Chapter Text
Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
— T.S. Eliot, “Burnt Norton”
When she wakes, blearily, she shifts to her opposite side in the uncomfortable hospital bed.
She sees him there, in the same place he has been for the last several days, from the moment she first awoke.
The man they say is her husband.
There had been an accident, they'd said, a bad one. She had been touch-and-go for a while, and her husband had been there the entire time.
“Bit annoying, actually,” one of the kinder nurses, Siena, had told her with a wink. “Refused to leave your side and threatened to get his—your—pitbull lawyer brother- and sister-in-law involved when they tried to kick him out of the waiting room.”
Brother- and sister-in-law.
The words had entered her brain but she couldn't process them properly. She had assumed Siena was talking about…but then that meant he was married, to another lawyer no less, and that was something she simply could not imagine. Her…husband’s older brother was not the kind of man she had ever thought could be ensnared by the bonds of marriage.
But times had changed.
As evidenced by the man sleeping soundly across the room from her.
Penelope watches him dozing in the small chair, his tall frame hunched over into a position she knows must be immensely uncomfortable. His chestnut curls are a tangled mess and his stubble has started to encroach into beard-like territory.
But she can still see the scar on his chin from when she accidentally knocked him off his bike when they were kids, the yellow ribbons loose from her braids floating on the breeze blinding him before he steered himself into a tree and crashed to the ground.
She can see the small crease in his brow that he always gets when he's working on a complex problem, particularly one he enjoys and wants to solve. She thinks about all the times his tongue would inadvertently poke out of his mouth when he would get lost in thought, while her own thoughts would begin leading her down a path she knew was dangerous and, most importantly, pointless.
She knows this man; she has known him nearly her whole life.
But she does not know Colin Bridgerton as her husband.
She shifts on the bed again and it must make some kind of discernable noise because Colin’s eyes snap open. He sits up quickly and is at her side in an instant. “Hi,” he greets softly. His hand twitches as if to reach for her, but he seems to think better of it and merely places it on the side of the bed.
The tenderness in his eyes unnerves her. They have always been gentle with one another, have always treated one another with a special kind of love and kindness, but this…
She squirms under his gaze and winces at the pain in her midsection. She hisses under her breath and her hand automatically extends toward the affected area.
“Are you still having pain?” Colin asks worriedly, deepening the wrinkle between his brows.
Another surprise she had woken up to—a C-section incision. When she had asked, bewildered, about the cut, the nurses told her she had, indeed, given birth as a result of her accident, but they left it up to Colin to tell her the rest, thinking it best if news of a personal nature came from her family.
Even if she doesn’t remember them as such.
She could tell, as he talked with her about it, that it was difficult for him to not be touching her.
“Twins,” he'd said. “A boy and a girl.” He’d swallowed thickly before continuing. “They're…in the NICU but seem to be doing well, considering. Our girl is quite the fighter.”
Penelope’s heart had swelled. “And our boy?” The our had slipped out so naturally; she hadn't been able to help herself.
Something had flickered across his expression at her words, but he schooled it quickly. “He is…he’s small, Pen. But the doctors are optimistic.”
Her heart had stuttered in her chest at the thought of her tiny boy struggling to exist. “Can I see them?”
Unfortunately, due to her own recovery, she had not been allowed for several more days, but Colin assured her that the babies had been well cared for by the staff and the Bridgertons.
“Mum has been looking in almost every day. And Ant if you can believe it.”
She couldn't. The Anthony she remembered was, of course, loving in his own way, but he and Colin were not close. Good in a crisis? Definitely, but only because he kept a level head, not because he was the one to hold space for you or, apparently, fervently watch over your babies.
But now he is not only married, he is caring for Colin and making sure she and their children are well—to the point that he was trading shifts with Violet, whose devotion came as no surprise, but for Anthony to be her second in command…
Nothing felt as it should.
“Are you alright?” Colin asks again, his voice tentative.
She offers him a placating smile. “Yes, just uncomfortable. I think I will be until the strip dissolves and the incision heals.”
Colin nods in understanding. “Just another week or two I think they said. But if you have any severe discomfort or pain—”
“Report it to them immediately, I know.”
The silence thrums between them awkwardly, something she doesn't recall ever happening to them during the decades-long tenure of their friendship. But since she had awakened, there has been little opportunity for them to really talk—for a multitude of reasons.
She thinks, for a moment, about the whirlwind of emotions that had rushed through her when her eyes first fluttered open a few days ago—fear, confusion, insecurity, and even a bit of hostility as the nursing staff worked with their gentle but firm hands to force her back into her bed when she tried—on unsteady legs—to leave it, only to find her body weak and unfamiliar. They’d had to sedate her and she remembers Colin bounding into the room, his eyes panicked and expression pained, his voice nearly thunderous (not toward her, never at her; that much she knows, at least)—something she didn’t think she’d ever heard before—the last thing she heard as she faded into oblivion.
