Hers and His
Notes: My first in the fandom. An extra pair of scenes for the end of "Redemption," something I wanted to throw out before diving into the longer story I've started. Apologies for any massacring or missing of British slang.
When she turns around again, he's gone. It hits her like a wave of vertigo, but years of practise keep the polite smile on her lips as she scans the faces in the crowded room. They're all familiar - all here because of her - but none are the one she's hoping to see. Taking a sip from the plastic cup in her hand, she tries not to think about why this bothers her so much.
Attachment always breeds expectation, Carol.
She refuses to acknowledge his voice in her mind, bringing with it as it often does a faint twinge of annoyance. She focuses instead on what Kevin's saying, coming in at what she hopes can only be the punchline of a very bizarre joke.
"So he says, 'Of course the bear's wearing trousers. Did you expect him to wear the chainsaw instead?'"
She musters up a chuckle on cue, then stares down into her cup rather than let herself to look around the room again. The first alcohol she's been allowed in weeks, and it tastes like goat piss. Not that she isn't grateful, really, but right now she'd rather trade this show of support for another dose of pain killers and the comfort of her own bed.
She winces as a hand lands on her bruised shoulder. "It's good to have you back, ma'am."
Another surface smile as she turns to face the well-wisher. "Thanks, Roger. Good to be back."
The string of a sinking balloon brushes her cheek as she moves toward the two desks someone has pushed together and piled high with food. She isn't particularly hungry, but she'd rather have a purpose than stand lost in the middle of this buzzing crowd. She wonders how long polite society demands she stay before ducking out and heading home. Maybe she can escape to her office, start on some back paperwork. Still here, but not so... here.
She sighs in the face of a lost cause. They'll probably just drag her back out to the party anyway.
"You all right, guv?"
Paula, looking up at her with open concern. She wonders if it's because they work so closely together or because she really does look that bad off. Either way, her smile this time is more genuine than any she's used since she stepped in that door. "Fine. Just a bit tired is all."
Paula glances around at their relaxed, happy colleagues. "Should I try and get everybody back to work then?"
She shakes her head, ignoring the beat of an ache that hasn't yet quite gone away. "No, no need to break up the party. Just don't be surprised if you find me hiding out in my office in a while, yeah?"
"Sure. Whatever you want." Paula slides her hands into her pockets and turns to head back into the throng.
"Paula..." The other woman stops, faces her again with a question in her eyes. "You didn't happen to see Dr. Hill leave, did you?"
Paula reflexively looks around the room again, as if she'll be able to spot him where Carol failed. "I didn't, but I'm sure he just popped out for a bit of air or something. You want me to have a look?"
"No... no, forget about it. Enjoy the party."
Jesus, wasn't having him visit the hospital every day enough? You expect him to hang around here all hours too?
At least this last voice sounds like her own. If anyone's going to be carrying on a conversation in her head, it should be her.
The whiteboard catches her eye. It should be empty, but someone's pinned up file photos of the two wankers who attacked her. Photos with huge red bullseyes drawn on them. Underneath is written "Closed," complete with a jaunty black exclamation mark.
She does nothing but stare at it for a moment.
"'Course you did most of the work in solving that one, but..."
Kevin's voice breaks her out of frozen time, and she looks over to see him scratching at the back of his head with an uncertain grin. He's looking at the board more than at her, waiting for her reaction.
"Cute," she says. She can feel a rush of tension leave him, and she wonders if she's really that unpredictable. "Just take them down before somebody comes in here and sees them, yeah?"
"Yeah. Sure," he says.
Now seems like a really good time to head for her office. Ten minutes and several chummy salutations later, she finally makes it to her door; no one's looking when she quickly dives in and closes it behind her. She leans against the cool wood, breathing in the silence.
She's never been all that fond of parties.
A stray yellow balloon has found its way into her office, floating peacefully in the space behind her desk. When she gets closer, she sees that it's actually tied to the support on the back of the chair. She decides to leave it where it is, amused by the bright spot of color in the midst of these somewhat drab surroundings. Amused that someone took the time to leave it here for her to find.
