A/N: Back home on mid-sem break and realised I still hadn't uploaded this…oops. Sorry. Not even sure this fandom still exists…does it? Hello? Anyway this really is the end. I hope you find it fitting, dear reader. I really didn't believe they'd have miraculously gotten over their past and moved on with a big white wedding, etc. I wanted to show them as troubled souls made less troubled for their renewed love. I also find my inability to write an angst-less chapter influenced significantly by a CERTAIN SHOW not being RECOMISSIONED. Dammit. Enjoy.
DISCLAIMER: Still not mine.

10

Epilogue: Two months later…

Freddie was officially discharged from hospital in August and visited Lime Grove for the first time since the El Paradis exposé in the later weeks of that same month. Bel had wheeled him into the main office beaming stupidly and was greeted by a rush of excited squeals, conjuring an odd parallel with another of Freddie's dramatic arrivals earlier that year. But instead of standing coolly bearded in the doorway he was slumped in a wheelchair and the truth of their surprise lay in that he was alive at all to greet them.

"Sit, adoring subjects!" Freddie flung his arms wide and grinned at the flock forming around his chair. "But you, Sissy, you may kiss my hand."

"Oh, Mr Lyon!" Sissy shrieked with laughter and swatted his hand away, instead flinging her arms awkwardly around his shoulders. "We've missed you so much!"

"I'm sure you haven't."

Bel laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently, "Freddie, don't be silly." She looked around for reassurance.

"Oh yes, it's been terrible," Lix nodded emphatically. "Mr Brown has a framed photograph of you on his desk, which he talks to when he thinks no one's looking and apparently Isaac mumbles your name repeatedly in his sleep."

Randall snorted. "Very funny."

"And—" Lix continued, "of course it's lovely to have you back because the office's average level of good looks is so horribly low without you—" She leant in to cradle his face in her hands, "—which is so very distressing for everyone." She patted his cheek and pecked him lightly on the nose. "It's been disastrous, the amount of moping—"

"Stop it, Lix."

"No, no," Freddie giggled, "I want to hear about the moping. Was that you, Isaac—?"

But Hector had shouldered his way to Freddie's side and proceeded to shake the man's hand vehemently. "Great to see you Freddie," he said gruffly. "This place has been a bloody mess without you."

"Ha! You see!" Lix smirked.

Hector cracked a smile, clapping Freddie on the back. "We've had a frightful influx of complaints from old men claiming their wives have destroyed their television sets in frustration at seeing my ugly face there instead of yours."

Freddie laughed vociferously, shaking his head. "Is that the headline you've been working on? It's rubbish."

"I was hoping for more along the lines of 'Quite Good Reporter Returns To Work'." They all turned at the sound of Randall's voice behind them and parted to allow the Head of News to shake his employee's hand. "There's no rush, of course, Mr Lyon," he spoke seriously. "A desk and a high salary await you whenever you're ready."

Lix glanced around in mock alarm. "High salary? Where—?"

Freddie laughed but his expression was of relief. "Thank you, Mr Brown. Means a lot."

Randall nodded, clearing his throat. "I think this calls for an early lunch…"

The office burst into a flurry of approving murmurs.

"Um, Mr Lyon?" Isaac called through the group still surrounding Freddie. "Mr Lyon, I just want you to know that I don't say your name in my sleep. That is, I'm fairly certain I…"

Isaac trailed off at the sudden hysterical laughter that broke out in peals around the office.

"WHISKEY!" Hector boomed over the chorus of spirited giggles and chatter—a small cheer resounded and at once the place was alive again with a fervour not experienced since Freddie had last sat amongst them. All were eager to raise a glass and drink to it.

Randall moved quietly to Lix's side. She was leant against a filing cabinet, now observing the clamour of the room with an air of weariness.

"You don't look happy. Why aren't you smiling?"

She gave a half-hearted laugh. "Should I be smiling?"

"Absolutely."

