Room 6620, Morning of the Third Day

[lady_bols]

She slept, and dreamt of fields of verdant green shrouded by the grey English sky.  A bell tolled in the distance, and in the mist, she could see ranks of her fellow officers, solemn in their black dress uniforms.  In their midst, six figures carried something heavy on their shoulders.  She can see the line of the casket, but it takes a moment for her to register what it is.  

There's a hole in the ground, clean edges, the mound of earth beside the grave covered with faux turf to hide the truth of it.  She can smell lilies and her favourite, white roses.  Evan has his arm around Mols shoulders, and her face looks so still.  She's been crying, Alex can tell.  But she's put a brave face on.

He's right, she knows.  She's strong, and resourceful.  She's going to be all right.  She is.

(I'm happy, hope you're happy too.)

But it doesn't keep her from missing her daughter.  And it hurts.  Like nothing she's ever experienced.  A part of her knows she should look away, but she can't.  She watches as they lower the casket into the ground, listens as the pipes play, a haunting melody that puts voice to the ache in her heart.  It feels like a final goodbye, and she struggles to stay there as long as she can.

But there's another reality she belongs to now, softly snoring in bed next to her.  She opens her eyes, feeling the tears on her cheeks, and drinks in the sight of him.  His hair is mussed, and when he's asleep, she can see the outlines of that young man's face beneath the surface.  She thinks of Betty, and gently brushes a lock of his hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ear.

Betty knows what it's like to lose a child.  Two of them, even.  God, she hopes this place will afford her the chance to meet the woman again.  Anything is possible, here, isn't it?

Aren't they both proof of that?

Comments

[the_gene_genie]

He's only in a light sleep, having fought the need for as long as he could. He's jerked awake a few times, sweat on his face, blood behind his eyes. But a couple of hours ago his body overtook his brain, and forced some rest on him.

Her touch is enough to bring him back. His eyes fly open, ready for the thudding in his chest and grip on his muscles that he's getting used to now. But it wasn't the dreams this time. Just her. He smiles sleepily.

'Time s'it?'

And then registers her face.

'You OK?'

[lady_bols]

'Not really,' she murmurs, smiling through her tears. She's genuinely happy to be here with him, and it shows.

'My heart hurts, that's all.'

There's a part of her that feels guilty for being here with him, when she should be home. She knows that's not possible. That it hasn't been possible for a long time. It's just one more stone in the ocean.

'Didn't mean to wake you.'

[the_gene_genie]

'S'alright.'

He drags a hand down his face, rubs it across his morning bristle.

'Bad dream?'

[lady_bols]

She nods, listening to the sound of his beard against his hand. Uncharted territory.

'I was watching my funeral.'

She fluffs the pillow under her head, shifting to arrange her hair so it's not in her eyes.

'Not a nightmare, but still, not exactly uplifting.'

[the_gene_genie]

He thinks about that, and tries to organise his thoughts away from sleep, and images, and green grass and towards the reality of now. It takes a moment.

'Good.'

He glances across at her.

'Funerals mean closure, don' they? For them as left behind. It'll be the best thing for her.'

He says it gently, albeit with a voice still rough. But it's the truth as he sees it.

[lady_bols]

Her eyes close, and she nods, again, trying to smile. The tears still rise too easily, and it's clear she's trying to keep them under control.

After a moment, she dabs at her eyes, swipes a hand under her nose, and gives him her best I've-got-a-plan look.

'What say, you and I go exploring today? Hmm? I need to get out of the flat. It's doing my head in, a little.'

[the_gene_genie]

'Yeah, me too.'

He's a bit confused by the quick change, but maybe she doesn't want to talk about it. He can respect that. It's more than understandable.

He leans over, and kisses her on the cheek.

'You can have the bathroom first.'

[lady_bols]

She turns, and catches his face in her hands, holding him close. She's difficult to understand sometimes, she knows that, and a not-so-quick kiss says sorry. When that's done, she pulls back just enough to look him in the eye.

'Enough heavy stuff for awhile. I need a bit of a holiday from all -- this.' She twirls a finger next to her temple, letting her eyes go crossed for a moment. 'Even if it's just for a few hours.'

[the_gene_genie]

'OK.'

It sounds all right to him. Any day when people aren't telling him he has to talk about stuff - just fine.

'We'll go for a walk, or somethin'.'

[lady_bols]

'I like this plan. Be back in a few.'

She steals another kiss and slips from the bed on quiet feet. A few minutes later, he hears the shower.

After another ten or so, she cracks the door.

'Um. You might want to -- avert your eyes?' A towel-clad Alex peeks out. 'I forgot to grab my clothes first.'

Too long living in a flat by herself, she thinks.

