OOM: New Years Eve

[the_gene_genie]

The female strippers had arrived first and very nice they were too, to Gene's drunken eyes. In the state he's in he can ignore the cheap clothes and tarty makeup, ignore the way they chew gum and talk with some of the strongest Cockney accents he's ever heard. But it's all going well for the first five minutes, until the male strippers arrive.

Gene's never heard of the Chippendales before but he's not likely to forget them. All of them over six foot, bronzed and beefy and rippling muscle; every bird in the room perks up (including the cheap strippers) and every bloke in the room takes instant umbrage. Luigi looks from one group to the other, sees the faces of the coppers and immediately begins to panic. There are a few shouts as the guys start to do their thing; the girls take it as a challenge and start on their routine. The predominantly male audience cheers them on, the volume from the women increases...and so it goes. The place is a zoo and Gene's scowling. Not that he has anything against a good scrap but this is New Year's Eve and his local and who's fault is this anyway?

He pushes his way through the room to find her, putting his glass down on the bar next to her with more force than is strictly necessary.

''appy now?'

Comments

[lady_bols]

Her brow knits for a moment in frustration. How can she explain this and make him understand?

She doesn't speak for a long moment, her thumbs drawing idle circles on the backs of his hands.

"If there was anyway that I could, don't you think that I would? You think I want to fight this all alone? No, I have to. But it doesn't change the... it doesn't change..."

The words crowd behind her teeth and she blinks rapidly.

[the_gene_genie]

'...what? What doesn' it change?'

He wants to hear her say it, whatever it is. Even if it's something he doesn't want to hear. He's tired of having to guess and his blue eyes are searching her face, travelling over her lips, hoping for some bloody answers. She's close and caressing his hands; he knows the sensible thing would be to step back. He knows that she'll stand there and say things and then go inside, leaving him wanting; problem is, it feels nice right here in this moment and he doesn't want to let it go yet.

[lady_bols]

Someone down below shouts that there's just ten or so minutes left to midnight, everyone should grab a glass to toast.

She's drunk and tired, and worn thin from the fight. But she meets that gaze, and for a moment, she lets herself want him.

She doesn't let him go, just backs into the flat, pulling him along with her, into the long shadows cast by the street light outside her window.

[the_gene_genie]

He couldn't stop himself following if he wanted to. Maybe he'll blame it on the alcohol later but he just knows that he's been wanting her for months and now she's leading him into her flat by the hands.

Just for a bit, he tells himself. Promises himself he'll leave if it gets weird. But for now, he can try it and see what happens.

[lady_bols]

She keeps one hand in his, reaching past to close the door behind him. She doesn't bother turning on a light. The kitchen is just a few steps away, and there's a dim glow from the range that's enough for now. The bottle of Bollinger's is in the middle of her table.

"Champers, straight from the bottle," she says, remembering back to one of the first cases they worked together. Her voice is low, like she doesn't want to break the spell.

"Start as we mean to go on," she repeats, interlacing her fingers with his, drawing him close, almost as if she's afraid he'll change his mind.

[the_gene_genie]

He swallows and looks away. This is a bad idea. This is such a very massive, awful, terrible idea that he can't get his head around the magnitude of it and ends up doing nothing. His fingers tighten around hers a little bit, then loosen, as if testing to see if she'll drop them.

'We're drunk, Bolly,' he says, quietly.

And nothing has changed.

[lady_bols]

She doesn't. No, she squeezes back, smiling, not taking his words the way he means. "Bit of a given, that."

She's seen him be bashful before, and while it's adorable, she doesn't want him to be uncomfortable around her. Not now, not ever.

"Here. Hold the bottle." She picks it up and puts it in his free hand, using hers to peel off the foil and starting on the wire.

[the_gene_genie]

He is. He can't help it. And it's ridiculous because it's her, her and him. They've been dancing around this for so long and it's not like he doesn't know what to do with a woman. It's just so complicated.

He holds the bottle and tries to think of a way to break the tension, even if he's the only one that's feeling it.

'Hurry up. Be next New Year before we ge' a drink at this rate.'

[lady_bols]

The noise of the crowd down below is ramping up, and they can hear someone shout the one minute warning.

She still doesn't let go of his hand, wriggling a bit to get the wire off. "Okay, hold it steady." Her tongue sticks out between her lips, just a little, as she concentrates. "Bollocks, that's not going to work -- here."

She puts his hand on her hip. "Stay."

That gives her two hands free, and careful to point it away from anything breakable, she uses her thumbs to pop the cork, trusting him keep a grasp on the bottle.

The crowd down below starts the final countdown. Ten! Nine!

[the_gene_genie]

It fizzes out over his hand and if that gives him flashbacks to...well. Probably best not to think about that at this moment, when his hand is on her hip and he's desperately trying to remember all the ten thousand reasons why this is a terrible idea, why it can't happen. Not like this. There's something so wrong about it, on a fundamental level that he can't explain. And he doesn't want to explain it because then he'll have no choice but to back away.

He offers the bottle up to her as the crowd hit six!

'You first.'