"You're not, either."

Randall said nothing, only furrowed his brow, holding her gaze intently.

Lix waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, it's nothing."

"Said the Greeks to the Trojans."

"Right." She held his grave eyes for a moment and at once broke into giggles.

"What?"

She shook her head.

"What? Woman, stop being so vague and unreadable."

"Vague and unreadable?" She snorted. "I've been called many things—"

But the corners of his mouth were twitching and he reached gently for her hand, stopping her speech with the mere brush of his fingers. "Tell me what you were thinking," he said slowly, allowing his thumb to trace the back of her hand.

"You'll laugh."

"I won't."

"Well, you'll think I'm silly."

"Bit too late to be worrying about that, I think."

She let go of his hand and swatted his arm in mock offence. "I was just feeling a bit old, that's all. Well—quite old, really." She glanced at him tentatively; his face was turned grave and distant. "It's just these moments occasionally when I wonder what on earth I'm doing anymore. Freddie's back and I should be getting quickly drunk with joy… I—But I just feel tired. And sorry, because Freddie isn't really back and where I used to dismiss thoughts like that it's now a truth I feel I can't ignore. And that makes me feel old…"

Randall nodded slowly. "Yes," he murmured. "You are indeed silly."

Lix shot him a reproachful look. "Well, thanks."

He smiled absently and stole back her hand. "You've grown wise, Lix, that's all."

"Wise. Like a wizard with a long white beard, or an oak tree, or an old woman." Her tone was sarcastic.

He was grinning then, watching the office buzz about Freddie like chirruping sparrows flitting above a nest egg. "Wisdom and age are not interdependent, you know. Look at Mr Madden—" Hector was guffawing loudly and attempting to gesticulate with full vigour whilst downing a drink— "If the words were interchangeable he wouldn't be much older than, say, Isaac and Sissy."

Lix's smile failed to reach her eyes then. She sniffed, clearing her throat tentatively. "What does the future hold for us, Randall?" she ventured softly.

Randall adjusted his spectacles and coughed nonchalantly. He avoided her eyes, opting to direct his gaze instead at a cigarette-burn on the linoleum near his right foot. "Our ratings will soar with the reinstatement of the BBC's best anchor-cum-hero to The Hour and our's will remain the greatest current-affairs show on British television," he spoke quickly, his voice tired.

Sighing, Lix gazed pointedly at their entwined hands. "You know what I meant."

There was no need to elaborate. Randall swallowed, feeling once again, as he did often these days, so incredibly powerless to that omnipotent being—fate or love or God or otherwise—which had toyed with them so wickedly in the past.

"We can't possibly know," he said, still staring at the floor. "But—" and now he raised his head to meet her gaze, a smile suddenly teasing at the corners of his mouth, "—but I know that our future is shared. I will wake up beside you in that ridiculously small flat of ours every day until I die, and in spirit thereafter."

Lix smiled weakly. "Sorry. I shouldn't—"

"Don't be."

She looked at him questioningly, her expression half exasperated, half lost.

"Don't be sorry. For being frightened, I mean." He took a shuddering breath and drew her hands to his chest. "I love you. Always have, always will. Nothing will ever, ever threaten that again."

Lix nodded and squeezed his hand appreciatively in hers before letting go. "And I love you, too."

Pecking her softly on the cheek, Randall smiled. "Come," he said, "Let's join the toast."

They each took a drink and raised their glasses to Hector's slurred words: "Freddie, my man!"

"To Freddie," the murmur resounded through the office.

"And don't bloody well get yourself killed next time!"

"That's enough, Hector," Lix grinned, moving across the room to direct the man into the safety of a chair. "A little less Roman imperator would be nice."

The day passed with an air of unusual joviality after that and as such was also uncharacteristically unproductive. Bel dismissed the office early after growing tired of scolding Sissy for gazing enthralled over the top of her typewriter at Freddie scooting about the room and subsequently forgetting messages left on the telephone—yet even she was glad to escape and enjoy the afternoon pushing Freddie's chair around the common and together gleaning far too much satisfaction from purposefully frightening pigeons.

