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.

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[the_gene_genie]

He's shaking his head long before she finishes talking. He takes the drink though. It lasts about two seconds, and he goes to get himself a refill.

'Our old man had died, thankfully. Just him an' our mam, and he was already on drugs. Me in some...bloody field, somewhere.'

He's choking up a bit now, and doesn't care.

'An' they never knew. You're tellin' me that wouldn't...'

He takes a breath, and drags on his cigarette fiercely.

'We were always close. It was me an' him. He looked after me, an'...'

He looks down. If he thinks about his mother left on her own, never knowing what happened to either one of her boys...it's just not fair.

None of it is fair.

[lady_bols]

She sits, silent, watching him, her heart in her throat. There's nothing more she wants to do than to wrap him up in her arms, to ease his suffering.

But it's the truth, and the truth deserves to be honored.

So she gives him his space, waiting for him to come back to her.

[the_gene_genie]

He puts his hand over his eyes, and wills himself to have control. Falling apart is not going to help anything. It'll just make him feel weak, and he is done with feeling weak.

So, eventually, he takes a deep breath and has another drink. Stubs his fag out.

'That the sort of thing you want me to talk about? What good's it goin' to do, Alex? I can't change any of it. It's too late to fix it for any of us. Only the people who come after, an' - well, they fix it for themselves if they want to.'

They do it for themselves. He does it for himself. That's what he's used to. This, here, this is abnormal. Unnatural, even, for him.

[lady_bols]

'That's precisely the sort of thing you should be talking about, love.'

She stands and gets herself a glass, more for something to do with her hands than anything.

'And the good it does, well... Emotions are a sense, like sight or touch. They let you know where you are in relation to other people, in relation to yourself. Just as a burn lets you know where the fire is, that pain is necessary to orient yourself in the world. Without it, you're blind and deaf. You're numb.'

Idly, she looks down into the glass, swirling it about.

'I was only twelve years old when my parents died. Their deaths haunted me every day of my life. And well into the afterlife, it seems. Even now, knowing what I know...' She shakes her head, and takes a sip of the whiskey.

'We can't fix any of it.' That statement seems to bear her down under a heavy weight. 'But we can honor it. We can accept that it's a part of us, and that it's made us who we are.'

[the_gene_genie]

'I don' want to accept it.'

It doesn't come out as petulant, or defiant. More like a quiet, please don't make me accept it.

'An' at home, I don't have to.'

He puts his glass down, and fills it again but leaves it where it is.

'Does it make it easier for you, knowing your dad tried to kill you?'

[lady_bols]

'No, of course not.' She hears the edge in her voice and closes her eyes. He doesn't deserve the brunt of her anger.

'It does let me understand what happened. It wasn't random. It was very specific, and as bizarre as it sounds, it made a certain kind of sense. It doesn't change what happened. It doesn't mean I forgive him for what he did, to my mother, to himself, to me.'

'But it answers so many questions, Gene. It's like -- there's been this invisible force, this dark current running through my life. I could either let it drag me under, or I could find a way to -- work with it. It defines me, yes, but it doesn't rule me.'

[the_gene_genie]

He nods a bit because OK, that does make some sense. Knowing helps understanding, so it's possible to cope with it. He does laugh a little, without humour, at her choice of words.

'Define you. Keats said somethin' like that to me, the first time he showed his hand. 'This place defines you' he said. He wasn't wrong.'

He drinks his drink.

'I'm defined by a place that works because I don't remember, or understand. What am I supposed to do, Alex?'

[lady_bols]

'I don't know. But I do know Keats almost won the day because you had forgotten so much, so going back to the way it was entirely... I don't think that's an option.'

She's leaning against the table beside him, and it strikes her how much their posture reminds her of the conversations in his office.

'I do know one thing, though. You don't need to forget who you were in order to do what needs to be done. You aren't twenty-two years old, anymore.'

[the_gene_genie]

'You think that's why he nearly won?'

He snorts quietly, and drinks his drink.

'After you left, he told me we'd meet again. Me an' him. I don' doubt it. So I think you might be proved wrong.'

But he'll deal with how things are there once he gets back. He's more concerned with what's going to happen in the meantime.

[lady_bols]

The defiance in his voice is good to hear, even if it comes with the pigheaded stubbornness she knows so well.

'So if he's coming back, what can we do to protect them?'

Them being the other poor lost souls who end up on his patch.

[the_gene_genie]

'Dunno.'

Another thing he'll worry about later.

'One of them's turned up already. Twat called Deacon.'

He pretty much thinks they're all twats when they turn up, though. Deacon got off lightly, seeing as Gene wasn't at the top of his game.

'What's an iPhone?'

