the_gene_genie | OOM: Room 6620, #6

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OOM: Room 6620, #6

He knows he's probably in trouble as he drags himself up the stairs. He only went down to have a quick pint, and pick up some more wine. He's been gone about five hours now, he estimates, though it's really hard to care. Sitting on the garage floor after a scrap has left him stiff as a board, and freezing cold. The half bottle of Scotch - not to mention Guppy smacking him on the melon a few times - means his head's pounding. Everything aches, and he wants nothing more than to climb into a warm bed, and stay there forever.

But he can't do that. Enough of this. He's been trying so hard, but it's time to throw in the towel. He can't go through another encounter like that. All that's left is to tell her.

He lets himself into their room quietly, half hoping she'll be asleep but knowing he'd have to wake her up anyway.

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Oh God, what the hell just happened?

'I didn't say I was going to.'

'Oh.'

Well, she should have known as much.

'Well, I did. Beat you to the punch, twice now.'

If he doesn't know by now how much he means to her, how much she wants this, then no amount of babbling on and on about her reasons is going to bridge that divide. He know she came back for him. He knows she'd go to the ends of the universe for him. But she's never been good at waiting.

'What did you mean, you didn't know how it would work?'

He scrubs an eye with the heel of his hand, and tries to think.

'I don't know. I've never lived in more than one world before. How am I supposed to know whether things would change? I'm trying not to break stuff.'

Again, her brow furrows.

'I'm sorry, I don't understand. I don't see how you and I getting married would break anything.'

She has no idea what he's worried about.

'You mean, apart from the way in which you're supposed to have moved on and not be in my life any more? You can't come back to live with me. I can't live here all the time. I don't know how me going between here and there all the time is going to work, let alone if we-'

He breaks off, and looks away. This is all true, but it's not the main reason he's hesitating.

'Alex, we've barely been together ten days. We've spent literally all that time dealing with the fact that we're dead. It's not a basis for marriage.'

Her lower lip juts out as he talks, and then he gets to the crux of the matter. She licks her lips, her gaze focused very intently on the backs of their hands.

'We've only been together as a couple for a few days. But there's more to this,' her hand squeezes his, 'than that.'

'All right, maybe you're right. Maybe this isn't the right time.' Her eyes close, and her lips thin as she chokes down a wave of emotion.

'At least you could...' Again, her voice evaporates on her lips, and she holds herself very still. As if even the slightest breeze might cause her to crumble to dust.

'...what?'

She laughs under her breath, realizing that she's gripping his hands so hard, her knuckles are blanched. It takes an effort of will, but she forces herself to relax.

'I am off the map again, and floundering in deep waters, love. It may look like I'm clinging to you because I have nothing else left, and I wouldn't blame you if you thought that.'

She forces her hands to go through the motions of filling their glasses again.

'But I told you two things at Christmas, that first year.'

She hands him his glass back, and takes another sip.

'You only heard the second thing, that I couldn't. You never heard me say that I wanted to. That I wanted you then, I wanted this kind of relationship with you then.'

'Honestly, Gene, if we wait around for all the reasons we shouldn't do this to resolve themselves, well... I get the feeling we'll never get there. And I, for one, am so tired of waiting for things to go my way.'

He accepts the drink, and listens, and really wants to go to sleep. All of this...he just can't.

'I can't marry a woman, any woman, after ten days, Alex. It's just not right. You might have wanted this for two years - and I know I did - but you never told me. I can't go from zero to a thousand miles an hour in the space of a week.'

Can't, and wouldn't, even if all the other shit hadn't happened.

'You're saying 'what are the reasons we shouldn't do this' without me even saying that's what I want, yet. Christ, last week I'd been married before, for twenty-odd years. Now I know I never was. Give me a bloody chance, would you?'

He doesn't sound annoyed, though he's starting to feel it. Just tired. Resigned to the fact that there's never any peace, anywhere.

