So this is my new story. I doubt it will be very long really but it is a different take on the death of Archie Mitchell and WILL reveal 'whodunnit'! (Although my version obviously). It will feature Roxy, Ronnie, the man in this chapter, and a few others along with many surprises...the past will all take on a new meaning, things you thought you knew...you don't.
Also, I WILL still be writing Truth, but I am a little stuck on it at the moment and had this little plotbunny in my head so had to get it out. I hope you all like it. Please let me know what you all think.
This chapter is very much just introductory and is just setting the scene.
The revelers of Albert Square were in full swing, odd lines of Auld Lang Syne rang out from huddled groups and the shouts of new years greetings were passed back and forth between people in varying degrees of inebriation. Roxy sat on the corner of the sofa in Dot's living room where the television flickered out the fireworks as the chimes of Ben Big came to an end. She wiped her eyes discretely though there was nobody there to see the tears, Ronnie was asleep beside her, drained and looking so childlike in her curled slumber. The shouts still echoed in the Square but Roxy didn't dare to utter the words. There wasn't a happy new year, not for the Mitchells.
Roxy's eyes skittered around the room. It felt dead, the whole world for Roxy felt dead, cracked open and broken. Her daddy was dead, Ronnie was a mess, Peggy was inconsolable and Phil was flat out drunk, happily destroying himself and any remnants of family and support the Mitchells may have had. Roxy lifted Ronnie's feet from her lap and knelt beside her for a moment. She noted the blotchy, tear stained complexion, the dark circles around her eyes and knew that she must look the same. But somehow it didn't matter. Once the party girls, New Years would have been spent half cut, dancing in a bar, or equally likely, on a bar, until they passed out or went home with one of the men they'd have toyed with in the night. And now here they were, in a strange house, the television providing the only light as they sat alone, broken.
"Tell me it'll get better yeah?" Roxy whispered to Ronnie as she slept. Pleading, begging, Roxy didn't know what she was doing as the words spilled out. "Like you used to? Tell me it'll get better Ron. Tell me it'll all be ok." Her knees twinged as she knelt on them on the thin carpet, she stroked Ronnie's hair back off her forehead before lowering her shoulders to curl her upper body in against Ronnie's just for a second. As if, as she squeezed her eyes closed and hid herself in her big sister, somehow things would all go back to how they were, how it was when they were children, when their daddy was their hero and everything was simple.
"Sorry Ron. I'll see you in the mornin'." Roxy whispered as she untangled herself from the sofa and stood to leave. She didn't look at Ronnie's face. Although Ronnie was asleep so eye contact could easily be avoided, somehow Roxy still couldn't look in her sister's face, not then.
Roxy wrapped her coat tightly around her as she stepped out into the Square. She stood staring at the Vic for several moments, unable to move from the doorstep as she watched strangers and friends walking past her old home, the place she had last seen her father, when he died. Setting her eyes to the floor, Roxy moved away from the Branning's house and folding her arms over her chest she moved to the one place she could think of to go, the one person she wanted to see. Knocking on his door she wondered if she was doing the right thing, wondered if it mattered what she wanted anymore. But as the door opened and he stood there, in his boxers and a shirt, looking comfortingly into her eyes. She knew she had come to the right man.
"Rox," he said, his voice slightly husky as though from sleep. Roxy found herself smiling despite herself at his disheveled state. He stood back from the door, welcoming her in and Roxy stepped through the threshold, turning to stare at him and watch as he closed the door. But she couldn't find the words. She stood silently as he stepped forward to stroke her face, moving a lock of hair back from her eyes. A tear escaped her.
"Shh..." he whispered into her ear as his arms wrapped around her waist, drawing her in to his body. He laid a kiss into Roxy's hair, laying his head atop hers. "Come on." He said, meaning to lead her into the living room but unable to move Roxy from her position in his arms.
"Just hold me ok? Just for tonight, look after me yeah?" He was taken aback. Roxy's weakness wasn't something normal, at least not so openly displayed.
"Of course I will. Come on." His voice was soft as made to lead Roxy into the living room only for her to pull away from him.
"No." She uttered, her eyes locking with his. She caught his hand in hers as he looked quizzically at her. Silently she pulled on his arm as she made steps towards the stairs, leading him eye to eye upstairs.
Standing on the bottom step Roxy stopped, he stood against her, bodies together and she leant forward and brushed her lips whisperingly across his before making tracks across his jaw. She turned, his hand still in his and lead him to the bedroom, wanting nothing more than to be comforted, body to body and to lie safe in another's arms.
Closing the bedroom door behind him he watched Roxy stripping off her coat, soon followed by her next layer of clothing. He watched, but though they kept eye contact, there was something missing from Roxy's gaze and he stepped forward, grasping her hands, stopping the progression of nudity. His thumbs caressed the backs of her hands and he shushed her before leading her still partially clothed into the bed, ignoring her confused protests. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, content to hold her and protect her from the pain, if only for a moment.
Roxy let out a loud sigh as she tried to stop more tears coming. She closed her eyes and pressed her hands into his chest, feeling the strength of muscle, the comforting form, her doctor, her Al.