It had been emphatically agreed—as they shrugged on their coats and exchanged pleasant goodbyes in the stairwell—that they would meet at the pub on the corner of Shepherd's Bush Rd at half six to share another celebratory drink in light of Freddie's return. The office had emptied quickly in an oddly frantic flurry, its occupants leaving in their wake the only two individuals whose minds no longer yearned to break free from the bonds of ritual work.

"Aren't you leaving?"

"Not yet."

Lix, leaning against the doorframe to Randall's office, nodded, unfolded her arms and reached into her coat pocket for a cigarette. She had suspected as much.

"You know," she ventured slowly, "You can't just go on burying yourself in unnecessary paperwork like this."

In his mind's eye, his hesitation was a cool effort to ignore her. Quickly giving up on this notion, he sighed and glanced up at her wearily. "Why not?" he said quietly. "You do."

She laughed somewhat unconvincingly and moved to across the room to him. Shoving away a stack of papers and a small wooden elephant, she perched on the edge of the desk beside his chair. He grasped her hand in an instant and began to massage her knuckles absentmindedly with his thumb. With his other hand he reached for his pen again.

"Uh-uh." Lix tugged on his hand and shot him a look of mock disapproval.

He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Randall, for once you are not picking Option B."

"What's—?"

She sat up straighter on his desk and cleared her throat, eyeing him sternly. "Option B is 'Re-read a report from the Broadcasting Standards Authority'—"

Randall quickly closed the file lying in front of him.

"—which is usually chosen ahead of Option A: 'Sit in awful despair'."

Suddenly engrossed in tracing the veins in the back of her hand, Randall avoided her eyes to venture, "Option C?"

She shook her head, smiling.

He sighed in mock defeat. "I suppose Option C means going to look for you, my dear."

She smirked. "Nice to know I come after the BSA report. Very charming."

"Well broadcasting standards are very important… Evident, I suppose, in that there's an authority in their name…" He glanced at the file and smiled wryly. "God, they're a boring lot. Perhaps a couple of breasts bobbing behind Mr Madden on a field placement shot would really liven the show. Could be the key to boosting our ratings."

Lix kicked his knee playfully. "What about a few 'bloodys' and an 'arse' for maintaining public interest and aiding the communication of current affairs to the nation."

Randall grinned and pushed the file to one side. "Now, now, don't shock me, Lix. That indeed would be the day…" He stood slowly and reached for his coat that lay draped over the back of his chair. Lix watched him with widened eyes.

"Darling, where are you going?"

He opened his briefcase beside her on the desk and began systematically removing its contents into a pile next to his typewriter. He was also airily smiling.

"Are we still on Option C?"

He turned to her at this and smirked. "With you, Lix, I no longer find myself in the type of situation in which options are, in fact, required at all." He raised his eyebrows and bent over her to kiss the top of her head. "Really, anything could happen."

"Well the coat-in-hand thing suggests you aren't about to make love to me on this desk."

He paused and smiled. "Usually I can manage waiting until we are home…"

"I'm not sure the stationery cupboard would attest to that."

"Usually, I said…"

Lix grinned as he moved to stand over her again and she reached for his tie, tracing its length with her thumb and forefinger. Her eyes glinted dangerously.

"Oh dear," he murmured, "The tie manoeuvre?"

"What?" She tugged and at once his lips fell against hers.

Randall and Lix never married. There's was a bond so strong that no wedding was, in fact, ever required in either's mind's eye to validate the assurance of each other's love. Nor was marriage, in light of their past attempt at such, entirely appropriate for the manner in which they now chose to live; together free, forever loved.

Friends, lovers—to each other a confidant and comforter—it was fair to say that Lix and Randall's shared ever-after was, indeed, a happy one.

The end.