[oom] Late Christmas Eve, Manchester, 1981

[lady_bols]

They'd stayed passed last call, and last last call, and no really last call.  They'd stayed till Nelson turned up the lights and put all the chairs up.  Alex's chin was heavy on her hand as she watched him try to focus on the bottom of his pint glass.  He was lucky he was still upright in his chair.

Nelson wandered over with a rag draped over his shoulder, hands clasped before him and a far more patient look than Luigi ever managed.

"Listen, Guv, you don't 'ave to go home yet but you can't stay 'ere, now.  Take your little lady 'ome and tuck 'er in, won't you?  So you can bot' be bright eyed for Christmas dinner tomorrow."

Alex smirked at the 'little lady' comment, and without turning her head, managed to look at him.

She held out her hand to him, palm up, fingers beckoning.  "Keys."

Comments

[the_gene_genie]

'Oh.'

He sits.

Cigarette.

'You're pissed.'

He feels obliged to point this out, in case she felt the need to be careless and burn herself.

[lady_bols]

"Thank you, Mister Hunt, for that astute observation. You -- should go into police work. You'd be brilliant at it."

Bacon gets the first go, so the bread and eggs can soak up the fat in the second go.

It's just a few minutes of her puttering around and a plate appears in front of him, accompanied by a large glass of water and a bottle of paracetemol.

She joins him with her plate, watching him with wide eyes for the verdict.

[the_gene_genie]

He looks at it for a long minute, then transfers his eyes to the water.

'Wha's tha'?'

Too much to hope for that it's vodka.

But he tries the breakfast.

'Mmmm. Bloody 'ell, Bols. Keep this up an' I migh' 'ave to marry ya.'

[lady_bols]

"In your dreams," she murmurs, grinning nonetheless. "Drink your water, for your sweet mum's sake, if not mine."

She tucks in, basking in a new, warm little glow that's huddling behind her breast bone.

[the_gene_genie]

'My dreams, I'll 'ave you know, are a bi' less poncy and a bit more...'

He waves his fork vaguely, unable to think of the word.

'...summat.'

He drinks the water. Some of it. And he never just drinks water.

[lady_bols]

She quirks an eyebrow at him, chewing around a mouthful of bacon and egg, and waves her fork, mirroring his gesture, looking at him expectantly.

[the_gene_genie]

He just looks at her, unwilling or unable to voice the thought any further. His subconscious is telling him to shut up before he says something he'll regret and ruin everything.

'You 'ave a good time tonigh'?'

[lady_bols]

She smirks, looking at him like she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. Once she swallows, she leans in close to him, and confesses:

"I did. Thanks to you."

[the_gene_genie]

His eyebrows go up.

'Wha', by leavin' you proppin' up the bar with Phyllis and goin' off t'play darts?'

Admittedley, he came back. And made sure that she was introduced to everyone and poured alcohol down her throat, when other people weren't pouring alcohol down his.

[lady_bols]

"S'better than sitting at home, moping around the flat, reading up on old case files."

Worlds better.

If she thinks about it, she can still feel the heat of his hand in the small of her back, keeping her close to him in the crowd.

"And you didn't have to break anyone's arm or answer any untoward questions, did you?"

[the_gene_genie]

'Dunno. Can' remember.'

Of course they asked. Knowing jeers and comments about boffing his subordinates, how she'd only sleep with him for promotion (that earned someone a warning look), that a bit of posh like that was only slumming it. Pretty standard really, all in good fun.

'Know I won my game though.'

This is what's important, clearly.

[lady_bols]

She nods, finishing up the last few bites of egg and toast.

"Clearly all that practice has been paying off," she says, giving him an earnest look.

Food done, she takes their plates and rinses them, props them up in the drainer, tucks the tea towel back in it's place with a little sigh. She rubs her hands over her arms a bit, still trying to warm up.

[the_gene_genie]

'Come an' sit by the fire.'

He has discovered the brandy by being Intrepid.

...OK, not really, it was where it always is. No matter, he pours two generous measures and leads the way through to the front room, which is much warmer than anywhere else in the house.

[lady_bols]

She turns at the sound of his words, looking a little lost. Of course she follows, turning the light off behind her.

He presses a glass into her hand and she doesn't turn it down, waiting until he's settled before perching on the edge of the couch beside him.

[the_gene_genie]

His head falls back on the top of the settee, arm draped along it, smoking with the other hand. It's nice in here, cozy. He can feel his eyelids start to droop already but he fights it, wanting to talk a bit.

'Better?'

[lady_bols]

"Getting there," she murmurs, eyes on the fire. After a long moment, she swirls the brandy in her glass and drinks it down. She sets her glass aside and then throws caution to the wind.

It's Christmas. She's a long way from home.

She scoots back a bit and settles in the crook of his arm, curling up next to him with one hand on his chest. She doesn't look up into his face.

[the_gene_genie]

His eyes close, but not from tiredness, and the arm comes down to wrap around her. He says nothing, just holds her.

[lady_bols]

Her cheek rests against his shoulder, and he can feel her relax against him, feel the tension leaving her shoulders. She settles down against him, shifting only a little.

"Better."

[the_gene_genie]

'Mmm.'

More silence, letting it stretch comfortably.

'Glad you came, then?'

[lady_bols]

"Glad you kidnapped me, you mean?"

She nods, breathing him in. Cigarettes and beer, his aftershave. Beneath it all, his scent. She took another deep breath and holds it before letting it go.

"You glad you came and got me?"

[the_gene_genie]

'Yeah.'

Beat.

'...'course, migh' change me mind tomorrow, by the time you an' me mam've finished with me.'

He'll still be glad, even then.

[lady_bols]

She laughs under her breath.

"I promise we'll go easy on you."

Such a lie.

"I confess, it'll be interesting to see you in a space dominated by women. Not something you get much of, I imagine."

Not since his wife left him anyway.

[the_gene_genie]

'Don' make promises you've no intention of keepin'.'

He looks down at her, half-amused, half-sleeping.

'Suits me. Rather be in the pub with me mates. Up 'ere. My boozer. They bloody love me, up 'ere.'

Apart from the ones who don't.

[lady_bols]

"What and we don't?"

She tilts her face up to look at him, a touch hurt.

"I mean, you're not exactly the rock star down south that you are up here, but you're the Guv."

The remote possibility that he might be considering moving back flits across her mind and her hand tightens on his shirt.

[the_gene_genie]

'S'not 'ome though, London.'

He sighs and finishes his brandy, knowing he's going to be asleep soon. Part of him knows, too, that he's idealising this place in his mind - it may be paradise but it wasn't perfect, or he never would have left.

'Doesn' matter. C'mon Bols, I'll show you yer room. Time t'call it a nigh' so we can put on a respectable face in the mornin'.'