She felt embarrassed when she woke later. The rest of her emotions were still knotted within her like a poorly wound skein of yarn, but she somehow felt more like herself when she opened her eyes for the second time.
The irony was not lost on her, thinking back.
She watches now as Colin rocks back and forth on his heels. “So…going home in a few days.”
Her eyes widen just a fraction. She does not want him to be alarmed by her unease, but she reacts so instinctually to his words she cannot fully control her expression until the last possible moment. “Hm?”
The passage of time has been meaningless to her since she initially woke up; a haze of light and dark wherein she, at various points, has eaten tasteless food and slept intermittently at the behest of Siena and Colin.
She feels a bit mad, sometimes, trying to maintain her grip on reality.
Her version of reality, at least.
She has moments when she wonders why her body does not feel like her own; why her skin feels stretched and swollen all at once. Then she'll unconsciously run her hand across her C-section scar or someone will mention her babies and it all comes back to her.
She'll spot Colin dozing in a chair and her heart will flutter with equal parts exhilaration and anxiety, confused and pleased all at once. He is her husband, yet she still cannot fathom how such a thing could be possible.
But still he smiles nervously at her and says, “I'm taking you home soon. The doctors said once you were stable—if you remained conscious and alert with no complications—then you'd be discharged.”
Home.
Home with Colin.
Her teenaged-self would be squealing with delight and might have fainted on the spot hearing those words—even at the mere idea—but in the present she cannot find the wherewithal to truly make sense of them.
She tries to picture it—the home that they have shared for, apparently, the last five years, three of which have been spent in wedded bliss.
But her mind is blank.
It is easy to imagine Colin’s home, having spent time at his various flats more times than she can count over the years. She knows his furniture, his knickknacks, his secret bad habits; she can clearly see in her mind’s eye a laundry basket with clean clothes sitting next to his sofa waiting to be folded, the few spare dishes in the sink that have been rinsed but not loaded into the dishwasher, his mugs down to the dregs of coffee or tea sitting on his desk that he abandoned when he really got lost in whatever project he was working on.
What she cannot picture is her own things blended into the mix. Are her books side-by-side with his; her favorite romances cozied up next to his favorite travel guides? Is his first published book—which she does have a clear memory of helping him edit, of encouraging him to send out—on display next to hers?
Because she is also, according to Colin, a best-selling author, which came as quite a shock. As far as she knew, she was still anonymously writing her Whistledown gossip column for The Ton Weekly.
But Colin had practically beamed as he corrected her and told her about her success. “Your first novel was a smash hit. Your publisher asked you to sign on for two sequels and another novel of your choosing.” His face had changed then and he looked away. “You were working on your second novel and set to go on a book tour where you would announce the title after the babies were born.”
Before the accident are the words that go unsaid.
“Will you tell me what happened?”
Colin bites the inside of his cheek the way he does when he's nervous. “Pen…”
She'd asked him this shortly after she'd woken up and he'd put her off by saying she needed to rest, especially considering she had been inundated with so much information that she already seemed a bit overwhelmed. She'd allowed it then, but now….
“I think I have a right to know.”
Colin averts his eyes and begins to fidget anxiously with his hands at his sides—another tic she knows well. “I don't disagree with you. But the doctors said you need to remember things on your own.”
Penelope scoffs. “Even my own bloody accident? I've begrudgingly accepted that I'll have to learn about the past five years of my life all over again, but can't you just tell me this one thing? For my peace of mind?”
Her voice wavers on the last few words and she can see his resolve weakening. “I shouldn't…”
“Please, Colin.”
He lets out a resigned sigh and runs a hand over his face. When he looks at her again, she is taken aback by how weary he suddenly looks. “You…you were T-boned by another driver who ran the light, and then hit by another car because the impact sent you across a few lanes of traffic.”
“Jesus.”
Colin’s face has gone pale. “The car was a complete loss. When I saw—” He doesn't continue.
Penelope instinctually reaches for his arm, placing a comforting hand atop it. “I'm alright, Col.”
She sees his eyes mist over and the way his throat works to force back the tears that are threatening to fall. She wonders why he is hiding from her; he has never shielded his emotions from her before.
An ugly voice in her head has struggled to accept a Colin who loves her unconditionally as his wife. It slithers in and taunts her with reasons that the reality before her cannot be possible. Every time he does something that she deems out of character, it hisses low and wicked words of repudiation.
Is he distancing himself from me? Now that I don't remember our marriage, is it finally his chance to escape? Is this the easy out he's always wanted?
She holds her own feelings back as he inhales deeply and offers her a conciliatory smile. “Would you like to go see the twins?”
