A/N: Here it is, the final part! Word of warning: there will be talk of old people having sex. JSYK. Still, reviews are very much appreciated. Nothing new there.

It had been comforting and safe, his tentatively searching touches, the way she had opened herself to him. All of it had been like coming home. She had wiped away a tear from the corner of his eye threatening to fall and she had buried her face in the crook of his neck as they finally joined. She remembers her quiet pants, the way he softly moaned when she pulled up her leg, had gone with him on the rhythm he set. The curves of their bellies pressed together, the fragile skin of the hollow under her throat sensitive to his hot breath.

Every movement a small expedition.

He traced the scar of where Doctor Clarkson inserted the needle to drain whatever it was that had caused her such anguish, that had pushed them together though they fought it. Decades of self-denial bravely born shattering in dismissive remarks, in song of a long time ago.

"Does it hurt?" He asked, kissing it.

"No..." She kissed the top of his head, the silver hair. "No... it doesn't hurt at all when you kiss me there." Her hand had cupped his cheek. "Your kisses don't hurt me."

Slowly they had marked each other as their own, had gotten tangled in the sheets, she had felt like a bird soaring through the sky when he touched her in a way no-one had ever touched her and she was so happy and thankful and had welcomed his climax with a relish strange to her, to all her ideas of what it would be like to lay with him.

He was careful not to slump on top of her, had rolled away, pulled her close, had kissed her hair, her cheek. She had curled up against him and they had fallen asleep. She woke when night fell, her neck slightly stiff from the way she had slept in the crook of his arm. She had gotten out of bed, quickly pulled a brush through her hair, hoping to be quiet, but he had woken nonetheless, asked her if she was alright.

"Just brushing my hair. Won't be able to manage it in the morning otherwise." She had almost whispered. She felt no shame in letting him see her. He had touched her bare skin. Had kissed her in front of a Vicar. He had brought her flowers. He had said 'I do' in the clearest of voices, booming through the nearly empty church. Had kissed her inside the door of their house, thanked her for unpacking his suitcase.

She felt no shame in showing her body to him because they had finally come home. Because that was when they were together and it was about time.