn tried not to cry as she read Tim's letter. How could he even imagine that she wouldn't want to see him, when the first thing that she'd been dying to do ever since she broke up with Lee three years ago was rush into his arms and press her lips to his? She rang reception, and inquired if anyone had called for her.

"No, Miss Tinsley. Were you expecting someone?"

Dawn's heart sank. "There might be a Tim Canterbury calling for me shortly. Will you ring me if he arrives?"

"Of course, Miss Tinsley."

"Thank you." Dawn hung up the phone. Although her body ached for Tim's immediate presence, her vanity was a bit happy that he wasn't here yet. She should have just enough time for a quick shower, which she desperately needed after spending the evening on a plane.

Forty-five minutes later, Dawn's hair was still wrapped in a towel, and all she had decided on wearing so far was her favorite set of undergarments, a lacy black bra that was more or less see-through, and an equally revealing pair of matching knickers. Scattered around her were several discarded outfits.

"This is ridiculous!" Dawn told herself as she stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Just get dressed." Despite her self-admonishment, Dawn fretted through her suitcase a while longer, then stomped into the bathroom to finish her hair and make-up. She had just finished applying a final coat of mascara when her phone rang.

"Miss Tinsley, there is a Mr. Tim Canterbury here to see you. Shall I send him up or would you like to come down here?"

"Crap!" Dawn yelled into the phone, then remembered where she was and instantly apologized. "Um, sorry. Send him up, will you please?"

"Of course, Miss Tinsley."

Dawn slammed down the receiver and began to panic. She had been in her room for only an hour and already it was a mess. There was no time left for lollygagging, so she grabbed her favorite pair of black trousers that clung to her in all the right places and paired them with a turquoise blue halter-top blouse that accentuated her tan skin and golden hair while managing to nearly match her eye color.

"Damnit," she cried, realizing that she couldn't wear the bra that she'd originally chosen. She slipped out of the top and ripped off the bra, tossing it over her shoulder. Quickly, she shrugged back into the halter-top and examined her profile in the mirror, wondering if she looked okay without a bra on at all. She had just about decided to rummage through her luggage for the bra she normally wore with the top when she heard a knocking at her door. Dawn froze. After weeks of preparing for this moment, she wasn't supposed to be taken by surprise. "Please, God," she whispered as she slipped on a pair of black leather sling-backs and made her way to the door. "Don't let him hate me for the lie I've perpetuated." Dawn quickly crossed herself, refusing to wonder where a lapsed Church of England girl had learned such a gesture, and opened the door.

A huge smile appeared on her face when she saw Tim standing before her, looking much the same as he had when she had last seen him. Dawn took one hesitant step forward before throwing herself into Tim's waiting arms, managing not to squeal as he pulled her close and swung her around once for good measure.

"Come in, come in," Dawn said once he'd unwillingly released her. Tim gave her a quizzical look, trying to see around her shoulder into the room.

"Is Lee…?"

"No, it's just me," Dawn said, cutting him off and pulling him into the room. Once inside, Dawn kept her hand tightly grasped with Tim's, and if he wondered about Lee's absence, he said no more.

"Wow," he began, giving her an admiring glance. "You look – amazing."

Dawn blushed, and Tim smiled. "Are you sure you're still British? Because I'm pretty sure that no British person has ever been that tan before. You make me feel especially sallow."

Dawn laughed, rolling her eyes and pushing him light-heartedly on the shoulder with the hand that wasn't still firmly attached to his. "You don't look so bad yourself," she said. Tim was wearing charcoal grey wool pants and a pale lavender button-down, over which he'd layer a deep crème wool sweater and a navy overcoat.

It was Tim's turn to blush, and he looked away from Dawn's face, spending not a short amount of time staring at his hand wrapped in hers, and wondering what exactly was going on between her and Lee.

Dawn followed Tim's gaze down. "Oh, sorry," she said, and dropped his hand. Tim smiled at her nervously, then rubbed the back of his neck and stared around the room. Dawn wrung her hands, wondering how things had gotten so tense between them so quickly. It had been so easy to be completely open in their letters, but now that they were face to face, it was just as though they were relieving the last few uncomfortable moments of the Christmas party.

Tim finally laughed, uneasily. "This is ridiculous. There's no reason for us to be so nervous. Let's start over, shall we?"