An easy point of connection and a pivot that releases the palpable tension building in the room. Even if she feels untethered from her new reality in a plethora of ways, she feels reeled back in the moment she sets eyes on her babies; like a cog snapping into place that sets a gear into motion, she feels more capable of moving forward into this strange new world as she gazes upon the small, quick-breathing forms in their respective incubators.
Their baby girl, it appears, is already developing brown hair in a shade that matches Colin’s. Something about that tugs deeply at Penelope's heart strings, as does watching the man himself run his finger up and down the side of the isolette.
Their boy, though, seems to take after her, the downy tufts on his scalp taking on a red hue that mirrors her own. Her chest feels tight at the thought, knowing that something she once felt such shame for is now a point of treasure and pride as she gazes down at her son.
She places a hand atop his incubator and feels a tear slide down her cheek. He is so very small, despite having grown since he was born, or so she has been told. Her heart is so full of love for them both she does not know what she will do if either one does not survive this.
“They are strong, Pen,” Colin murmurs from beside her, reading her mind. She feels him place a hand on her shoulder and give it a squeeze. She desperately wants to lean into his touch, to accept the comforting gesture, but she does not trust herself, so she only nods.
“Yes. They're half of us, after all. And who is more stubborn than Colin Bridgerton and Penelope Featherington at the end of the day?”
“Bridgerton.”
Penelope turns to face him and raises a brow. “That’s what I said.”
She is surprised when his cheeks color and he clears his throat. “Um. Not exactly. You said Colin Bridgerton and Penelope Featherington. It's—”
“Penelope Bridgerton,” she finishes quietly.
Penelope Bridgerton.
The awkward, buzzing silence returns in full force.
“Eloise,” Colin says after a moment.
“Hm?”
He sends her a playful smirk. “You asked who is more stubborn than us at the end of the day.” He shrugs. “Eloise.”
Penelope stares at him for half a second before bursting into nearly uncontrolled laughter and Colin follows suit. A nurse glares at them and they see themselves out. They collect themselves and Penelope smiles broadly at him as he holds her steady.
This is the Colin she knows—teasing, silly, supportive. She does not know how to be his wife, does not know how to trust in his love for her as such, but she does know how to be his friend. And maybe that's a great place for her to start as she attempts to put together the puzzle that is now her life.
Or, she supposes, their life.
The twins would stay in the NICU for at least six more weeks, so even though Penelope and Colin would be leaving, their babies would remain behind.
Penelope’s throat feels tight at the thought as she finishes dressing for the day, finally allowed to wear normal clothes instead of the dreadful hospital gown. She knows, of course, it would not be appropriate or safe for them to come home, but the idea of leaving them…
She has only known them for a few days, does not even remember carrying them, but she still feels as though her heart is living outside her body each time she looks at them. Somehow there is something within her that inherently seems to understand that they are hers despite her lack of memory surrounding anything about them. Everything seems more bearable, possible in some intangible way knowing they are waiting for her, relying on her.
“We’ll visit every day,” Colin assures her—more than once, in fact. Essentially every time he has sensed her unease he has been there with these words of affirmation, assuaging her guilt for leaving and providing her with the courage she needs to go.
And she knows she needs to leave, for she cannot continue to live this…life she does not know from the confines of a hospital bed. Though she is still a bit stiff and uncomfortable as a result of her accident—not to mention being confined to the hospital bed—her physical ailments are significantly better; most of her recovery is mental now. She knows her doctors would not allow her to leave if there were any real concerns for her health.
Dr. Strelitz, her neurologist, and Dr. Danbury, her surgeon (and all around amazing physician, in Penelope’s humble opinion), had been very encouraging that morning when they came to visit her to sign off on her discharge.
Dr. Strelitz had given her a quick once over before departing—asking her basic questions and checking her cognition—sending best wishes and an apology for having to leave so quickly. “The brain waits for no one!” she called out as she quit the room with a wave.
Penelope had waved back and turned her attention to Dr. Danbury.
“I’ve scheduled you for a check-up next week,” Dr. Danbury told her, looking over her chart.
Penelope nodded. “I’ll be here anyway.”
“I assumed as much. Should I tell Charlotte to schedule you as well? I'm sure she would have asked herself if she wasn't in such a rush.”
“Charlotte?”
Dr. Danbury chuckled. “Dr. Strelitz. I know she’d like to continue to monitor your brain activity.”
“Is there anything we should look out for? Anything that might be concerning?” Colin asked, his expression uneasy. Penelope supposed she should have been more nervous about something else happening, but by then, she was less worried about other disturbances and more worried about how to adapt to the baffling life that was now allegedly hers.
Dr. Danbury gave him a reassuring smile. “Any other lapses in memory, like things in the short-term. For example, forgetting this hospital stay or confusion about the events since she woke up. Then obvious signs like losses of consciousness, frequent dizzy spells—things like that.”
“What if memories start to come back?”