She nods, and withdraws her hand, curling it around her glass, trying to isolate the sensations of cool and smooth against her palm. (Trying to smother her fear at losing him again, at losing everything again. It's happened so many times, she should be used to it by now, shouldn't she?) When she looks up at him, it's with a sympathetic, and yes, apologetic smile.

'Yes, you're -- absolutely right. It's daft, to even think it, let alone ask the question out loud.'

She swallows again, and stands, setting her glass aside and walking to the door.

'Maybe they left the trolley outside?'

She opens the door, and a moment later, her suspicions are confirmed. Dinner has been here for awhile.

And now he feels like shit. But not so much that he'll change his mind. He's lost himself already once. He has to hold on to the things that feel right.

Still.

'I'm not saying never, luv. Lets just get over this first, eh?'

She wheels the trolley in, her features set in a cool, collected mask. She doesn't want him to see the fear in her eyes. He doesn't know her, not yet. At least not consciously. He knows the major players, but he doesn't know how her life has been plagued by loss, and why should he? He's had his own demons to battle.

'I know,' she answers, starting to set up the table and then pausing. She sighs, and returns to his side of the bed, sitting close to him, one hand at his cheek.

'I trust you, love. I've never felt this way about anyone before. It scares me, frankly. Makes me feel -- vulnerable. Exposed.'

'Getting married won't take that away,' he says, quietly.

'Not if it's not done right.'

He's trying to do the right thing. Saying yes when they're this unstable doesn't allow any room for what might happen if things change again. Better to find out how things work first, before making that kind of commitment.

She nods again, a half-hearted smile on her lips. Her gaze moves away, listening to the bath water, realising she'd best go turn the taps off before they have another mess to clean up.

He's right, and she knows it. And if he leaves and never comes back, what difference would a ring make?

'Would you do one thing for me? Mad as a bag of bees though I may be?'

He turns his head, and looks at her out of the corner of his eye.

'As long as it's not too kinky.'

That gets a smirk, and a twinkle in her eye.

God, she loves flirting with him.

'Promise me you'll at least try to come back? I mean, if you don't remember the Bar while you're there, I know it's meaningless to ask. But could you just...?' Her chin does that thing it does when she's trying to not be all girl-like, and failing miserably.

He frowns immediately, perplexed.

'Why wouldn't I try?'

She really thinks he wouldn't?

'I don't think I'll remember, but if I do, why would I want to stay away?'

'Well, I don't know.'

That's wrong. She does know.

'Because I've supposed to have moved on and not be in your life anymore? Because you think you're supposed to do this all by yourself, and as nice as this is, maybe -- maybe it's not what you want, ultimately?'

The frown edges towards a scowl.

'This isn't the same as that.'

He rubs a hand over his forehead, and takes a deep breath.

'Don't use my words against me, Alex. If I didn't want this, I wouldn't have stopped here and waited for you after...after it happened. I wouldn't have stayed here for the last week, putting myself through-

- look, can we just stop this? I don't want to go home on a row.'

Her eyes close as his anger flares. Again, she's managed to stand on his last nerve. Well, at least that much hasn't changed.

He wants this. He waited for her. He's stayed, for as long as he can. He'll be back. He's not leaving her (like her father did, like Peter did, like she left Molly).

And she's just trying to be honest with him. She can't just lay her fears aside and forget them, much as she'd like to.

'Yes, all right. Okay,' she says, nodding. 'It'll be all right.'

She touches his hand again, and moves away from his side, heading back into the bath, deft hands twisting the taps off. She dips her fingers in the hot water, and tries to think.

'It'll be all right.' She repeats the phrase silently to herself. It'll be all right.

And he can't do anything to allay them, except by lying to her. Which he's not prepared to do.

He watches her walk into the bathroom, and lets out a long breath. Lights another fag, and sprawls back in the bed. A nap is obviously in order. Things will look better after a sleep, probably.

And much as he doesn't want to leave her, he can't deny the tiny flare of excitement that comes when he thinks about going home. This time tomorrow, it says, a guilty voice in the dark. None of this will hurt any more.

He'll never admit it out loud. But it's there, all the same.

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OOM: Room 6620, #6

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