OOM: Room 6620, #3

[the_gene_genie]

 
The evening did pass smoothly, and it's been a long time since he's been so grateful for anything. OK, there was the inevitable drifting of his thoughts back to recent - and not so recent - events, but it helped to have a distraction. He forced himself to concentrate on what happened with her today, and it gave him some respite. In hindsight, maybe he shouldn't have picked up The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly - he's seen it too many times to get fully lost in it.

Still. As things stand, he's got no complaints. But now it's over, and they do have to make an attempt at sleeping again. So he's in the bathroom, freshly out of the shower, newly shaved, and telling himself firmly that restraint is the order of the day, here.

Definitely a tad nervous when he emerges into the room, though.

Comments

[the_gene_genie]

He glances at her, a bit torn and hoping it doesn't show. And then away again, clearly a bit embarrassed.

'Might end up like las' night.'

And he doesn't want that. At the same time, he's hardly going to say, 'stay out of my bed, woman' when he's been subtly trying to get her into it for the last three years.

[lady_bols]

She rests a hand on his arm and gives him a little squeeze.

'It's not like you have a monopoly on nightmares, love.'

And if he did wake up in a cold sweat, she'd still be waking up with him and trying to comfort him.

'Tell you what. Let's just try this,' she indicates the current arrangement, her on top of the covers, him beneath. 'And if you want to get up and pace, or watch tv, or go out for a smoke, then feel free. Don't worry about waking me.'

[the_gene_genie]

He considers this. Then lifts up the quilt in invitation.

'Nah.'

It feels a bit like coddling, even though it's also a perfectly reasonable, and kind, solution.

'You might get cold.'

He's also honest enough to admit that he just doesn't want to pass up the opportunity to have her near. At least to himself.

[lady_bols]

She smirks at him, and without hesitation, worms her way under the covers, nestling into the crook of his arm.

'Someday, we'll look back on this all, and have a good laugh about it.'

It takes more effort than she'd care to admit not to slip her hands under that t-shirt while snogging him blind. But she's a grown woman, and her Id can just sit on its hands for the moment.

[the_gene_genie]

'You think?'

He doesn't think. But he can pretend.

His arm settles around her comfortably, hand resting at the point where hip becomes leg. Or arse, if he wants to think of it that way. He tries not to think about her touching his skin, because there's only one place that'll end up. Trouble is, what else is there to think about? Nothing he wants to go near.

A moment while he considers, then;

'What's the future like, then? I mean - what's different? I've been, once. Everyone was starin' at those phones you carry around, and shit like that.'

[lady_bols]

'Well,' she hums, acutely aware of the heat of his body through the thin knit fabric of her shirt. 'It's not really the future for me. I mean, we have computers that play more than pong. All of the files that -- we'd shuffle around in CID would be online, available with a few keystrokes.' Her thoughts skim over the memory of Shaz going to and fro to the archives, her headphones in place and that grin as she listens to the new romantics. It's a happy memory. She tries to hold onto that.

'We have the Internet, which is incredibly useful. You don't know something, you can look it up. And smartphones, they're hard to live without once you start getting used to them. Virtually everything you can do on a computer, you can do on a smartphone.'

'Hmmm, what else?'

Her knee slips over his thigh, her toe twirling in the sheets as she thinks. Something that's not work-related. She frowns a little.

'Footie doesn't have the terraces anymore. You have to have a ticket for every seat.'

That may not be a happy thought for him, but he did ask.

[the_gene_genie]

'No terraces!?'

Because that would be what stood out most - he didn't understand quite a lot of the rest.

'Why the bloody hell would they get rid of the terraces!?'

[lady_bols]

She puts a hand in the centre of his chest, realizing too late that was not a good idea.

'It got too dangerous, penning in the fans.'

She pauses for a moment.

'How much do you want to know? I mean, do you want me to avoid the specifics?'

[the_gene_genie]

He quietens under her touch, because it's nice. And because he's thinking.

'Don' know, really. I haven't thought. I mean, I'll forget it all when I'm back home anyway, an' it doesn't really matter when I'm here.'

He sounds distracted. He's registered that she put her leg over his thigh. After a moment's consideration, he puts his hand on it, and pulls it a bit further over so it's more snug against his. More comfortable.

'Don' know if I want to know about terraces. Bloody depressing. What's the internet?'

[lady_bols]

He touches her thigh, and her heartbeat ticks up a notch. She could just throw a leg over, and she'd venture he wouldn't mind. But no, they're taking it slow. She bites the inside of her lip, and hums.