This question had made Penelope stiffen. She didn’t blame him for asking, but it was hard for her to hear nonetheless. Would he be unhappy if her memories never came back? Would he be able to love and care for her just as she was?
“I’d make a note of it,” Dr. Danbury told them. “Then you can relay it to Dr. Strelitz at your appointments-—or to me if the two of you aren’t scheduled to meet—and we can determine if the memory is authentic or not.”
Colin had frowned at that. “Why would her memories not be authentic?”
“Sometimes, in cases like these, true memories can get mixed in with dreams we had or even films we watched. People in Penelope’s position—with significant memory loss—often can have trouble discerning between fact and fiction. There is also the trouble of determining if she is remembering something from her own perspective or from the perspective of someone who relayed the events back to her—this is why it’s important for her to remember things on her own rather than have things be told to her.”
Colin had glanced at her then and she felt her cheeks flush.
“You may also experience ‘muscle memory,’” Dr. Danbury added. “Times where you do things you had always done before without thinking. That can be equal parts exciting and disconcerting. You can make a note of that also—it may help to see what seems consistent and what doesn’t.”
Penelope nodded in agreement and both she and Colin had said their goodbyes.
Colin stepped out so Penelope could change—which she appreciated, but felt guilty about all the same—and they agreed they’d stop by the NICU one last time before departing—the last two things on their to-do list before departing.
It was time to go home.
She knows she should feel a flicker of recognition as Colin steers the Range Rover through an upscale neighborhood.
But she doesn't, other than a general sense of familiarity that comes with seeing cookie-cutter houses with their manicured lawns.
When he pulls into the drive of the house she assumes must be theirs, she is surprised that it looks a little different than the others. The lawn is still perfectly cut, but there are a rainbow of flowers blooming in the beds out front and plants covering the porch; some in colorful pots and others hanging from hooks, their leaves dangling loosely over the edges.
Colin rushes to open her door as soon as he parks. This is something she does remember about him. Even during the height of their friendship, he'd insisted on chivalry, despite both hers and Eloise’s teasing eye rolls.
The thought of Eloise stops her in her tracks. She knows they had spoken of her in passing at the hospital, but now that they're…home, the reality of her best friend hits her full force.
“How is Eloise?” she asks him as he unlocks the front door. “You…you didn't mention her when you talked about your family being at the hospital.” She feels a knot growing in the pit of her stomach. Had something happened between the two of them?
Colin sets down their things and gives her a calming smile. “She FaceTimed. She and her fiancé live abroad.”
Penelope makes a strangled sound. “Fiancé?”
Eloise being engaged makes even less sense than Anthony being married. She remembers the two of them joking that they would become old maids together. Penelope indulged in the fantasy mostly because she knew Colin would never return her feelings, but she had thought Eloise was strong in those convictions.
“They moved to Scotland last year, where Philip's family is from, so his relatives could help with the children, and for his research—he's a botanist and got an important grant or something.” He gestures vaguely, as if the details were unimportant.
“They have…children?”
Colin chuckles. “I know. It was a surprise to us all. Philip is a widower. His children are twins as well, actually.”
The way he finishes his sentence gives her the sense he wants to say more. She furrows her brow. “What is it?”
Colin looks away. “I…” He taps his fingers nervously on the side table in the entryway. He inhales and seems to come to a decision. “He and Eloise had a child of their own a few months ago.” He tries to fight back a small smile that inevitably twitches at the corner of his mouth. “It's part of the reason they decided to get married, actually. Not for any old-fashioned traditional reasons, of course. Eloise was staunchly committed to being ‘life partners’ and not needing anything legal to prove their love and devotion to one another, and Philip would do anything she asked, poor sap. But shortly after they found out, Amanda—Philip's daughter—broke her arm, and Eloise took her to emergency. But after they arrived, Eloise wasn't allowed to see her because she 'wasn't family.’”
Penelope gapes at him. “Oh my god.”
“I know. So that sort of sealed the deal for her. Of course, Philip would be on their child’s birth certificate, but she didn’t want to take any chances. What if she was in an accident herself? What if something happened at the school and she was away? What if, god forbid, something happened to one of them, like Philip's first wife?” Colin winces at his words, their own predicament coming back to him. “Anyway, she bought herself a ring and told him they'd be having a formal ceremony as soon as she felt like herself again, because there was no way in hell she would put herself through wedding planning while pregnant.”
Penelope smiles. “That sounds like El.”
It still surprises her to think of her best friend as a mother. It had been enough of a shock already to think of her as someone's fiancé and a stepmother (to twins!), but Eloise electing to have a child?
She then realizes that she and her best friend would have been pregnant at the same time and a part of her suddenly feels a profound sense of loss for not remembering it. She cannot imagine another person she would have felt more connected to during such an important and life-changing time.
“So…her baby is just a few months old?” Penelope clarifies, her voice barely above a whisper.
