the_gene_genie | OOM: Room 6620, #4

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OOM: Room 6620, #4

He hadn't dozed for long yesterday. And it had been another restless night, although not as bad as before - he still gave up in the end though, and slipped out of bed before Alex woke up. He thought she'd be awake by the time he got out of the shower, but no.

He went downstairs for a pint. Ridiculous really, at that time of morning, but he always recommended the pub after long operations that finished in the morning, so why should now be any different?

Of course, he got a bit more than he bargained for.

Which is why he's not trying to be quiet when he comes back into the room. If she wakes up, good. She needs to hear this.

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Her eyes slit momentarily, but it's no use.

Even if he does forget, she knows she never will. And if they only have a brief time left to them, she doesn't want to waste a moment of it.

'Fancy another walk?'

'Over all the sex we could be having? Of course.'

It's his sarcasm reflex, obviously. He still sounds amused. He's not really in the mood at the moment anyway.

'Just let me finish me tea.'

She scoffs, mock-indignant, and looks away, her gaze scanning the room again. That cut a bit. Certainly, it would be easy to go back to the room and lose herself in him again. But they're still not on solid ground, and as much as she'd love to do just that, she won't.

'I'll be right back.' She stands and rests one hand on his shoulder, briefly.

Her turn to disappear, only she stops at the bar and leaves a note for Shaz. She also drops off her list of necessities, including the request for a nice fountain pen and a journal. Old habits, and what not. And then she heads for the loo, taking a moment to freshen up and catch her breath.

He lights another fag as soon as she's gone, and takes his time with his drink. It's raining a bit out there. Typical.

He's still looking for Shaz too, but he doesn't think she's going to turn up. Can't blame her, really. Left to himself, he's lock himself in with a crate of Scotch, and only come up for refills.

This is fine. They can do this. It'll be fine.

She isn't gone long, and when she comes back, she looks a little more like herself. A napkin manifests on the bar, and a convenient gust of wind blows it into her path. She picks it up and almost tosses it away when she sees the note.

'"Garage"? What?'

She looks up at the empty space behind the counter, and then back to where Gene is sitting. She's still holding the note like it's liable to bite her when she returns, offering it to him with a puzzled look.

'I think... This might be meant for you.'

He reads it, and quirks his eyebrows.

Garage has space.

Yeah. Plenty of room to walk down there. And he wouldn't mind seeing the Cortina again.

'It's pissing down,' he says to her, and grinds his fag out. 'Come with me.'

The prospect of cars is enough to cheer him up a bit.

'Huh.'

Okay, she'll bite. She's never seen the garage before.

'I suppose the outside isn't the only place to explore around here.'

'I even heard a rumour there was a gym once. Not that I'm about to go looking.'

He wanders over to the far wall, hands in his pockets. He's considering whether it's too wet to take the Cortina out. And trying to ignore the nagging in the back of his mind.

'Ever been down here before?'

He hits a button, which lights up in red.

'No, I can't say that I have. They have a gym?'

Oh dear lord, would she even remember how to run on a treadmill?

He shrugs.

'Apparently.'

Part of the wall open, revealing that it's been a lift door all along. He steps inside, and hits the shiny big button.

'Might even find something you like down here.'

He counts it, but heigh ho. They'll see. When the doors open, it's on to...well, cars. And bikes, and vehicles of every shape and size, stretching as far as the eye can see.

He grins, and points.

'Look. Steve McQueen's motor from Bullit.'

It's always the first one he lays eyes on, and it never fails to make him smile.

Alex's brow furrows as she follows his gaze. 'Is that another film I'm supposed to have seen?'

As far as she's concerned, cars are utilitarian in nature. Except for the ridiculously old ones that should really be in a museum and not on the road. She bought her Volvo solely based on its safety record, though Molly seemed intent on her picking one that wasn't as 'boxy' as the others. It was a flexible means of transportation, and an indulgent one at that.

It's not that she doesn't like cars. She just doesn't fancy them the way he does.

'...it's another film you're going to see.'

He does not sigh. Really. He's already walking up the row, running his hand along various smooth surfaces - until he stops, and laughs and points.

'Look. The Batmobile.'

