A/N: Thank you all for your wonderful reviews. As promised, the second chapter on this two-shot.

He wakes at the crack of dawn as usual, spooned around Jean and feeling utterly blissful – not so usual after all. He wasn't kidding when he told her last night that this was the best Christmas ever. He cannot believe his luck – that Jean should love him and put up with him and his impulsive, often disastrous actions is one thing, but that she should come to him in the night and make sweet, passionate love to him is quite beyond anything he'd dared hope for.

Jean.

His Jean now.

And always.

Never has he loved a woman so. Never has he met her equal. She is so beautiful, so remarkable, so wise and clever and constant, so giving and open and forgiving and wonderful. He doesn't deserve her. He knows that. But by God, he's going to do his utmost to make her happy and protect her. She may claim she doesn't need his protection, that she's been taking care of herself for years and can manage perfectly well without him – and as much as he doesn't like to admit it, that is all perfectly true – but it is his actions that have put her in danger lately, his love and affection, the fact that they live under the same roof when he's clearly besotted with her and has been unable to hide it, all that business with Mei Lin and his messy divorce. Even Norman bloody Baker knew to go after her to get to him, so like it or not, he's going to look after her and safeguard her reputation. She needs to leave the warmth of his embrace soon, before Charlie and Matthew are up and about, and though he hates that their precious time together is almost up and would love nothing more than to spend all day in bed with her, he can't risk her reputation. He's done everything he can to protect it so far and he will continue to do so now and in the future. And though he knows they have nothing to fear from Charlie or Matthew, Jean would be embarrassed and it would change their perception of her.

He can't have that.

There's no way around it – he must wake her... but there is no reason why he can't make said awakening as pleasant as possible.

He presses his lips against her naked shoulder, running his hand from her stomach south, his fingers caressing her skin and seeking out the moist, dark heat of her, the tight bundle of nerves there, intent on giving her pleasure one more time before she leaves him, his own body already responding most satisfactorily to the prospect. They'll have to be quick, but he foresees no problem with that. Jean has been more responsive to him than he'd ever dared hope, and he finds he cannot wait to bind her to him, have her take his name and spend every night in his bed being thoroughly loved by him. He doubts he will ever tire of it.

She stirs, making a sound somewhere between a moan and a whimper, then sighs in bliss and he hardens the rest of the way in an instant, aching to be inside her once more and throwing caution to the wind as his fingers reach their goal, finding her warm and wet and ready for him. Briefly, he marvels at that, the doctor in him knowing that's not often the case at their age, but the thought is quickly smothered by his rising passion that's urging him to slip inside her once more before it is too late. He pulls his hips back and slides himself over her folds and into her welcoming heat in one fluid motion. She gasps as he enters her, her eyes flying open, her body suddenly rigid with shock, causing him to still abruptly, worried by her reaction. "Jean?" he whispers, pressing his lips against her shoulder again, his fingers stilling in her damp curls, his whole body tense, terrified he's presumed too much and that he's hurt her.

"Lucien," she sighs, her hand reaching up to run her fingers through his hair as she presses her hips towards him, and it's all the permission he needs to unleash his passion for her, the same passion that's lead him to have her twice already since she joined him in bed last night and is only making him long for more. He thrusts into her hard, her groan of pleasure loud in the stillness of the early morning, and he worries for a moment that someone will hear them this time, the birdsong filtering through the open window telling him they do not have long before Charlie's up and about, getting ready for work even if it is a holiday.

"Quiet, love," he whispers in her ear, pushing her onto her stomach as he covers her body with his own so her face is in the pillow, strumming her clit with his fingers as he drives into her again and again, hard and fast until she breaks, moaning into the pillow and pulling him with her.

His body is slick with sweat in the aftermath, his heart still pounding, breath heavy as he lifts his weight off her, kissing her shoulder again before he rolls off her altogether and comes to rest on his back, totally spent and sated.

"You're a man possessed, Lucien," she murmurs after a bit, and as he turns his head to look at her, he can't help grinning at her with pride and satisfaction. "It I'd know how difficult it was going to be to pry myself from your bed, I might never have come down here last night."

"If I knew you'd slip into my bed every night, Jean," he counters, rolling onto his side to face her and running his hand appreciatively down her back and over her gorgeous bottom, "I wouldn't feel the need to take every opportunity now."

"Every night, is it?" she asks, her eyes alight. "Am I ever going to get any sleep at all once we're married?"