Colin nods. “Yes. A little girl. You…you were with her. Stayed a few days. Her…her daughter’s name is Penelope.”
Her breath catches. “Oh.”
“They call her Nell, just so it doesn't get confusing,” he says, his voice tinged with humor. “But you didn't seem to mind. You said so long as they didn't call her Penny, you were fine with anything.”
Penelope laughs and it feels good; like it lets loose some of the heaviness she has been carrying since she woke up. “I believe that.”
The look he gives her has her heart twittering madly in her chest. “I know…I know things seem strange and new to you, Pen, but there's a lot that hasn't changed in the last five years. You're…you're still you.”
This gives her pause, as it is not something she has considered between learning she is a wife and a mother.
She is still Penelope.
She can take comfort in that, just as she can in simply being Colin’s friend.
As if he can sense where her thoughts have taken her, he offers her his arm. “Would you like a tour?”
The house is a marvel, which is no surprise since every Bridgerton property she has ever entered has been exquisite and tastefully decorated. She thinks about Daphne’s perfect, minimalist mansion that she shares with her husband, Simon, and their two children.
Well, from what she remembers, at least.
“How is Daphne?” she asks, following that train of thought, turning to Colin as they explore their living room.
He looks a little surprised by the change of subject, but answers her question anyway. “Still living her dream. She and Simon have two more children now.”
Penelope’s jaw drops. “Four children in that time span? Is she mad?”
Colin snickers. “You know Daphne. When she sets her mind to something…”
“God help anyone or anything that stands in the way,” Penelope finishes mirthfully. She takes in the room once more. “Did she help you—us—put this together?”
“A little. But she worked with you to make it feel more like Colin-and-Penelope and less like The-Duchess-of-Hastings-Lite.” His mouth twists into a wry grin. “You had to rein her in a bit at times, but she was so excited about decorating here after we told her about…”
“The babies.” Her words are breathless, a lump forming in throat.
The easy banter that had begun to build between them suddenly snaps, like a string pulled too taut. Penelope distances herself, walking across the room, fingers running across the spines of the books and their combined odds and ends on the shelves.
She halts when she reaches a jar full of small shells. She pulls it off the shelf and examines it, turning it over in her hands. “What’s this?”
Colin rubs the back of his neck shyly, the tips of his ears tinging pink. “It’s our shell collection.”
She scoffs flippantly. “No kidding.”
His eyes narrow, but there is no ire in his expression. “It…” He hesitates and she can tell he is debating whether or not to reveal this detail of their history. “It started off as my shell collection, when I was traveling for work, you know?”
She smirks. “In your influencer era?”
“Yes, like I said, for work.”
“I don’t know if your shirtless thirst traps on various beaches of the world constitutes work,” she teases, the natural give-and-take between them resurfacing once more.
He quirks a brow at her. “How many shirtless pics did you look at, exactly?”
Her mouth goes dry and she quickly looks at the floor, hoping he does not see her reddened cheeks.
He continues, pretending he, indeed, does not notice her embarrassment. “Sometimes, there would be shells that made me think of you. So I kept them.”
“And that would be my special gift when you came home?”
He shakes his head. “No. I put them in this jar.”
“O-kay,” she replies, confused.
“After…everything,” he says, gesturing vaguely, “We…we started collecting them together. We filled the jar.”
She swallows thickly. “We traveled?”
He nods. “Yeah, we did. As much as we could.” He lets out a small laugh. “We thought our anniversary trip to Greece was where the twins were conceived.”
Greece.
“You always loved it there.” That much she remembers, at least.
“Yeah. I…I always wanted to take you. We…I surprised you for our anniversary. Three years of marriage, five years together.”
Her heart constricts in her chest. “Oh.” She suddenly feels very tired. “I think…I’d like to go to bed. If that’s alright.”
Colin blows out a ragged breath, like the wind has suddenly been taken right out of his sails. “Right. Yeah, of course.” He leads her up the stairs to the bedroom. As she takes in the space, it overwhelms her a little that it is one they have shared for years.
“I’ll be just down the hall in the guest room if you need anything.”
She turns to look at him, frowning. “What?”
He shuffles his feet, staring at the floor. “I thought you should take the master. You need the space to recover and I…I knew you’d probably like to be alone for the time being.”
The Colin she knows, showing up once again, displaying such consideration for her needs despite the awkwardness between them.
“Are you sure?” she inquires.
“Of course. It’s not as if it is a hardship. It’s only the guest room, not prison. Besides, I’ve slept in far worse places on my travels.”
She knows this about him, but all the same, she cannot help but feel badly about essentially kicking him out of the room he has slept in nearly every night for years. Yet she also knows even if she continues to protest, it will be a fruitless endeavor; Colin will always defer to another's comfort—especially, it seems, hers. “Alright.”
He looks relieved by her acquiescence and takes a step backward into the hall. “I mean it, though. If you need anything, just…you know.”
