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3x01 A proper reunion
She sat at her desk, writing her notes.
Dead copper on the news.
Dead copper in front of me.
The television cut away from the programming to a field of white noise, and of course she crossed the room to kneel in front of it.
"Is there anybody there?"
Nothing. She kept staring. Hoping for something. Some clue. She whispered quietly, as if someone might over hear.
"You know it's weird. I can see why Sam wanted... Why he needed to come back here. There's something about this world, about my place in it that's important."
The television snow cleared, and she could see the silhouette of the young man in uniform, half his face a dark shadow.
"Who are you? What do you want? Do you want help, is that it? I can't -- I can't help you. I can't even help myself." She stared at him, standing in that wide green field, his gaze impassive. As if he was seeing her, but not somehow.
"Can you tell me what any of it means?"
The television picture reformed onto the programme, Top Gear of all things. And the image of the Audi Quattro speeding through the snow.
She writes one final word on the page:
GENE
It all revolves around him.
She takes a deep breath, and lets it go. And before it's gone, there's a soft knock at the door. This late? It couldn't be anyone else. So she puts her notes away and looks down at her big fluffy socks. Yeah, so much for grace and elegance, Alex.
She opens the door and steps back a little, unconsciously inviting him in.
Dead copper on the news.
Dead copper in front of me.
The television cut away from the programming to a field of white noise, and of course she crossed the room to kneel in front of it.
"Is there anybody there?"
Nothing. She kept staring. Hoping for something. Some clue. She whispered quietly, as if someone might over hear.
"You know it's weird. I can see why Sam wanted... Why he needed to come back here. There's something about this world, about my place in it that's important."
The television snow cleared, and she could see the silhouette of the young man in uniform, half his face a dark shadow.
"Who are you? What do you want? Do you want help, is that it? I can't -- I can't help you. I can't even help myself." She stared at him, standing in that wide green field, his gaze impassive. As if he was seeing her, but not somehow.
"Can you tell me what any of it means?"
The television picture reformed onto the programme, Top Gear of all things. And the image of the Audi Quattro speeding through the snow.
She writes one final word on the page:
GENE
It all revolves around him.
She takes a deep breath, and lets it go. And before it's gone, there's a soft knock at the door. This late? It couldn't be anyone else. So she puts her notes away and looks down at her big fluffy socks. Yeah, so much for grace and elegance, Alex.
She opens the door and steps back a little, unconsciously inviting him in.
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At least, this is what he's telling himself.
'You alright? First day back not too bad?'
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"No, not too bad. And you?" She beckons him in, noticing his gloves are still on.
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'The bit of it I got to enjoy, yeah.'
But now he's been sent home like a naughty schoolboy told to get out of class. He's not liking that part.
'Got anythin' to drink or have you turned over a new leaf now?'
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His ridiculous snakeskin boots.
She glances back up at him, grinning now.
"I'm sure we can find you a bottle of something. Can I take your coat?"
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This is all very polite.
How odd.
He sees that a corner of her scarf is sticking out from the pocket. He'd come to give it her back but now he sees that he'd have to admit that he was in here at all, on his own, when she was asleep.
It's awkward.
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"I wondered where this had got off to," she whispers, pulling it out and wrapping it around her hand. "Glad it's not lost, too."
And now her eyes are sheening, and her breath comes a little ragged.
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'Yeah. Sorry. I uh...didn't want it getting lost. If other people came in an' started shiftin' stuff about, or the place got knocked over or somethin'.'
God, it sounds lame even to his ears. But he's looking down at the floor anyway, horribly embarrassed. Maybe she won't be able to tell if she's not looking at him.
But he can't resist a look up and so, doesn't miss the brightness of her eyes.
'...you sure you're alright?'
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She barely gets his coat draped over the kitchen chair, turning back to him like she's falling again, only this time it's not on the cool pavement stones of St. Joseph's. Her hands go around his neck and she pulls him down to her, burying her face under his chin, holding on as if her life depended on it.
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He wasn't expecting that. But it's not unwelcome, quite the opposite. It's only surprise that makes him hesitate and as soon as he's over that, he lets himself wrap his arms around her and hold her tight against him.
This almost makes up for the last three months. Almost.
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She has needed this for so long, needed to feel him, solid and warm against her. She grips him tighter, as if she could take back everything, every stupid mistake, every lost moment between them.
Her breath shudders in her chest as she exhales, and still, she doesn't let go.
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But his arms don't loosen and his hand rubs a slow circle on her back. He's missed her, these last months. More than he thought he could ever miss anyone. He didn't know if she was dead or alive, if she'd ever wake up again. And all with the memory of that last row ringing in his ears.
So this is fine. This is better than fine.
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I thought I'd lost you...
Eventually, she pulls back a bit, smiling that embarrassed smile, dabbing at her eyes.
"Sorry," she murmurs, trying to get a handle on her emotions, not quite ready to let him go. Her hands slip inside his jacket, pressing against his chest, feeling his heart beating beneath her palms.
Her eyes drift closed again, her lips pressed into a thin smile, and the set of her chin making rare dimples appear.
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He takes a long look at her hands though, inside his jacket. Last time she did that...well. He's not going to repeat the action but he'd bloody like to.
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This is where she belongs. She knows that now. This is important.
Her eyes blink open and she looks up into his face.
"Right. Drink?"
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He looks down into her eyes and is part disappointed and part relieved when she turns away.
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Scotch is in the same place as always. She pours them both stiff doubles.
"To us."
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He can't forget everything that happened but he can bury it. He's good at keeping things buried, Gene.
'You an' me, Bols.'
A rewind, to the night before that day. He can do that.
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The whiskey burns going down, but not near as bright as the spark in her heart.