[the_gene_genie]

He raises his eyebrows, and pulls the fag out from between his lips.

'Why would I want to do that?'

As long as she doesn't waltz out completely naked, he reckons he can control himself. It's too early to be getting active.

[lady_bols]

Her eyes narrow and she huffs a little, all mock-indignant.

'If you're going to keep smoking in the flat, I'll have to look into some sort of air filtration system. I don't want my clothes and hair smelling like an ashtray.'

This proclamation is muttered as she makes her way to the wardrobe, wet hair dripping down her back, shoulders and long legs bare. The towel is about as long as the skirt she was wearing the first day they met. She glances out the window, pleased to see real sunlight streaming through the curtains.

'Looks like we've caught a break.' Jeans and a blouse, silk this time. Something appropriately summery. 'There. Won't be long.'

She's in there another twenty minutes before she's through.

[the_gene_genie]

'It's my room too,' he points out mildly, and obviously distracted by the view she's presenting.

He could definitely, definitely, get used to seeing that every day. Her legs are even better when they're completely uncovered.

When she emerges, he sends her a pointed look. 'Next time, I'll go first. I'll be able to get a Full English down me by the time you're finished.'

He's teasing. It should be obvious by the way he's still lounging in bed, and not exactly rushing to get anything done.

[lady_bols]

She greets him with a hand on one hip, hair pulled up today, piled high on the back of her head, a few wisps framing her face. Again, her makeup is much more subdued than he's used to seeing.

'We could always take turns, you know. Or better yet, you could join me next time.'

They'd never get out of the flat then, she thinks. But the words are out of her mouth before she can catch them.

[the_gene_genie]

He purses his lips, and absently scratches his stomach.

'All right.'

At least, once they start shagging. Just try and stop him then.

In the meantime, he pulls himself out of bed and yanks a hand through his hair. She looks different again. It's throwing him off.

'Can you get tea?'

He wanders towards the wardrobe, and then the bathroom. She'll have to tell him how she got them to bring it up the other day. But not now. He needs a shower.

[lady_bols]

'Of course.'

She finds the little notepad again, including her scribblings of the other night. The things she wants.

She peels the list off and jots down an order. It should be here by the time he gets out, if they're lucky.

[the_gene_genie]

He does not take half an hour. Five minutes under the water, five minutes to shave. Thirty seconds to splash on some Old Spice, and pull on the jeans and another black rubgy shirt. He resolutely does not go near anything she might describe as 'heavy'. She's right. They need a break from it, and that includes when he's on his own. He can ignore the fatigue and the feeling of it all hanging over his head, if he tries.

'Can we get food down there?'

He's eaten a couple of bites of a steak dinner, and a Garibaldi biscuit in the last few days. It's time to get something decent down his throat, even though he still doesn't have much appetite.

[lady_bols]

'Sounds good to me,' she says, holding out a mug of tea for him. Hers is well under way, and she's looking a little better for it. Her eyes are brighter, and they seem to be taking him in with no small amount of appreciation.

'You said the words "Full English" and my mouth started to water.'

[the_gene_genie]

'Yeah?'

He takes his tea, tries it, and adds another sugar.

'I'll have to say some other things, see if it has the same effect.'

He's fairly oblivious to the appreciation, but he can't walk past an innuendo and not give it a poke.

[lady_bols]

'Mmm, this I can't wait to hear.'

For once, it actually sounds like she means it. Not a trace of sarcasm in the sentiment. In fact, one might think she's actually looking forward to it.

She sips her tea, eying him over the brim like he's the last chocolate biscuit in the tin.

[the_gene_genie]

He looks a bit taken aback, but in a good way. It's starting to sink in that she might just be a little bit of a minx.

Of course, he'd always hoped she was. Imagined she was. Dreamed she was. But the reality so rarely matches up.

'I'll stick it on me 'to do' list. We goin' down, or what?'

[lady_bols]

Her eyes go wide, and there's a moment when it's clear that her train of thought has derailed.

She stammers a bit, and coughs.

'Um, yes. Just.. Um, let me find my shoes.'

Shoes, yes, shoes. They were around here somewhere. Ah yes! Under the edge of the coffee table. Right.

[the_gene_genie]

He frowns in confusion.

'What's the matter wi...oh.'

And rolls his eyes.

'You've got a filthy mind, you have.'

[lady_bols]

'Do not.'

She's the picture of grace and elegance, she is.

'Go on then.'

She may be shooing him out the door now.

[the_gene_genie]

'You disappoint me again.'

No filthy mind, and not wearing that prozzie's outfit by choice? It's all very disappointing.

Still, he allows himself to be shooed, carrying his mug with him.

'You're supposed t'be a whore in the bedroom, remember?'