"Not for the first month," he grins. "Perhaps longer. I no longer work for the police and patients are rather thin on the ground at present. I'll have to keep myself busy doing something."

He sees her smile at that and a contented silence settles between them for a few moments as they continue to gaze at each other. He knows she's got to leave him soon and he can't help wishing that she wouldn't, that they were already on their honeymoon and could spend all day together, naked in each other's arms. He must do his utmost to get everything sorted soon so they can get married. He's not sure he can bear to wait another day to join his life to hers.

"You are beautiful, Jean," he murmurs eventually, taking the opportunity to let his eyes roam over her as the darkness fades to day around them.

"As are you," she replies, reaching a hand across to caress his chest. He watches her as her gaze moves lower and she studies his body, appreciation in her gaze until her eyes alight on the scar on his stomach where Walker stabbed him and she frowns, her fingers gently tracing over it. "I don't want to lose you, Lucien," she says, lifting worried eyes to his. "I don't think I could bear to go through that again."

"You won't," he reassures her quickly, silently vowing to himself to be more careful, less impulsive in his actions from now on. "I'm a tough bugger to kill and I now have everything to live for." He reaches for her, drawing her into his embrace and softly kissing her lips, delighting in the way she turns in his arms to face him, all her soft, feminine curves moulding to him, her fingers wrapping round his neck, threading through his hair and beard, thumb gliding over his chin and Adam's apple.

"Yes, you do," she murmurs against his lips, "and don't you forget it." Then she gives him one last, firm kiss and turns away, adding, "I've got to go."

He sighs, slumping back onto the bed and watching her get up and slip back into her nightclothes, admiring her grace and beauty and wanting her all over again. She ties the cord of her dressing gown around her waist and moves over to his dressing table, looking at herself critically in the mirror as she threads her fingers through her hair, trying to fix the damage their repeated love making has inflicted. "Use my comb if you like," he offers as he watches through hooded eyes, resisting the urge to pull her back into bed and do all manner of things to her. He desperately wants to bury his face between her legs, for instance, but he rather thinks he'll have to wait a little while to experience that pleasure.

Last night has confirmed his suspicion that his Jean is a novice when it comes to the pleasures of the flesh, despite her many years of married life and bearing two children, and he very much looks forward to initiating her into the world of possibilities available to them. He rather thinks she'll be a willing participant and avid student if he takes his time about it and she learns to trust him. Her passion between the sheets is a source of great wonder and excitement to him and he can't wait to have her in his bed every night, naked and writhing beneath him... or above him, he cannot help but think with relish.

"Lucien?" She's frowning at him, her cheeks colouring at the obvious state of growing excitement he finds himself in as these thoughts bounce around his head.

He sighs and sits up, swinging his legs out of bed and reaching for his PJs. He slips the bottoms on, standing to pull them up and tie the chord, then sliding his arms through the short sleeves of the top before buttoning it quickly as he says, "I'll check the coast is clear for you. You go on back to bed, alright? I'll make breakfast this morning."

She lifts her eyebrows at him in disbelief.

"What?" he asks, sliding his feet into his slippers and grabbing his silk robe, slipping that on too before he runs his fingers through his hair to flatten it.

"You don't think that will look suspicious?"

"No," he assures her, taking a step closer and gently grasping her arms as he looks into her eyes. "It's Boxing day. You're allowed a morning off, Jean. I'll bring you up a cup of tea."

"Lucien," she begins, but he doesn't let her finish, silencing her with a kiss.

He doesn't intend it to last long, but the feel of her lips against his and the knowledge that it'll be God knows how long until he has another opportunity to kiss her makes him draw her into his arms and kiss her passionately. She whimpers and shivers – his Jean reduced to a whimpering, quivering mess in his arms – and he can't help feeling rather smug about it, his eyes sparkling with joy when they eventually break apart.

"Jean," he murmurs as he wraps his arms around her, holding her in his embrace for a moment, his cheek resting against the side of her head. "Thank you for coming to me last night."

"I can't keep doing this, Lucien," she replies softly.

"I know." He understands. He knows respectability is everything in this town. It's why he'd left and never wanted to come back. This is a precious gift that she has given him, not something to be repeated often, not until they're married at any rate. "But when... if you feel the timing's right again, Jean, you know I'll be here... waiting for you."

"I know," she replies, pulling out of his arms and gently kissing his cheek.

