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

[lady_bols]

'Gene?'

She doesn't even have her shoes on yet. And he's walking away, while talking about it like they're going back to jump straight into bed. She's more than a little confused.

'A little help please?'

[the_gene_genie]

'Hmm?'

He pauses, and turns.

'What?'

[lady_bols]

She lifts her eyebrows at him, hands on her hips.

'I'm not walking all the way back without my shoes on. I just want to lean on you while I brush the sand out from between my toes.'

Really. Grumpy or not, she's seen him with better manners.

[the_gene_genie]

'Oh.'

He always figures that if you've got sand in your shoes, you might as well just put up with it until you can find somewhere to get rid of it.

He walks back so she can lean away.

'Should've worn boots. Stuff just falls out of 'em.'

Item as proof: his own.

[lady_bols]

She grips his arm, and ends up with her shoulder against him, as it takes both hands to hold shoe and banish sand. Her hair is already starting to dry, the salt making it curl in soft waves around her face. It's a decidedly lighter shade than he's seen on her before.

'The day you get me into cowboy boots is the day hell freezes over.'

Besides, it's a nice excuse to get close to him again. Shoes taken care of, she ducks under his arm and wraps her arm around his waist.

'There. Much better.'

[the_gene_genie]

'Didn' specify cowboy.'

He considers that a moment.

'Though if you did wear them, we'd probably never get out of...whatever room you put them on in.'

Mmm. Yes.

He starts walking again, pulling deeply on his fag. Definitely a bit less tense now.

[lady_bols]

She matches his pace, and maybe her hand slips into his back pocket. Alex would never cop a sneaky feel, would she?

'Twenty-two year old libido, hmm?' There's a teasing lilt in her voice, and he might gather that she's a bit more relaxed, too. At least on the outside.

The thought that they might be spending their last few days together is still hovering somewhere beneath the surface.

[the_gene_genie]

'You know it,' he says, glibly. While being fully aware that sometimes, his body gets too tired for his libido to get a look in, never mind let out to play. But she doesn't need to know about that. The image is better the other way.

He rests an arm around her shoulders, and flicks his fag butt away.

'Orgasm factory?'

[lady_bols]

'Well, I wouldn't go that far.'

She quirks an eyebrow at him, smirking, easily keeping pace.

'I just -- have learned that, as I get older, one isn't enough to do the trick. Sometimes it takes two or three.'

There may be a bit of colour rising in her cheeks, even though her tone could be described as matter-of-fact.

[the_gene_genie]

...OK, he'll just be making a choking sort of sound there.

'Right. OK, then. Good.'

Ahaha.


'No pressure, or anythin'.'

[lady_bols]

She's still grinning, looking down as the ground firms up and the trail takes them up the ridge.

'Already sounds like a chore, doesn't it?'

She's teasing, clearly.

[the_gene_genie]

'More work than play, yeah.'

Not really. His teasing should be obvious too. He's definitely been a bit more nervous since she said that, but stuff it, he's not going to let it put him off.

[lady_bols]

She gives him a squeeze, leaning her head against his shoulder as they walk.

'I feel like I should be asking all sorts of impertinent questions now.'

[the_gene_genie]

'When don't you?'

She's certainly never held back in the past if there was something she wanted to know.

'Don't feel the need to come up with any. I think enough about me has come to light recently.'

This is not said teasingly, but in a decidedly neutral tone.

[lady_bols]

'Why else would you think I'm hesitant?'

Was he really married? Or was that all a part of the world he built for himself? Did he leave a widow behind? Children?

'I just want to know you, that's all. Really -- know you. I think of all the long nights we spent at Luigi's, and I just nattered my head off at you...'

She's embarrassed, looking back now. God, she fell apart there, that first year.

[the_gene_genie]

'True. Never shut your gob.'

Doesn't sound like he minds.

His arm squeezes his shoulders a bit.

'You already know me, Bols.'

