lady_bols | Room 6620, The Morning Of...

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Room 6620, The Morning Of...

The evening had passed quietly, with no more talk of promises or commitment, or anything of consequence, really.

She'd tried to fall asleep, but only succeeded in dozing lightly off and on. Every time he shifted or exhaled too sharply, she'd found herself wide awake. Hypervigilance, she thought. Her mind was fixated on the thought that she might miss saying goodbye. He wouldn't dare sneak out on her. He was a bastard sometimes, but he wasn't exactly heartless.

Well, most of the time.

When the first light of dawn hit the windows, she was already awake, listening to the sound of his breathing. She debated getting up and laying out his suit for him, but that would mean leaving the warmth of the bed.

'Love? It's time.'

She knows he's anxious to get back. A part of her understands, remembering how hard it was those first few days and weeks in Fenchurch, waiting to wake up from the nightmare. At least he has the option to go home.

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She nestles close to him, biting her lip.

'I will be, when you come back to me. All right? Until then, I'll be just as much of a mess as when you found me the first time.'

Her cheeks are wet before she even realises she's crying again.

'I got on then, and I'll get on now. Don't you worry about me.'

He purses his lips, and thumbs away a teardrop.

'I'm sorry it has to be like this.'

But it does. There's nothing else he can do.

'Me, too, love.'

She turns her face into his palm, covering it with her own hand and holding it there.

'Me, too. But I'm glad, too, knowing that you're out there, guiding some other poor sod through. It's what you're good at, and I'm glad you're there, taking them in, putting them to work.' She grins at the memory. 'And then getting them drunk off their face.'

She has no idea what he's going back to, and she realises, she's scared for him, too. It's a whole new world for him, without Ray and Chris. And her.

Her eyes open and she smirks at him. 'You're going to miss me, I know it. You'll have to learn to spout your own brand of psycho-bollocks.'

He snorts.

'Will I hell.'

Not a chance.

'He'll get nothin' but straight talk from the Gene Genie.'

Like it was ever in doubt. And if he feels less than convinced that he'll be able to pull it off this time - at least until the memories recede - it doesn't show.

She grins through her tears, drinking in the sight of him.

'Of this, I have no doubt whatsoever.'

She kisses his palm, her eyes closing for a long moment. When she opens them, she sniffs and smiles at him, a proper smile now.

'I'm going to miss you, terribly, you know. And I'm going to miss the job, so make sure you bring home all the juicy details, all right?'

'Oh, you know me, Bols. Never mind spouting off about how useless the lads are being.'

And now he'll have three or four brand new ones, who won't know their arse from their elbow.

He's both dreading it, and can't wait.

'S'pose at least I won't be bored.'

'No, there's never a dull day at Fenchurch.'

She shifts against him, one hand finding and toying with the small gold chain he wears. The words crowd up behind her teeth, and she holds her breath, lest they slip away from her.

'And in the mean time, I guess I'll just have to explore this place. I hear there's a library, quite extensive one, too.'

'Supposed to be. An' there's stables, and that beach.'

And, y'know. Lots of alcohol. Which is surely the only thing a pub needs.

'And...lots of magic people?'

If that's a draw?

'Mmm, yeah, people.'

Other people. People who are not him. That would be all sorts of healthy and forward-thinking, wouldn't it?

She's not sure she's ready to go there, yet. Someday, possibly, but not today.

Mmm, beach, though. That's a nice memory. 'I think I'll save the beach for when you get back.'

He glances at her. A touch concerned, in all honesty.

'You know it's not going anywhere, don't you? If you want to go on it, I'll still be allowed on it too.'

His heart sinks a bit, which, considering it wasn't high to begin with, doesn't feel good.

'And yes, people. Alex, you can't stay shut up in here all the time.'

She looks at him, her eyes searching his face.

'There's a pub, right down stairs, love. With a proper fire place, and unlimited tea service. With chocolate biscuits from all over the universe. I don't think I'll be spending that much time in the room.'