“I will,” she promises, though she is not quite sure if she will take him up on it. She knows he is in earnest and would not offer himself if he did not mean it, but she cannot help the voice that snakes in and whispers that he likely feels responsible for her, obligated to care for her now that they are sharing a space.
He shuts the door with a soft click and she is, for the first time in days, alone.
She takes a minute to really look around the room, and, just like the living room, it is a seamless blend of both her and Colin. She sees evidence of who sleeps on which side of the bed—a stack of books and lotions on her side, travel magazines and reading glasses on his (and the thought of him wearing the spectacles sends an electric shock down her spine)—and more shelves with different books and knickknacks arranged artfully upon them, though a little more haphazardly than they are downstairs. The sight brings a smile to her face, knowing that they are a little more mussed in private.
She makes her way to the bathroom and automatically turns on the shower. When she realizes this, it startles her a bit. Normally, the complexities of using a stranger’s shower makes her extremely anxious, but it seems her muscle memory in this regard has not been lost. She hopes that it will come in handy in other ways moving forward as the hot spray runs over her body.
The smell of her body wash refreshes her and settles her nerves. It feels good to know that there is one other thing that has not changed in her life: her love of bergamot and wildflower. When she steps out of the shower, steam following in her wake, the feel of a luxurious towel wrapping around her makes her chuckle—of course Colin would have the best towels available.
But they're also her towels, she supposes. Even if she doesn't understand her role as Colin’s wife, she still knows in her bones that he would not make any decisions about their home without her, no matter how inane.
A soft smile forms, thinking about all the times in their friendship when he had sought her advice, rarely willing to take a chance on something without first consulting her—or, at the very least, confirming with her before making his final decision.
She grabs the silk dressing gown that hangs on the back of the door and goes in search of her pajamas. She opens one of the drawers and laughs—all of her pajama sets on display before her.
Muscle memory strikes again.
She slips between the covers and nearly moans with pleasure at how comfortable the mattress is.
Sleep finds her easily once she closes her eyes, and she is grateful that it is a dreamless one.
She smells something heavenly, which is what ultimately rouses her. She still has to force herself from the plush, lavish mattress, but she does not regret it when she reaches the kitchen and sees Colin cooking. She ties the dressing gown around her waist and takes a seat on a stool at the breakfast bar, watching him closely.
He hasn't heard her come in, thanks to the AirPods she sees settled snugly into his ears. When he turns, he nearly jumps out of his skin and almost drops the pan of eggs he'd been holding. “Christ, Pen.”
“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.”
“I just thought you'd be asleep for a bit longer. I thought I'd…” His cheeks color. “Bring you breakfast in bed. But then I realized I wasn't sure what you'd want. When you…when you were pregnant, you had a very specific breakfast that you ate. And before that…I didn't know if you would want the same things.”
“So you made a little bit of everything?” she asks, examining the plates laid out across the countertop.
He shrugs. “I just want you to have whatever you need.”
She isn't sure how to respond, so she settles for a simple, “Thank you.”
“Do you want a coffee?” He starts making a plate for her, nodding toward the fancy espresso machine.
She slides her lip between her teeth. “I'm not sure if I'm allowed. Breastfeeding and all that. But I'm meeting the lactation consultant today, so I can ask.”
He inclines his head in acknowledgement. “I'll make a chamomile tea instead. Then we can head out after you're finished?”
He hands her the dish, piled high with breakfast goodies, and she nods as she begins to eat. He assembles his own breakfast and glances at the chair next to her and she smiles, encouraging him to join her. His shoulders relax a little as he takes a seat.
The silence that settles between them as they enjoy their breakfast is comfortable rather than strained, which is a pleasant change for once. Nonetheless, she finishes quickly so she can prepare for the day; she is anxious to see the twins again and knows spending so much time at the hospital will not be easy.
When she looks in the closet, none of the clothes spark any sense of familiarity, though she is comforted by the cool shades of blue and green, the warm pinks and reds. She is even more pleased by the absence of yellow, despite its connection to hers and Colin’s origin story. She opts for a loose-fitting dress, unsure which trousers may fit her now—foreign as her body is to her—and selects comfortable shoes suitable for a long day.
When she makes her way downstairs, she feels Colin's gaze on her without having to look at him. It makes her feel anxious—or more anxious, anyway—but by the time she reaches the bottom step, his expression is neutral and they drive to the hospital in relative silence, other than a few words back-and-forth about their plan for the day.
She is still unsure how to interact with him. She knows he is making no demands of her, is giving her more than enough space to make sense of their life together, but she wants to provide him with some kind of comfort and support while they care for their babies in their NICU; it is not only her going through this part, after all.
“Did we…did we pick out names for them?”
She had been hesitant to bring up the subject since setting eyes on the twins, but as Colin presses the button on the elevator that takes them to the NICU floor, she believes there is no time like the present.
