#Tewk thinking back to when Enola said he's not rid of her yet at the gate scene and then uses that to win the fight?

[pittsburghhockeybirds]

♡ An Enola Holmes 2 moodboard ♡

[thatholmesburyblog]

ripples pt 1

Here we go again! very very Tewks-centric, probably going to be one of the longest things I’ve ever written. short summary, but go listen to ‘water ripples’ which Louis Partridge posted on his story the other day and inspired this fic!

Pairing: Enola x Tewkesbury

WC: 1.1K

Two dawns after his grandmother’s betrayal, Tewkesbury prepares to cast his first vote as a member of the House of Lords. One morning to say goodbye to Enola and ensure that his grandmother has someone he trusts to watch her, the rest of the day to travel to London, an evening to try to explain to his mother everything that’s happened in the week since he left, and another morning to spend getting ready. 

They arrive at the House of Lords with just over an hour to spare before the vote.

‘I look fine,’ he says. His mother nods, distractedly, still fixing his hair.

‘Don’t fuss over him, Caroline,’ his uncle says, and Tewkesbury does his best to convey that he doesn’t mind much; he’s happy that he’s still here for his mother to fuss over, but to a point.

‘Please, Mother, I am trying to have these men’s respect,’ he says, and he means it. He may be not quite eighteen, but it was senseless for his uncle to take his place for a single vote when he is quite sure his opinion will not change in a mere matter of weeks. ‘It’s quite the style, you know.’

‘Yes, I suppose it sets off your face quite nicely,’ his mother says, standing back. He can tell that she mourns his hair mostly because he is growing up, or perhaps because he looks so much like his father. The pride in his mother’s face is mirrored in his uncle’s, who clears his throat abruptly.

‘Your father would be very proud of you,’ his uncle says, and Tewkesbury has to blink away sudden tears of his own. A pair of lords pass near behind him, and he ducks his head under the pretense of looking at them. When he turns to face his mother and uncle again, a passerby stopped in the street catches his eye. It can’t be her, he thinks, but it is. His mother and uncle follow his gaze, but he is already swiftly walking toward the gate.

Enola smiles warmly and makes her way toward him as well. ‘Congratulations,’ she says, a hint of teasing in her voice, ‘you finally look like the nincompoop you were born to be.’ He laughs softly. ‘No, you look good. This is...good.’ He’s never seen her tongue-tied before, but there is a first time for everything. Tewkesbury smiles.

‘The vote is in an hour. It’s quite the thing.’ Is she as nervous as I am? They are still learning how to do this, he and Enola, how to talk to one another when they aren’t saving each other or nearly dying. A curly wisp of Enola’s hair is blowing in the wind, and he wishes he could tuck it behind her ear. If not for the bars that separate them, and propriety, he would.

‘I’m not supposed to bow or anything, am I?’ Enola says suddenly, a look of consternation on her face. ‘Now you are whatever you are?’

‘Well, arguably, you always had to bow.” But you never were conventional, and that’s what I like about you. ‘You just chose not to.’ Thank goodness. Enola smiles, and Tewkesbury smiles back at her brilliantly. She laughs, tucking the wisp of hair behind her ear, and Tewkesbury feels protective, suddenly. ‘So you’re safe? Are--are you comfortable? I mean, you’re not still living in that terrible lodgings-house, are you?’

‘No--no,’ she says, nearly interrupting him, ‘I took the reward money your mother gave me--’

‘--which you reluctantly took--’

‘--and found somewhere new,’ Enola finishes, smiling slightly. It occurs to him that this could be the last time he sees her for a very long time, if not forever.

‘Well, Mother has said that there’s always room for you with us.’

‘Your mother clearly hasn’t spent enough time with me.’ Her tone is still light, still playful.

‘And what if it was I that asked you to stay?’ Enola stares at him with her mouth frozen in a soft ‘oh’; Tewkesbury has rendered her speechless for the second time within the span of one conversation.

‘A kind offer, but one I must refuse,’ she says, looking uncomfortable, and he  curses himself for running things so terribly. He’s ruined everything, he thinks, as they stand there not looking at each other, silent. After a moment, Enola puts her hand over his on the cold iron bar, and he looks up at her face.

‘How will I--when will I see you again?’ Tewkesbury asks, searching her face. He curses the tremor in his voice, but he needs to know that this is not the end. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to walk away from this gate until he knows it isn’t. Enola looks up at him, a measure of her usual vivacity in her face.

‘You’re not rid of me yet, Viscount Tewkesbury, Marquess of Basilwether,’ she says, and he realizes that he might want to kiss her. She’d hardly welcome it, of course, and there are iron bars and society and their visibility to think of, so he takes the hand she placed on his and kisses that instead. She seems overcome with emotion as she smiles slightly, withdraws her hand, and walks away, looking back at him. Of course, I’ll see you again.

Tewkesbury makes his way back to his mother and uncle, who nearly says something before thinking better of it. After donning his hat, Uncle Whimbrel clears his throat again.

‘Are you ready, my boy?’ Tewkesbury nods, and they accompany him to the entrance to the House of Lords, but no further. HE takes his seat in a  room slowly filling with men at least twenty years his senior, most of whom stop to murmur something sympathetic about his father or something congratulatory on assuming his seat. The Leader calls for everyone to take their seats, and Tewkesbury allows his eyes to wander the dark, wood-panelled room, careful not to look like a starstruck child.

As he casts his vote, he is sure of two things: that, as his uncle says, his father would be proud of him, and that he is doing the right thing. The bill passes, and the session is adjourned in mid-afternoon. He half-expects Enola to be at the gate, but she is not among the cheering crowds. Of course she isn’t. When he asked her to stay, she said she would not. He knows that she did not lie in saying he was not rid of her, that he will see her again. All he can do is hope that they will meet again soon.