They gaze into each other's eyes for a moment more and then he releases her, walking to the door and out into the hallway, checking his surgery first and then the kitchen for any sign of their lodgers. No one seems to be up and about yet, so he quickly returns to his room and motions for her to come out. She follows him down the hall to the stairs, where she gently runs her hand across his back as she slips behind him, hurrying up and out of sight, leaving him standing in her wake with a ridiculously happy smile on his lips and a deep sense of longing in his heart and mind and somewhere rather a lot further south than that too.

He sighs and turns on his heel, slipping back into his room to quickly go through his morning routine before coming out once more, ready to get started on breakfast. It's not quite half past five when he puts the kettle on and only a few minutes after that when Charlie makes his appearance.

"Morning, Doc," he says.

"Good morning, Charlie," he beams as he turns to face him. "Sleep well?"

"Yes. Thank you," Charlie replies, looking a little surprised by the question. "Did you?"

"Like a baby." He grins, then claps his hands together. "Right. Tea's ready. Help yourself. And I'm working on the coffee."

"Thanks. Where's Mrs Beazley?"

"I sent her back to bed," he says without thinking, then seeing the look on Charlie's face, hastens to add, "She deserves the morning off. I said I'd take care of breakfast."

"Right," Charlie replies sceptically. "And she let you?"

He turns to look at Charlie again. "What? I may not know how to make scones, but I can manage a decent fry-up, Charlie." Mattie would have appreciated that joke, but Charlie looks blank and not at all convinced. He misses Mattie and wonders suddenly when she'll be back for a visit. He can't imagine getting married to Jean without her there. He wonders if Lee will be able to come too. Maybe she can bring the baby with her. His granddaughter. He'd love to meet her.

He shakes his head to clear it. "You're probably right," he concedes. "She's probably testing me, trying to see how much of a hash I'll make of things."

Now Charlie nods and smiles. "My mother always said it was the clean up."

"The clean up? How d'you mean?"

"Men fail at the clean up. They can learn to cook and do a decent job of it, but they never clean up the kitchen after themselves."

He smiles and pats Charlie on the back. "Good man. Let's surprise her, eh?"

"I'll start on the toast then, shall I?" he offers.

"By all means," Lucien agrees. "I'll get started on the bacon, but first, I promised to bring Jean a cup of tea. Won't be a moment." And with that, he turns his back on Charlie to pour the cup of tea and carry it upstairs.

"Jean?" he calls, knocking lightly on her bedroom door.

"Come in," she replies, so he pushes open the door and steps into her room. She's sitting at her dressing table, putting down her hairbrush, and turns to look at him as he enters.

"Your tea," he murmurs, trying and failing to push aside the images from last night that crowd his mind and the emotions that flood his heart. She's even more breathtaking now that he knows what lies hidden beneath her pretty, blue blouse and tight, brown skirt and he can't help the longing that wells up in him. She's wearing the earrings he gave her yesterday and his engagement ring on her finger, her rose painted lips calling to him, begging it seems to be kissed. Somehow, he manages to resist the temptation, setting the teacup down by her elbow and adding, "Breakfast is on its way."

She smiles and stands slowly, her eyes on his, holding his hostage. "Thank you, Lucien," she whispers, reaching her hand forward to rest it on his forearm. "I don't believe I said that earlier."

He swallows hard, desperate to kiss her, hold her, make love to her on the bed beside them. "You don't need to thank me, Jean," he murmurs, moving his hand to grasp hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I think I do," she says. "You made it so easy when it could have been so hard."

He wants to tease her, tell her that she'll always make him hard and, if not, there's always pine-bark tea, but he resists the temptation. Soon, he tells himself. Soon they'll be ready for that kind of banter, but not before they're married and have experienced several more nights like last night together.

"My pleasure, Jean," he says instead, opting for something a little milder.

"Oh no," she replies, squeezing his hand with an answering twinkle in her eyes, "the pleasure was all mine." Then she takes a step back and reaches for her tea, lifting the cup to her lips while she blushes, perhaps as shocked as he at her forward comment.

He almost says something to put her at ease, but his eye become transfixed by the sight of her lips puckering up to take a sip of the warm liquid and he finds all he can think about is her lips on his. "I never thought I'd be jealous of a piece of crockery," he grumbles when she returns the cup to the saucer.

She laughs in surprise and sets the teacup aside, taking a step closer. "Is that why you spend half your time breaking perfectly serviceable pieces?" she teases, clearly recovered from her momentary embarrassment.