She expects him to tense up, to start fidgeting anxiously as he has done every time she asks a question about the past, but he does not. His face brightens and the tension in his body seems to uncoil a bit, though there is still a thread of strain lurking beneath the surface. “We had not. We had discussed a few, but hadn't settled on anything. We…well, we thought we had time.”
Right.
“What had we discussed? And before you argue that I should ‘remember on my own,’ they can't remain Baby Girl and Baby Boy Bridgerton forever,” she points out.
“Fair,” he replies as the doors part on their floor. They exit and make their way to the nursery. Siena greets them happily, but regretfully informs them that both babies are sleeping.
“They usually wake up in about…” she checks her AppleWatch, “an hour or so. Then you'll be free to spend as much time with them as you like.”
“We can't wake them?” Colin asks, brow furrowed.
Siena shakes her head, sending him an apologetic look. “I'm sorry. They need as much rest as possible. If they fall asleep while they're with you, you can keep them out, but for now, it's best to let them rest.”
Colin opens his mouth to speak, but Penelope places a gentle hand on his arm. “We understand. I am supposed to meet with the lactation consultant anyway. I'll see if she can fit me in sooner.”
Siena encourages her to reach out before she hurries back to work, and Penelope shoots off a text, pleased when Alice replies right away, asking her to come by as soon as she can.
Alice Mondrich has a kind face but a no-nonsense attitude that Penelope appreciates as she goes through the logistics of what all is required of her—routines, nutrition, and what types of medication will be safe for her—since her babies were born prematurely and she had been in a coma for some time after they were born.
“Normally, we’d start expression as soon as possible,” Alice explains. “But given these extraordinary circumstances, we obviously weren't able to do that.”
“Is that going to, you know…effect production?” Penelope asks, grimacing at her timidity in speaking about such matters.
Alice gives her a gentle smile. “I don't want to give you false hope and disappoint you by saying it won't. But if we start now—using the pump, hand massaging—I have every reason to believe everything will be fine.” Her smile widens. “Of course, plenty of skin-to-skin will be useful, too, but I don't think that will be a problem.”
“I don't think so, no,” Penelope replies, her expression a mirror of Alice’s.
Alice talks her through the pumping schedule and how to work on expression as needed, glancing at Colin periodically as if to make sure he understands the procedure as well. Penelope chuckles internally, knowing he will appreciate it in the future but, as things stand now, sees how discomfited he is by the detailed descriptions of her breasts.
Alice sets her up with a bizarre-looking device. Penelope has seen breast pumps before, but supposes that they have advanced the technology since she has last set eyes upon one. It feels strange once Alice assists her in securing it. She helps Penelope get started, demonstrating the massage they had discussed, and they both let out victorious shouts when a trickle of milk begins to materialize.
Alice excuses herself to give them some privacy—which Penelope finds laughable considering where the woman just had her hands—and suddenly she and Colin are alone once more.
While she pumps, she looks at him, and he has respectfully averted his eyes. She reaches for the coverup Alice had left behind and clears her throat. “So…what names had we discussed?”
Colin chances a glance in her direction and she sees him relax a little now that she is covered. “Well, for a girl, we talked about Jane, Lily, and Olivia.”
“Jane, Lily, and Olivia,” she repeats, rolling each around on her tongue, trying to get a feel for each. “And boys?”
The smile he gives her is so soft and tender it makes her heart ache; she can almost believe that he had fallen in love with her five years ago, that every moment they had shared since was true and sincere and honest, even if she remembers none of it.
But she does not allow herself to indulge in the dream; not yet. So she simply blinks and offers him a small smile in return. “What?”
“There was only one name we could agree on—only one choice, really—for a boy.”
“And what was that?”
“Elliot. For Eloise.”
She lets out a breath. “Oh.”
She has lost count of how many times she has repeated that word since she woke up. But she does not know what else to say to so many shocking revelations.
Perhaps she should not be so surprised that she had chosen to name one of her children for her best friend, considering Eloise seems to have done the same. Yet since she has no recollection of these discussions—with Colin or Eloise—the significance of it still hits her squarely in the chest.
“So he is Elliot,” she says quietly.
“Only if that is what you want,” Colin replies. “I would never do anything without your consent.”
She nods. “Yes, I think…I would like that.”
“And our girl?”
A light knock on the door effectively halts their conversation. Alice walks back in to check on Penelope's progress, praising her efforts thus far.
“It's expected that you'll not produce a great deal initially,” Alice tells her. “But it’s good to see something. We’ll keep track of what we do from here and make a note of any increases or decreases. We can store whatever you make to feed them, but if we aren't able to make a steady increase, we’ll have to use more donor milk and, eventually, you'll have to switch to formula when you go home, once you run out of anything you have stored.” She gives Penelope’s hand a comforting squeeze. “And there's nothing wrong with that. All that matters is feeding your babies and making sure they're healthy.”
