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?'

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[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.