Besides, she's always enjoyed people watching. It's good practice for someone in her line of work.

'Don't worry about me, please. It's not like I'm going to run off and join a convent while you're away.'

His eyebrows shoot up.

'A convent? Christ, you'd better not.'

Where did that even come from?

'Though if you want to rent a room in one for when I'm not here, I wouldn't mind.'

She quirks an eyebrow at him.

'Oh really, now? You're not worried I'll step out on you while you're away, are you?'

He can't be serious. She asked him to marry her.

'Pass on the Gene Genie? Nah.'

He wasn't worried, until right this minute. And not too much now. After what they've been through, he's pretty sure her head isn't going to be turned by some magic-wielding pretty boy from outer space.

'Anyway, if you did you'd tell me about it. So-'

He shrugs, the hint of a smile on his lips.

'I wouldn't,' she cuts him off, her voice serious, despite the smile. And then her tone softens, somewhat. Still intent, but more passionate than angry.

'I mean, not that I wouldn't tell you. It would never happen in the first place. I'm in this for the long haul, Gene. You've seen me when I get my teeth into something. You can't say you didn't know what you were getting yourself into.'

He rolls his eyes in a good-humoured way, leans up and kisses her gently.

'I was teasin', Bols. Calm down.'

She always did get wound up at the smallest provocation. He quite likes it when it's about nice things.

'You know very well I've been trying to get into you for years.'

Her eyes narrow, but she can't suppress the grin. Damn him and his smug sense of superiority.

'Just so I'm not another notch on your legendary bedpost, Mister Devastatingly Attractive Air of Mystery.' She turns the last word into a purr, leaning down to return the kiss with intent.

He snorts quietly, returns the kiss, and then lays his head back to watch her.

'Nothing wrong with notches and bedposts, Bolly.'

And of course, he's not sure his conquests count, any more.

'But I think you rank a but higher than that, yeah.'

She shakes her head, still grinning.

'I should hope so,' she murmurs, watching him right back. After all they've been through together, she's still not quite sure this is happening. That this is her life now.

Her smile goes crooked, and she tilts her head at him.

'High enough to take home to meet your mum.' She'd honestly never got just how much he'd opened up to her that trip. She'd been so wrapped up in her own little psychodrama. 'I really wish I could do that whole thing over again, and try not cock it up so terribly.'

'You don't need to be so hard on yourself over that. You'd just seen your mum and dad die again.'

And it's not like his mother is any more real than he is.

'It could have been a lot worse.'

Alex is a psychologist. If she thought about it, she'd confess she thinks meeting his own ideal of his mother is probably more important than meeting the real one. But she doesn't look at things in his world as constructs, not anymore.

Not for a long time.

Her lips thin in a smirk.

'Bad as you meeting my mum for the first time? With me bent over a desk and my skirt hitched up?'

God, that was a nightmare.

He smiles dryly, and pushes a wisp of hair off her forehead.

'I'd met her before that. I think that was probably more embarrassing for you, than me.'

Because it's not like he cares what uptight solicitors think of him. They're as bad as judges, in his opinion. Professional awkward, yes. Not personally.

Her eyelids flutter closed at his touch, echoing the butterflies she feels in her chest.

'Yes, but you didn't realize she was my mother. And yes, it was a nightmare. Mostly because she didn't realize who I was.'

'Still, she'd never approve of you.' She looks up at him from beneath her lashes, smiling.

'Well, no. She made that abundantly clear.'

He's not bothered.

'I don't approve of her, either.'

There's a tiny hesitation, then he adds;

'Was she the same as you remember?'

She hesitates for a moment, thinking back. The memories are strangely layered now, both realities interwoven.

'Well, she was larger than life. Driven. Brash. And... cold. So, no, not that much different. I -- I was much closer to my father.'

Her expression shifts as she talks. Even knowing what she knows now, it's still a confusing and painful memory.

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