Penelope feels her eyes grow damp and lets out a sigh that seems to release a week’s worth of tension within her. “Thank you, Alice.”
“If you have any questions or need anything, you have my number. I will always answer.”
Penelope adjusts her clothes and gives Alice a hug before she and Colin leave the consultation room.
The two of them finish their conversation as they walk back to the NICU.
“Lily,” Penelope says. “There are so many botanicals amongst the Bridgertons, I think that would be a lovely addition.”
He unconsciously reaches for her hand and gives it a squeeze. “It's perfect.”
Colin fills out the paperwork as Siena readies the twins for them, and they officially become the parents of Lily Jane Bridgerton and Elliot Thomas Bridgerton.
Having names for them gives Penelope a new perspective as she lowers her neckline and Siena places the tiny girl on her chest.
Lily.
Her daughter.
She looks over at Colin, once again contorting his large form into a small chair. She frowns at him. “Don't you want to hold them? I know it's particularly good for me, but skin-to-skin is good for bonding and development for you, too.”
He waves her off. “Oh, um, I can wait. She looks cozy with you.”
Penelope arches a brow. “There are two of them, you know.”
“I know. I just, um, trading off between us when we haven't practiced might get awkward and I don't want to make a mistake and, you know, um, drop them or something.”
She tilts her head to the side and shrugs; he has a point. They do need to practice handoffs so they don't have some kind of mishap, and perhaps today’s visit is not the time for that.
She strokes Lily’s back gently and watches her daughter's steady breathing. Siena had told them the twins were awake, but she'd never know if she hadn't been told.
After a while, she catches some movement in the corner of her eye. She looks over and sees that Elliot seems restless in his isolette. “Colin? Why don't you have Siena grab him for you.”
He hesitates, his eyes darting around the room nervously. “I—”
But Penelope has already called Siena over and asks her to bring Elliot out. Siena motions for Colin to remove his shirt. Again, he expresses his reluctance, but one look from the nurse has him complying.
Penelope immediately regrets her decision.
It's not as if she has not seen Colin shirtless, but there is something about seeing him now, five years after she last remembers seeing him, with a small baby curled up on his chest, that has her heart thudding like a jackhammer against her ribcage. She worries briefly that it's so noticeable that it will disturb Lily, so she delicately shifts her daughter to another position.
She can't help noticing that Colin looks extremely ill-at-ease, which seems strange to her because he has always been good with children. She remembers how excited he was to become an uncle to Daphne’s children; how much little Augie adored his Uncle Colin and his tales from abroad.
So why does he look like he is about to crawl out of his own skin holding their child?
“Are you alright?” she asks.
“Hm? Oh, yes. I, um…” He clears his throat then grimaces at the loudness, conscious of how sensitive Elliot may be to noise. “He's just so small, is all. I don't want to break him. And there's so many wires…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. “What if I unplug something important? What if I accidentally yank something out and it hurts him?”
Her heart feels full to bursting.
Of course.
He's not afraid of their babies; he is not averse to them, as the ugly voice inside her had been nastily whispering. He's simply afraid for them; averse to causing harm.
“You can always talk to Siena if you have concerns,” she reminds him.
“Yeah, I…I think maybe he's asleep now and I should let him rest in the incubator,” he tells her, beckoning Siena over.
Penelope’s brows knit together. She understands his dilemma perfectly, but her stomach turns over at the thought of him avoiding spending time with the twins. How will the two of them find points of connection otherwise? It is the one thing they truly share in the present.
She pushes her anxieties aside and spends time holding Elliot (her son!) on her own while Colin simply watches over Lily. She tries to get a read on him, but it's difficult.
Siena tells them that both babies seem to be doing well, which is encouraging, and that she will call them if anything changes.
She gives Penelope's hand a squeeze. “I know this has been a difficult time for you, but I can tell your babies are fighters. If you need to talk, send me a text, alright? I'm usually working like crazy, but I know new mums in your position sometimes need someone to lean on.”
Penelope pulls her into a hug and fights back tears. “Thank you.”
The drive home is quiet.
Penelope can't quite bring herself to ask him about his reticence with the twins. It feels too…personal. Perhaps if she truly felt like his wife, the question would've easily rolled off her tongue. Maybe they even could have had a fight about it and she would not have worried too much about the outcome.
But now, even as she tries to take solace in the role of friend, their relationship still feels so tenuous and fragile that she dares not risk it; she needs to grasp tightly to whatever string connects them and hang onto it for dear life.
When they arrive at their place, Colin orders takeaway without asking what she wants. He starts to apologize, but she grins when she sees what he has selected for her.
Chicken shawarma, with extra bread and a side of hummus.
“As you said, Col. I'm still me.”
The center holds, for now, and she finds that it is enough.
It must be.