The only one he's ever seen, of course. And surely even she must know what that looks like?

She should start keeping a list.

'...Does that mean that somewhere, up there, Bruce Wayne is having a drink?'

That question sounds even more daft coming out of her mouth than she imagined it did in her head.

'Dunno. Doubt it.'

He shrugs, and scans the next line over.

'It's just got all the motors from stories, as well as the cars real people actually own...look! Come on.'

He's off, pushing between a poncey Deloran that someone's stuck a half a kettle on the back of, and a posh looking Aston Martin. He's only got eyes for the bronze beauty parked next to the A-Team van.

'My Cortina.'

Alex's eyes have gone wide at Marty McFly's time machine, and 007's wheels.

Only the sound of his voice pulls her attention back to where he's looking.

'This is what you drove back in Manchester?' Her tone takes on a tentative air. It's a delicate question. Like asking about your current lover's ex.

'Yep.'

He doesn't sound anything but pleased to see it, and runs his hand over the bonnet as if shaking the hand of an old, and dear, friend.

Or, y'know. Another interpretation, as cars tend to be female.

'Haven' seen her in a while.'

Still loves her, clearly.

Alex crosses her arms, smirking at his pleasure.

'Should I leave you two alone together?'

No, she's not jealous. Not in the least. Not even -- okay, maybe a teensy bit, but it's soothed by the knowledge that she is the one with the real tits.

He shoots her a Look, but does take his hand off the bonnet.

'Been gone three years, that's all,' he mutters, a little embarrassed.

'Apart from one time I took it out here.'

One eyebrow rises, and she licks her lips.

'Don't suppose you'd like to take it for a spin? Just around the garage, not anywhere too strenuous.'

'Yeah.'

Of course he would. No hesitation. He spins on his heel, and yanks open the driver's side door. Keys are in the ashtray. He takes a deep breath, inhaling leather and years-old smoke, softened to something comforting and familiar.

'Mind the paintwork,' he says to her. He's something of an obsessive about paintwork and this car.

'As if,' she mutters, crossing around the bonnet, trailing her fingers across the hood as she goes.

She sinks into the seat, wiggling a bit to get comfortable. Something's off, and she knows what it is, but she doesn't want to mention it. Instead, she watches him go through the motions, and then glances up at his profile.

Something takes her, and she leans across into his space, one hand on his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss just in front of his ear.

He turns his head and smiles, just a little. Then the engine roars into life, full-throated and alive.

'Hold on to something.'

His foot hits the accelerator; the wheels scream as they spin in place. And then they're moving, leaving black marks painted on the garage floor, and the smell of rubber in the air.

She keeps one hand on his arm, bracing and laughing under her breath, letting the forces of acceleration push her back into the seat. It feels good. Better than that, it feels right, to be here at his side.

She lets her head loll back against the headrest, watching the garage lights flicker overhead.

'Try not to flatten any of our fellow patrons, love.'

She doubts he'll even hear her over the roar of the engine.

He doesn't hear her, and there's no one around anyway. He just goes for it, because the garage seems to stretch forever and he's curious as to how fast he can go before he has to turn. He's not bothered about checking out the other cars, he can do that some other time.

Of course, things get a bit hairy when what looked like a car in the distance turns out to actually be a wall. Still, he just laughs and grabs the handbrake, skidding sideways to round the corner into the next aisle.

Nothing she hasn't seen before, really.

It's crazy, how much she loves this. She remembers the first time she sat here, beside him, nails dug into the hand holds or the dash, gritting her teeth as he muscled the car through the streets of his kingdom. She was terrified that he'd kill them both before she ever had a chance to get home. And he always brought them home safe, always, without fall.

It became a part of her daily routine, strapping in despite his scoffed admonitions that it was unnecessary; letting the roar of the engine quiet her racing mind, letting the centrifugal forces push her out of herself. The Cortina feels different to the Quattro, not as powerful, certainly. But he seems to know it just as well.

She leans into the turn unconsciously, feeling the weight lift from her body and her mind as the scenery around them blurs. There's a rhythm to his movements that's comforting. Familiar. She sits back, elbow on the window sill, hand in her hair, smiling to beat the band.

Turns out she needed this.

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