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]

'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?'

[lady_bols]

'Mister Nigel Perkins,' she scoffs, mock-outraged. 'I should hope you'd set the bar higher than that.'

The eyebrow waggle she's throwing him over her shoulder is putting lie to her earlier denial.

She takes the stairs ahead of him this time, and there may be a sway in her hips that wasn't there earlier.

[the_gene_genie]

It's a good job she's ahead of him, because his face blanches slightly at that. Not much. He just wasn't expecting his poor attempt at a joke, when he was on the floor of CID, to come back at him.

'Dunno why,' he says, stepping down behind her, with his eyes fixed firmly on her rear.

'They're the professionals.'

He has no doubt she'll be better, but that doesn't mean he can't take the piss.

[lady_bols]

Well, she doesn't know his middle name, so that's what he got instead.

'By that measure, Luigi must be a world-class chef in your book, hmm?'

The bar seems just as full at seven in the morning as it is at seven at night. Always something going on around here. But their booth is free, and she heads for it without even asking, pausing only to tap a waitrat on the shoulder and ask for two of the aforementioned breakfasts.

'Oh and more tea, please.'

She holds up her mug by way of explanation. The creature nods and disappears back into the kitchens.

[the_gene_genie]

'It was edible. That's all I ask for.'

Not a great connoisseur of anything other than steak, Gene.

He slumps into the booth, and stifles a yawn. 'Before you get mardy at me over that, I should add that I don' know what you're on about.'

[lady_bols]

She gives him a suspicious look.

'Gene, just because someone does something for money, it doesn't necessarily follow that they're good at it or that they enjoy it. So while you may wish you had a whore in the bedroom, what you're getting is far superior, I assure you.'

[the_gene_genie]

He gives her a blank one in return.

'Well, I wasn't stating that I wanted any random prozzie in my bed. Just a bird who acted like one.'

And it was only a glib reply on that dating form anyway, albeit one based in a kind of truth.

'Anyway, you said it yourself. Practice makes perfect.'

So he's pretty sure they would be good at it. Good enough, in his experience.

[lady_bols]

'Can I make a suggestion?'

She's going to make a suggestion.

'Change the subject, I beg you.'

[the_gene_genie]

He eyes her for a moment, then cracks a smile and shrugs.

'OK.'

So she likes doing it, but doesn't like talking about it. Good to know.

'Can' talk about shagging, can' talk about the bloody great mess we're in. What else is on - or off - the menu?'

[lady_bols]

'I didn't say we couldn't talk about sex.'

She won't call it shagging, at least not until they're on firmer footing.

'It's just -- I'm not going to argue with you about my qualifications in that regard, when it's clear your expectations are -- well, it's apples and oranges. And I'm not about to be your maid in the kitchen either, while we're at it.'

[the_gene_genie]

'I wasn't doubting - or even askin' about - your qualifications. Christ, what d'you take me for!'

Wow. No. He wasn't going there. He has better manners than that.

But now he's a tad suspicious too.

'What're you saying about my expectations?'

[lady_bols]

'Well, they're pretty clear, aren't they? The phraseology doesn't leave much to interpretation.' It's clear she's not upset by his frankness. She leans back as their tea is delivered. It's a safe assumption breakfast isn't far behind.

'And I just -- think,' she hesitates, clearly choosing her words with care, 'I have more to offer you than just a -- shag.'

Oh look, that's more attention than he's ever seen her give a mug of tea. You'd think she was measuring the milk by the drop, she's so intent.

[the_gene_genie]

'I think you do too.'

He's genuinely stumped.

'Alex, you do realise I was joking, yeah? I don' expect you to be a whore in the bedroom.'