'It's -- well, it's a public and private network of computers, connected all over the world. It started in the universities, and in government, but it's everywhere now. You can do research, you can publish your own writings and read other people's work. Most of it is popular culture now, but the exchange of information is enormous... Oh I know! The Soviet Union is gone!'

She perks up like she just remembered the answer to a pub quiz question.

[the_gene_genie]

He swivels his head to look at her properly.

'Gone? Gone...where?'

Pretty big thing to move about.

[lady_bols]

'Gone. Pfft. Doesn't exist anymore. All the countries have gone back to being their own, most of them democracies. Well, of a sorts. More like plutocracies, but the Cold War is over and it looks like the West won. Gene, they tore down the Berlin Wall. Young people with sledge hammers, took it right down to the ground. It was brilliant!'

He can guess that Alex was glued to the telly the whole time. That was the year she met Peter, and it seemed like the whole world was on the edge of a revolution.

[the_gene_genie]

'Oh.'

Hmm. He doesn't know whether to be chuffed, or not. He's not very political. But still, that's pretty massive. And democracy is, of course, the best way. Except when it lets idiots shout their mouths off.

'When's this happen?'

[lady_bols]

'1990. And get this, I was working with former KGB agents, in Interpol. And some of them are even on the up and up.'

She sighs, looking at his profile again.

'I was at university, then. I'd just met Peter, Molly's dad. I think it was a few weeks before I got accepted at Hendon. We watched it all live on the television.'

[the_gene_genie]

'Yeah?'

He's a bit taken aback by her enthusiasm. But it does makes sense. If she was twelve in the early eighties, stuff that happened later would be far more relevant for her. That's why she didn't seem so clued up on what was going on around them with Thatcher. He thought she just wasn't all that interested.

'He was into politics as well, then?'

[lady_bols]

Alex pulls a face. 'Not as such. I mean, he talked a good game, but he was more of an artist. He was working on his novel, and liked to wear black turtlenecks and swoon about in coffee shops. He called me his "muse".' There's a sarcastic edge to her voice that's impossible to miss.

'I was young and stupid, and ate it all up with a spoon. And I paid for it later. Well, and Molly paid too, which was wholly unfair, but -- there you are.'

She sounds like she'd still love to take his eyes out with a rusty spoon, save that he's her daughter's father, and Molly adores him.

[the_gene_genie]

'Muse!?'

Gene manages to snort and huff at the same time.

'Sounds like a right wanker.'

Because, seriously. Who talks like that? He feels better, hearing that tone in her voice too. Clearly, blokes like Peter - the complete opposite of himself - are not going to be any kind of competition.

'Did he ever finish his novel?'

[lady_bols]

She rolls her eyes.

'I've written, edited, and published three texts, one of which is on the curriculum at Hendon now, and he still hasn't even found an agent. Because the book is still incomplete. "It's an organic creation,"' she whines. '"Publishers want such ludicrous page limits." Yes, that's because no one wants to read two thousand pages of his pedantic, self-involved navel-gazing about the nature of his manhood.'

She sighs, the minor storm of fury leaving her as quickly as it came.

'Peter Drake? Is a right bastard.'

And she doesn't want to talk about him anymore, because his hand is entirely too distracting where it's slipped to rest on her derriere.

[the_gene_genie]

'Peter Drake.'

Ahaha.

'Fourteen year old tosspot, with a tendency to bash trannys over the head with random bricks.'

[lady_bols]

She playful swats at him. 'Well, I didn't know that then, did I? And don't say 'trannies'. It's "transexual" or "transgendered" individuals.'

The mirth in his voice is mirrored in her eyes, and she grins at him.

'The Drakes were very good to me and Molly. Good people, the both of them.'

[the_gene_genie]

He catches the swatting hand and pins it down. He leaves his over it, keeping it on his stomach.

'Yes, mam.'

He pauses briefly.

'Hope he grew a bit by the time you met him properly.'

He'd been a bit scrawny.

[lady_bols]

'He did.'

How did they end up talking about Peter? She hums, sighing a bit, relaxing in his embrace. This is nice. Cozy even.

'You know, I know absolutely nothing about your ex. All I know is that you were married for a not-insignificant amount of time, and it ended shortly before you moved to London.'

[the_gene_genie]

He quietens at that.

'What d'you wanna know?'

He didn't much like talking about her before all of this.

'She was called Barbara. Got fed up of me never bein' home, and playin' away. Not much else to say.'

[lady_bols]

'You cheated on her?'

That admission takes her by surprise. She always imagined him to be a devoted husband.

[the_gene_genie]

...he never for one moment thought she'd be surprised by that admission. He'd have kept his mouth shut if he did.

'Some things Sam didn' tell you, then?'

Damnit.



'Yeah, I cheated on her.'