"Quite possibly, yes," he murmurs, reaching for her, his hands resting on her hips as he kisses her, then moving up her back to draw her closer, his passion for her overflowing.

It is Jean, as usual, who brings them back from the brink, pushing him away and leaning back out of his reach. "Breakfast is not going to make itself, Lucien," she says simply.

"Right," he agrees. "You're right," and begins to turn away only to have her stop him with a hand on his arm.

She reaches up her right hand and wipes at his bottom lip, smiling up at him when she's done, murmuring, "Lipstick."

"Right," he smiles and turns to leave, walking back down the stairs with a new spring in his step as he considers how lucky a man he truly is.

"Right, Charlie," he says as he steps into the kitchen only to stop short at the sight of Charlie and Matthew sitting at the table, eating. "How long was I gone?" he asks incredulously before he can think better of it.

"Long enough to make two platefuls of eggs and bacon," Matthew replies dryly.

"Four," Charlie corrects. "Help yourself. And don't worry, Doc. You can take all the credit. We won't tell Mrs Beazely."

"Right. Thank you, Charlie," he replies, sheepishly. "I didn't mean to let you do all the work."

"It's alright, Doc. I'm happy to help."

"You're a good man, Charlie," he smiles, clapping the young man on the shoulder. "Morning, Matthew," he adds as he carries his plate to the cooker and serves himself some breakfast. "Sleep well?"

"Tolerably," he replies. "You're looking very chipper this morning."

He grins, taking a seat at the table and pouring himself some tea. "I am," he replies. "It was an excellent Christmas."

"That nice, good morning kiss didn't help at all then," Matthew replies sarcastically.

For a second, Lucien almost panics, but then he realises Matthew's probably making an assumption about why he was so long taking Jean her tea, so he laughs, pointing his fork at him and saying, "You know the next Mrs Lawson is out there somewhere, Matthew, and it would do you a world of good to find her and quickly."

"Is that a prescription, Doctor?" Matthew grumbles.

"Yes. Yes, it is." He grins and takes another mouthful of food. "Take Alice, for example," he continues after he swallows, watching Matthew closely for a reaction. "She's a nice woman, has a great sense of humour, she-"

"Blake!" Matthew interrupts, looking and sounding cross.

Lucien grins, spreading his palms out in a placating gesture. "I was just saying..."

"Well, don't."

"Right." He suppresses a smile and turns to Charlie. "What about you, Charlie?"

"Oh! Err..." Charlie stammers, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Did you enjoy Christmas?" Lucien asks, grinning, his good humour after last night making him mischievous.

"I did. Thank you, Doc," Charlie replies quickly, looking relieved. Then he adds, "If you'll excuse me, I'd better get to the station." And he gets up, carrying his plate and cup to the sink.

"Leave that, Charlie," Lucien says. "I'll take care of the clean up."

Charlie smiles and nods, then disappears from the room and soon they hear the front door open and close behind him.

"That lad has turned into a fine young officer," Lucien comments.

"Yes," Matthew agrees, but he looks a little dejected. He's not wearing his uniform this morning, so presumably, he's not going into the station.

"Got the day off?" Lucien asks him.

"Yes," Matthew replies, then grumbles, "much good that it'll do me."

"Come on, Matthew," he objects. "No need for that now. What say you and I go down to the pub? I'll buy you a drink."

"At six in the morning?" Matthew frowns. "That's your answer to everything, isn't it, Blake?"

"No," Lucien replies, refusing to let Matthew destroy his good humour. "My answer to everything is sex, but that's not an option until the bloody courts grant me a divorce," he mutters, watching with satisfaction as shock registers on Matthew's face. He grins. "Find yourself a good woman to love, Matthew, and marry her. That'll take care of everything."

Matthew shakes his head at him and sighs.

"What?" he asks.

"Look at me, Blake. I'm not exactly prime marriage material, am I?"

"You mean your leg," Lucien replies with sudden understanding.

Matthew just glares at him.

"Matthew, you're a good man, honest, courageous – as your injury and how you got it demonstrates quite nicely – you don't drink, and you're a good provider," he says, willing him to see himself as more than an invalid. "The leg is not important."

"Not important?!" Matthew interrupts, his eyes flashing with indignation.

"What I'm saying is that there are ways to get around any problems in might cause, ways to accommodate for your injuries," he explains, before he can say more, however, they hear Jean coming down the hall, humming to herself. "I have a book you can read," he says quickly. "Actually, I have several. Remind me if I forget later." And with that, he rises from the table and smiles at Jean as she enters the room.