"All right," Dawn agreed, allowing Tim to awkwardly embrace her while kissing her quickly on both cheeks.

"So," he said, still clearly uneasy at being in her room. "You want to grab some lunch?"

"Sure, sure," Dawn said, but then stopped. Tim had reached the door before he turned around and saw that she was still where he'd left her.

"Are you coming?"

"Um, actually," Dawn bit her bottom lip. "There's something I need to tell you first."

"Okay," Tim agreed, walking back towards her, a wary look on her face.

"Sit, sit," she told him, gesturing towards the table. She dropped to her knees and began to rummage through her luggage. "I just need to find something."

Tim stared at the tulips on the table, wondering if she was pleased to see them or if this was the source of her anxiety. He fiddled idly with one leaf, then turned to stare out the window when Dawn announced, "I found them!"

She hurried back to the table, a warm smile on her face. "I know you think I was just ignoring your requests all these years for copies of my books, but I hope you'll understand in a minute why I didn't want you to see them. I've brought you a copy of each one – the five I did with Emily Morris, as well as the one that's all mine."

"Fantastic!" Tim said enthusiastically, reaching for the books. Dawn shook her head and pressed the books against her chest, staring at Tim intently.

"Promise me something first," she said, completely serious.

"Of course. Anything."

"Promise me that you won't be mad when you see what I've done, and that you'll hear out my explanation."

Tim scrunched his eyebrows together and half-smiled. "Why would I be mad? Hand them over."

Dawn sighed, shut her eyes, and held the six books out to Tim. Tim laid the books down on the table and picked up the first one. "The Adventures of Molly and Sam: A Trip to the Zoo," Tim read out loud. "This is brilliant!" he exclaimed, admiring the drawings. "The final pictures are fantas-" Tim's voice immediately stopped when he saw the credits. "Story by Emily Morris," he finally read softly. "Illustrations by Dawn Canterbury." Tim gently laid the book down and looked up at Dawn. "What is this, Dawn? Is this why you didn't want me to see these?"

"Tim, I can explain!" Dawn dropped to her knees on the floor next to Tim's chair and took his left hand in both of hers. "Please, just listen to me."

"I'm listening," Tim said quietly, meeting Dawn's eyes to show her that he wasn't mad – yet.

"After…after I left the party, I opened your present in the car. It made me cry, Tim. No one has ever believed in me the way you do. In that instant, I knew that I had to give illustrating a go, even if I failed, because of the faith you had in me." She hesitated before continuing. "Lee and I…we broke up before we landed back in Florida. Please listen, Tim!" she begged when he tried to pull his hand away. "Please, just let me explain."

"I've been in love with you for a long time, Dawn. For a long time I told myself that Lee was the only obstacle between us. I believed that if we had just met before you met him, that things could have been different. And now…now I find out that you've been lying to me all this time while my heart's been breaking. How could you do that to me, Dawn?"

"Tim, please." Tears began to form in Dawn's eyes, and she removed one hand from his to wipe at them.

"Oh, Dawn. Please, don't cry." Tim slid out of his seat and onto the floor with Dawn, pulling her into his arms. "Please, luv, don't cry." Dawn buried her head in Tim's shoulder and began to wail.

"Tim, I wanted to tell you. For so long, I've lived with the guilt of this lie and the agony of not being with you. But when I broke up with Lee I knew that I needed to establish an identity for myself that wasn't dependent on another person – not even you, Tim. I promised myself that when I'd done that, I'd tell you, and beg you to forgive me for not being completely honest with you. Can you understand where I'm coming from? I'd been with Lee since before I received my GCSE, and I never really had the opportunity to figure out who I was as an individual. I was always defined by someone else, and I knew that if I ran back to you before I'd figured myself out that we would both suffer. Please forgive me, Tim. I didn't want you to know, because I didn't want you to hope that something might happen between us, and spend the rest of your life waiting on me to figure myself out." Dawn's words dissolved into tears.

Tim rocked Dawn back and forth in his arms, murmuring soft, nonsensical words as he tried to comfort her.

"It's okay, luv," he finally said when Dawn pulled away from his shoulder and looked at him. "It's hard to accept, but I understand why you did it, and I don't blame you for it. I just wish that you had confided in me – as a friend. I wouldn't have liked waiting, but I would have done it. It's what I've been doing all these years anyways."

"I'm so sorry, Tim."