The way he sees it, what a person does is more important than all the shit in the past, or what food they like, or their favourite TV program.

[lady_bols]

'Oh but you've forgotten, your "devastatingly attractive air of mystery", haven't you?'

Being his friend and his DI, she could only know so much. They really are in uncharted territory, and she desperately doesn't want to screw this up. Again.

[the_gene_genie]

'No. Haven't forgotten.'

He glances across at her. He wonders if she gets that he would have told her more, if he thought he could trust her with it. But she was so focused on what she wanted, and the job took up so much time, what was the point?

'But it's not like I gob off about private stuff to the lads either, and that's nothin' to do with mystery.'

Hell no.

[lady_bols]

'True,' she muses, just walking in silence for a bit, still holding him close.

'It does mean you're a lot more of a private person than I would have ever imagined. If you kept such a huge secret for so long, even from yourself. Me -- I wear my emotions on my sleeve. I can't even conceive of the....' Her words trail off as the enormity of it all looms its ugly head, and she sighs, giving a sad little laugh.

'Gene Hunt, I fancy the pants off you, and I want to know everything there is to know about you. There. Succinct enough?'

[the_gene_genie]

'You talk like I had a choice,' he mutters. But the fact is, he might have been able to keep a secret like that even if he had known. He learned pretty early on to keep his mouth shut.

There's an amused look on his face though.

'See, if you keep talking as plain as that, we might just manage to get through whole days without a fight.'

Her ability to rattle on never failed to astound him. And annoy him. Some of it was even in French, for Christ's sake!

[lady_bols]

'All right. I can't make any guarantees, but I can try.' If only it were that easy.

The question about having a choice in the matter, that's shelved for later. She knows where that line of questioning leads, and today is not for more darkness.

The bar is in sight again, and there's a hum of anticipation building in her skin. The sun and the air have done them both some good, she thinks.

'We should order lunch before we head up. Have it delivered to the room? And... maybe dinner, too?' Her question is only half-teasing. She doesn't know if he'll have changed his mind by the time they get back to the room or not.

[the_gene_genie]

'Yeah, it's a good idea.'

He was going to suggest something similar, but thought she might insist on staying down and eating. Which wouldn't have been good.

'I'll just pick up a couple of bottles while I'm here.'

He holds the door open for her. He hasn't really done that before - there's that whole thing about treating women officers like equals, right? But now, he can.

'Order whatever you like.'

[lady_bols]

One eyebrow rises at him holding the door for her, and at the suggestion. Someone's feeling generous.

'Do you like champagne? Get us a bottle of that, too. Chilled.'

The traffic at the bar is a bit hectic now that's it's gone lunch time, so she touches his elbow.

'I'll wait for you over there.' She indicates the base of the stairs with a gesture, and then brushes a kiss against his cheek before moving away.

[the_gene_genie]

'OK.'

He wanders over to the bar, taking the opportunity to light up. While he waits, he just stares into the middle distance, smoking absently. The tiredness creeps back over him when he's still, and the exertion out there doesn't help. But it's a relaxed kind of tired this time, with a buzz of anticipation prowling around inside. The promise of what's to come is enough to keep him going.

'Champagne,' he says to the bar. 'Bollinger. And two bottles of red - somethin' good - and two bottles of Johnnie Walker.'

She didn't tell him what she wanted to eat. His fingers tap the counter.

'Can the vermin deliver? Just - shit, I dunno. Something she likes for lunch. Whatever she had last time she was here at lunchtime. An' Dover Sole for dinner, about seven tonight?'

Bar does nothing for a moment, as if taking umbrage to the vague instructions. But then the bottles appear, with a note in the positive.

'Ta, luv. Oh, an' a couple of mugs of tea, soon as you like.'

He wanders back over, the bottles clinking in the bag as they bash against his leg. He has a feeling Dover Sole should come with white wine, but tough. She'll just have to make do.

'C'mon. The racket down here's doin' my head in.'