"Good morning, Matthew," she beams. "Lucien."

"Morning, Jean," they both reply, almost in chorus.

"Have a seat," Lucien says quickly. "I'll get you some breakfast and make a fresh pot of tea."

"You make the tea, I'll get my breakfast," she replies, smiling at him as she picks up her plate and walks around him to the cooker.

"And I'll get a move on," Matthew adds, rising to his feet and bringing his plate over to the sink as Lucien fills the kettle. "You two have a good day."

"You too, Matthew," he says as Jean replies simultaneously, "Thank you."

They manage to have a normal conversation after that – the longer he spends without touching her, the easier it becomes to slip back into their normal routine and pull his mind away from the delicious way they spent the night. He's sure tonight it won't be so easy when he's lying alone in bed, pining for her, but for now, it's good to be back in control and just enjoy spending time with her – his Jean.

He insists on washing up the dishes when they're done with breakfast, so they spend some time more talking quietly as he washes and she dries and puts things away. He even remembers to wipe the table and push all the chairs in before he rinses his hands and takes the tea-towel she offers him to dry them, spreading it out on the oven handle to dry.

"I'm impressed," she confesses, smiling up at him.

"That's good," he replies, taking a step closer to her and leaning down to kiss her. "I have something I wanted to talk to you about," he adds as he steps back.

"Alright," she agrees.

"Come into my surgery." He doesn't want to risk anyone overhearing this conversation, and though the house is empty with both Charlie and Matthew out, it feels more secure somehow in his office.

She frowns, but nods and takes his hand when he offers it, following him down the hall to his office. "I know," he begins once they're both settled in chairs, "that I'm not your doctor, Jean, and I understand why, but I am a doctor and I can't help but worry, after last night, that there might be... consequences to our actions that-"

"I'm not pregnant, Lucien," she interrupts quickly, her cheeks colouring a little, but her gaze as direct as ever.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." She nods firmly.

"Right," he murmurs, leaning back in his chair, feeling somewhat deflated. He's not feeling relieved exactly, or disappointed. Perhaps it's a mixture of both. "That's good."

"Is it?" she asks, studying him closely.

"Well, yes. We haven't talked about it and we're not yet married. I wouldn't want..." He tails off studying her. "Is it a possibility, Jean?" he asks softly.

"Yes," she replies, dropping her gaze for the first time, her hands smoothing down her skirt. "It's not... I've not..." she stammers and takes a deep breath. "I've not gone through the change yet," she says lifting her eyes to his. She's so beautiful and brave and wonderful that it hurts his heart a little to think that she has chosen him. "I talked to Alice about it," she admits. "It's possible, but not this time. I made sure of it."

"And would you like to have more children, Jean?" he asks softly, reaching for her hand.

She smiles at him, squeezing his hand. "Maybe," she confesses. "A little girl. I've always wanted a daughter. I lost one, you know. Mid-term. Catherine. Her name would have been Catherine."

"Oh, Jean," he murmurs, his heart breaking for her. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

She smiles crookedly at him. "It's okay. We never really talked about it. I always felt it was my punishment for not waiting until we were married."

He watches her in silence as he processes this piece of information, wondering what more he can say. She is such a remarkable woman. So strong and wonderful. He squeezes her hand in silent support and understanding, astounded that she had the courage to come to him last night given all she suffered through before and how she's chosen to interpret her loss. As a doctor, he knows that there could be several explanation for her miscarriage that have nothing to do with God or her having sex outside wedlock. He knows how important her faith is to her though and he would never dream of questioning it, shaking it, or depriving her of it. That she came to him last night though... He can't fathom why she did it, but he's so grateful for it, for her courage and her love.

"You are the most remarkable woman I've ever met, Jean," he whispers softly, "And I love you. So much."

She smiles, lifting her gaze to his and quickly wiping the moisture from her eyes with her free hand. "What about you?" she asks, clearly ready to move on. "Would you like more children?"

"Maybe," he echoes her, imagining a laughing, little girl with Jean's eyes and smile, running into his open arms. "I never got to be there for Lee, to watch her grow up."

She smiles. "We'd best not wait too long to decide then, Doctor," she replies, squeezing his hand again and getting up, moving close to him and reaching down to stroke his hair and kiss his forehead.

"Not long, no," he replies, sighing in bliss, his heart overflowing with joy and happiness.