"No more apologies," he said, his voice once again light-hearted. "I believe I still owe you lunch."

Dawn laughed in spite of herself, then pulled Tim back down as he tried to stand up. "Just one more thing, I promise." She reached up to the table, rummaging around until she found what she was looking for. Tim had leaned back against the wall near the table, and she crawled into his lap, handing him the book before wrapping her arms around his neck. Tim brought one arm around her back to support her and then stared at the book.

"This is your new book?" he asked, looking away from the book and into Dawn's now-red eyes.

"Yeah."

"It looks nice with just your name on the cover, I suppose."

"Tim, I can explain."

"No, no. I said it was fine, remember? I'd be lying if I said I hadn't doodled 'Dawn Canterbury' in the margin of my notes a few times when Gareth got especially long-winded."

Dawn managed a smile. "Tim, I want to explain. When my agent told me that I'd need a pen name, I knew instantly what it would be. You believed in me when no one else did. Does that make sense?"

"I'm honored, Dawn," he said, kissing her temple in reassurance. Tim opened the cover and flipped through the first few pages until he came to the dedication.

"For Tim. I couldn't have done this without you."

"It's true," Dawn whispered, leaning her head against his.

"Dawn, I only believed in something that you already had inside of you. You did this – all of this – by yourself."

Dawn took a deep breath before turning over the pages to the back inside cover. "This is my biography," she said, pointing at the dust jacket.

"It's a nice picture," Tim said.

"Read what it says below," Dawn insisted, dreading this part more than the rest but anxious to have everything out in the open.

Tim looked up from the book and into Dawn's eyes. "Why don't you read it for me," he suggested.

Dawn nodded and closed her eyes. She had memorized every word. Tim stared at her in rapt fascination and adoration. His beautiful Dawn was back from the States and in his arms where she belonged. He didn't care what secrets lay in her biography, didn't care that she'd hidden the truth about her pen name and Lee from him all these years. All that mattered now was that they were together again, and he'd be damned if he'd let her go. He would be hers, completely and wholly, if she'd have him.

Dawn began to speak, and Tim stared at her lips, scarcely hearing the words coming out of them. All he could think about was kissing them.

"Dawn Canterbury was born in Slough, England. Before she began her career as an illustrator of children's books, she worked as a receptionist for various companies, including Wernham-Hogg. There she met her best friend and mentor, who encouraged her to pursue her life-long dream of illustrating. Dawn later moved to Florida, where she first illustrated an award-winning set of children's books written by Emily Morris. This book is Dawn's first attempt at both writing and illustrating. Dawn currently resides in Slough with her boyfriend."

Dawn finished and pursed her lips shut. She wasn't yet ready to open her eyes.

Tim stared at her for a moment, feeling tears well up in his own eyes. "Am I meant to be your boyfriend?" he asked hesitantly.

Dawn nodded but still did not open her eyes. Tim's face lit up, and he leaned over to place a gentle kiss on her lips.

Dawn's eyes snapped open, and she smiled against Tim's mouth, parting her lips slightly to allow him to deepen the kiss. Tim whispered, "I love you, Dawn," into her mouth before gently laying her down on the floor with his body half-covering hers. He pulled his head back to look at Dawn, and she smiled at him, biting her lower lip.

"I love you too, Tim. I've always loved you," she confessed before pulling his head back down until their lips crashed against each other.

A few minutes later, partly undressed and breathing hard, Tim looked over at the bed. "Shall we take it over that way and do this properly?"

Dawn giggled, and Tim smiled at her before standing and pulling her to her feet. In a flurry of laughter, the couple collapsed onto the bed, shedding clothing as they explored each other's bodies.

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"Dawn," Tim said afterwards, propping himself up on one arm and sounding quite serious, although there was a twinkle in his eye. "I think we need to change the last line of your biography."

"You do?" Dawn said merrily, playing along with Tim's game as her hand trailed lazily across his bare chest.

"I do. What do you think about it reading, 'Dawn currently resides in Slough with her fiancé?"

Dawn wrapped her arms around Tim's neck and pulled him down on top of her. "I think it sounds like a lovely idea," she said. "I'll ring my editor and see what he can do."

Fin

"Never give in. Never give in. Never, never, never, never--in nothing, great or small, large or petty--never give in, except to convictions of honor and good sense." - Winston Churchill, often paraphrased as, "Never, never, never give up."