[lady_bols]

Her hand covers his and she puts her mouth to the bottle, drinking a swallow or two, letting it run over her chin.

Five! Four!

"Quick, now you."

It's just a moment in time. A moment she wants to spend with him. Even if it is wrong, and there are so many reasons why she shouldn't be here, she doesn't care. She wants this, just this.

[the_gene_genie]

He never needs a second invitation to drink but doesn't have much and doesn't make a mess.

Three! Two!

He eyes her in the dark, wondering if she knows how often he's dreamed about being in a situation like this with her. Well, almost like this. The dreams usually involve more ripping off of clothes, and desks. But she's in them.

One!

'Happy New Year, Bols.'

[lady_bols]

She sets the bottle down and takes his face between her hands, looking into his eyes for a moment before drawing him down. Her words feather against the side of his mouth.

"Happy New Year, Gene."

This kiss is nothing like the peck he got under the mistletoe. It is not chaste. It is soft and insistent, though somewhat hesitant, as if her confidence is failing her at the last moment. As if she's waiting for his answer to her question.

[the_gene_genie]

He knew it was coming and still, he's surprised. For the briefest of seconds he doesn't kiss her back, his brain yelling at him to stop this now before it's too late. But her lips are soft and he's wanted this; his eyes fall closed against his better judgement and he gives in, kisses her back, just as soft, just as insistent, his hands resting lightly on her hips.

[lady_bols]

He reciprocates and she feels as if the whole world has tipped slightly. She closes her eyes and melts against him, her hands slipping around his neck, fingertips weaving in his hair. She tastes champagne and whiskey and him. (He feels real.)

Just another moment, God please. In all the rest of this madness, please, just one more sweet moment here, with him.

[the_gene_genie]

For one minute, he lets himself go. For one minute, he slides his arms around her waist and pulls her against him, kisses her properly, feels what it'd be like to be able to hold her close and do this all the time.

And then he pulls away. Not abruptly but inexorably. He doesn't want to but knows that if he doesn't now, he never will. His hand finds the champagne bottle and he takes a drink, not looking at her and not speaking.

[lady_bols]

For one minute, anything seems possible. For one minute, he's holding her and kissing her and nothing else matters. But it could never last.

He pulls away and the madness reasserts itself with a vengeance. She doesn't have Molly, she couldn't save her parents, and she can't have him. Why should she have ever hoped differently?

She looks away too, not wanting him to see her face, not wanting him to see how scared and alone she really feels. She steps away, into the dimness of the kitchen, one hand over her lips, eyes closed, sealing that one sweet moment into her memory.

He's right. She knows it. She scrubs at her eyes and takes a deep breath. (This is her fight. Hers, alone.)

She fumbles in the cupboard for glasses, and returns, sitting down at the table and letting him pour her a glass.

[the_gene_genie]

Maybe that's the best way to play it. A simple New Year's kiss, nothing more.

Only that's stupid because they both know it's more than that. Gene looks at the floor, then sighs in exasperation and runs his hand over his forehead, through his hair.

'Should really go and check they 'aven't killed each other,' he mumbles, right before sitting down at the table opposite her.

He'll check on them later, when he goes down to drink himself into oblivion.

[lady_bols]

There's a voice speaking from far away, and it sounds reasonable and rational. Comfortable even. It takes a moment before she realises it's hers

"They'll be fine for another little bit."

She leans on her elbows on the table and takes a long drink of champagne.

"I never did get to say thank you, for the Bolly. And the scarf." She wants to ask if he likes that colour blue. It's not her place to ask.

[the_gene_genie]

He waves it off with a vague gesture and starts fiddling with his glass. He's not all that good at being thanked, not when it's genuine.

He doesn't know what to say, so says nothing.

[lady_bols]

She watches him across the table, a soft smile on her features.

"This war I'm waging, in my head. This -- thing I have to do on my own. It doesn't change -- how I feel about you. You need to know, nothing will ever change that."

[the_gene_genie]

He sighs again, then flicks his eyes up to meet hers.

'Is tha' supposed to make it better?'

It makes it worse. That they could have what they both want but for some reason he's not allowed to know, they're denied it.

He drains his glass and stands up.

'It won' happen again, Alex. An' I don' wan' t'talk about it again, either. Alright?'

He doesn't sound angry. Just firm and detached. He can't hear this again - and with any luck, he wont remember of it anyway. He fully intends to walk downstairs and drink Luigi's bar dry.

[lady_bols]

"Right." The word is nothing more than a breath, sharp and short. She looks away again. This is so ludicrous. How did she ever fall this far down the rabbit hole?

She doesn't stand. Doesn't know if she can.

"Goodnight, then."

Her hand reaches out for the bottle and she fills her glass, all the way to the brim.

[the_gene_genie]

He hesitates for just half a second, then he's moving for the door.

'Night, Bols.'

He doesn't wish her a Happy New Year. It'd seem cold. He just goes downstairs, fends off the inevitable jokes and starts in on the Scotch like a man possessed.

He gets the feeling 1982 is going to be a hard one.