[lady_bols]

She lets out a breath, turning to look at him.

'It's a mobile phone. Also, it holds all your music and other -- computer stuff. It's one of those smartphones I was telling you about earlier.'

Her shoulders fall a bit, and she licks her lips.

'He was wrong about that world defining you. It's the other way 'round. You define it.'

And that's the real danger of forgetting, isn't it? She keeps that thought to herself, for now at least.

[the_gene_genie]

'You think so?'

He sounds quite pleased about that idea, but unsure as well.

'I don' know. Maybe.'

He's quiet a moment, then reaches an arm out and threads it around her waist.

'I hope so.'

[lady_bols]

She moves into his embrace with ease, her hands resting on his arms.

'I know so. You don't think I picked that prostitute's outfit for myself, do you?'

Her tone is quiet, a tentative return to the the teasing of their early days.

[the_gene_genie]

'You mean you wouldn' choose to wear that stuff?'

His smile is small, but genuine and a bit sly. He eases her closer, and glances down at her chest.

'That's a disappointment.'

[lady_bols]

He pulls her closer and her arms thread around his neck, her fingertips lightly stroking through the small hairs at his nape.

'Good heavens, no. That skirt alone...' She makes a quiet sound of exasperation, smirking as he looks down her top. Her tone gentles. 'You've been stealing glances so long, I'm half-afraid you'll be disappointed with the real thing.'

[the_gene_genie]

'Not a chance,' he says immediately, and means it.

'An' there wasn' a thing wrong with that skirt.'

His eyes may be straying a bit still, because no matter what they look like - and he's sure they'll be stunning - they're attached to her, so they're going to be OK with him.

[lady_bols]

'It left nothing to the imagination.'

She's starting to feel a bit nervous again, this time with the butterflies that come from having him so close. He can't see much, surely, not through the loose neckline of this shirt, surely.

Nevertheless, her breath comes a little shallower, a little quicker. This close, she can study the fine lines of his face, the way the five o'clock shadow outlines his jaw. She finds herself leaning in, nuzzling against his cheek, drinking in his scent.

'You, erm, coming back to bed?'

[the_gene_genie]

'Exactly.'

His eyes fall closed, and he lowers his head, breathing quiet against her neck. His fingers grip a little tighter on her back.

'...yeah, OK.'

[lady_bols]

Her head falls to one side, her chin rising to invite him in. Goosebumps flare across her collarbone, running down her arms and her back. She closes her eyes, holding her breath now. Her hands fret in his hair, as she wars with herself, trying to respect his desire to go slowly.

He wanted to wait, so she'll let him make the next move.

[the_gene_genie]

He's in no hurry, and is quite enjoying the anticipation, in a masochistic kind of way. His lips brush along her neck, kiss under her ear, revelling in the quiet flare of arousal that's become familiar over the years working with her. It's different from the angry chemistry of their fights, or the silent anguish of knowing he'd never get her. It's familiar because while the moments of unacknowledged intimacy were rare, he remembers all of them, has them imprinted on his memory.

His hands drop away, but one finds hers and catches her fingers.

'C'mon then.'

He flicks the TV off, and leads her to bed in the dark.

[lady_bols]

A quiet breath shudders through her at that kiss, and yes, she does cling to him in that one brief moment. But then he's pulling away, leaving her hanging, trying to remember how to breathe. His hand feels like a lifeline in the darkness.

She's glad of the shadows, not wanting him to see her face. She's exhausted, emotionally reeling still, and this dance is almost too much to bear. She knows she's squeezing his hand tight, but she doesn't care.

It's only a few steps, but she hesitates, not sure where he wants her. In her own bed again, or back in his.

'Gene?'

[the_gene_genie]

'Yeah?'

He sits on his bed, and pulls her gently towards him, so she's standing between his legs. His hands go to her hips, making small circles, edging around to her backside. But then he hears the uncertainty in her tone, and thinks maybe he misunderstood 'go back to bed'.

He stills his touch.

'Did you want your own bed? That's all right.'

[lady_bols]

'No. No, no this is -- this is fine.'

She dares to touch his face, exquisitely aware of his beard beneath her fingertips. Gently, she urges his head up, bending to taste his mouth again. Just the barest brush of her lips.

'This is perfect.'

Another soft kiss, taking a little control back.

[the_gene_genie]

'Mmmm.'

He returns it, just as soft, trying to remind himself of why control is important. It's hard to recall. When she touches him, he just wants her all over his skin. He's been waiting for it for a long time.

A few moments later, when he's drawn back to breathe, he slides backwards and turns, lying half-propped on the pillows. He finds her hand in the dark again, giving it a gentle tug.