Her ribs complain when she goes to sit, but it's nothing that won't pass. Her desk is covered with file folders and forms, half-stacked in what she will only presume must have once been intended as several neat piles. She can't decide where to start. She isn't sure she even really wants to.
Leaning back in the chair, she tips her head back and closes her eyes. It's barely more than a blink before her brain catches up to point out what she's almost missed. There. Written on the bottom of the balloon, perfectly visible from this exact angle. Written in black, in Tony's familiar capitalized scrawl.
Welcome back, Carol.
She can't stop smiling now if she wants to.
He's never much liked parties. Too many people, too much noise. An interesting forum in which to study body language, human interaction... but impossible to carry on a decent conversation. And the games, all the games... Look at me. Fancy me. Love me. Compress your personality into sound bytes small enough to prove yourself worthy of my attention.
He ducks reflexively as a digitalized wolf leaps out of the tv screen shadows. The game controller is warm in his hands. A hit to the shoulder knocks him to the ground; he frowns, uses the colored buttons to get himself back onto his virtual feet.
Children's parties are no better, really. I'm over-sugared, over-stimulated, and my mate's the only one who gets to open any presents. Too many people, too much noise... but I'm greedier at this age. Less concerned with gaining your attention than with taking it, stealing it. At least the games here are more obvious. But, let's face it, there's got to be a reason so many people claim to suffer from coulrophobia.
And just how many parties did you attend during your childhood, hmmm? Three? Four?
No, he doesn't care for parties. Besides, they didn't truly want him there, did they? Oh, they would've welcomed him all right, made empty conversation... but he isn't one of them, not really. Perpetual outsider, always disconnected... Work events must be the worst of all, actually - people you don't particularly like, innocent gaffes morphing into potentially fatal indiscretions. Be on guard, give nothing away. He would've ended up haunting a corner.
He wonders if Carol is enjoying herself. He pictures her smiling, laughing. The natural center of attention, the cause for the occasion. People leaning in close to impart a personal message, a couple of pleasant words. She doesn't even know that he's gone, he wagers. Too much noise and too many faces, conspiring en mass to fill up her thoughts...
He jumps for the ledge. Misses.
Self-pity, Tony? Distracting, unattractive habit.
His fingers are starting to cramp around the controller. He remembers he still has papers to grade. Some reading he wants to do before his lecture tomorrow.
He flexes his hands, starts the level again.
He sees the two of them there together, standing in his corner. Watches her nod to someone he doesn't recognize, a man with a nondescript face composed of a thousand vaguely-registered parts that he passes in everyday strangers. An unnoticeable man, wife and two kids in a cookie-cutter house that he struggles to make payments on as he's passed up for yet another promotion. The smile on her lips doesn't make it all the way to her eyes, and he thinks he hears the word ”sycophant” in her muttered breath. He pretends to be shocked. She elbows him in the ribs.
He misses the ledge a second time.
This isn't working. This usually safe haven of complex puzzles and anesthetized violence isn't enough today to free his mind. He can't slow down, can't let go. He wants to lose himself in the game. He wonders what Carol's doing.
Resting back into the plush comfort of the chair, he lets the controller slip from his hand into his lap. He closes his eyes against the familiarity of a growing headache and listens to the sounds of the room around him. Hair whispering across fabric, theme music soft and tinny from the speakers on his ancient telly. Outside, a female voice calling with increasing desperation for Queen Elizabeth.
He tries to determine if she's lost a pet or if he should perhaps go outside. A phone rings.
His phone. His eyes open with the revelation, and he launches himself out of the chair whilst trying hurriedly to recall where he might have left it last. He pretends not to notice the dizziness as he digs under the mess of loose papers that've taken up residence on nearly one half of his couch. He supposes he should go talk to someone about that, about the headaches that have been coming more and more often. He supposes he'll get around to it at some point.
He lifts a book-heavy plastic bag from the top of a low bookshelf and is rewarded with his ringing phone. For a moment he simply looks at it, confused as to why he didn't notice when he'd set the bag down. Or how he'd unintentionally managed to perfectly balance the books on the phone so that none of them toppled to the floor.
He shakes his head. Breaks the spell. Answers the phone.
"Tony Hill."
"Tony. Hi."
Carol. He smiles, and for the first time today everything else just falls away.