A/N: this story starts in S4E4, but quickly becomes AU. Seven-dragons (thank you) suggested in a discussion that perhaps Jean should not really have stayed with Lucien once Mei Lin came back. This story takes up that idea, and inevitably that changes the events of the rest of series 4. I hope you enjoy it. xx
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Perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised. The one thing everyone knew about Jean Beazley was that she always tried to do what was right. But he still hadn't thought she would really leave him.
The night Mei Lin came to their door, both Jean and Lucien were too shocked to think clearly, and the following day passed in a blur of work. But it seemed that Jean soon recognised what they would have to do; she started to distance herself, pulling away from his hold on her arm, reminding him he was married, giving him his ring back.
Once Mei Lin moved to the hotel it was perhaps just a matter of time. Jean knew people would talk if Mei Lin lived in the hotel while she stayed at home with Lucien. That just wasn't right. So, Lucien found himself reading Jean's note with disappointment, but a certain feeling of inevitability.
Lucien
I'm sorry to say goodbye in a note, but I'm not brave enough to say it in person. You should ask Mei Lin to come home - she's your wife.
I'm going to stay at Christopher's until I can find work, so could you please send on any post. I'd prefer it if you didn't ring me or write any letters. I think that would be unfair on Mei Lin, and perhaps unfair on me too.
I wish you both well.
Jean
He tried to find some reassurance in the letter that she would be back, or even any sign of affection, but she had avoided that. The note was starkly practical, and he couldn't even contact her to try to change her mind.
He put the note in his desk drawer and poured himself a whisky. He swallowed it rapidly, and then went upstairs and opened the door to Jean's room. She had obviously packed in a hurry, eager to be out of the house before he came home from work. The wardrobe door hung open, just a few coat hangers remaining on the rail. The bed was unmade, and that struck Lucien as so unlike Jean that he found himself automatically straightening the sheets and blankets.
He then sat down despondently on her bed and put his head in his hands. A tear trickled down his cheek and he didn't bother to wipe it away, and soon he was openly crying. Crying because the wife he had searched for for nearly two decades was safe, and the housekeeper he had taken for granted for too long had left.
The irony was not lost on him.
Eventually he walked slowly down stairs and determinedly set about drinking himself into oblivion.
He woke in the small hours at his desk, with a stiff neck and a headache. Stretching out his arms to ease his neck, he stood and staggered the few feet to his bedroom, where he removed his shoes and waistcoat. He then lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling despondently, in near darkness, until he slept again.
He didn't wake again until he heard Charlie in the kitchen, making himself some breakfast. Lucien groaned and rolled onto his side. His pillow smelled faintly of Mei Lin; she had slept there for two nights. There was a distant familiarity to her scent, certainly not unpleasant, but he found himself wishing it was the soft lemon smell of Jean's hair.
Walking through to the kitchen, he nodded at Charlie and poured himself a cup of tea.
"Where's Mrs Beazley?" Charlie asked. This was the first morning he could remember when Jean had not been up in time to make breakfast.
"She's gone, Charlie." He didn't elaborate and Charlie didn't press him, just stared grimly at his toast.
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Jean woke on her first morning in Adelaide to the sound of Amelia grizzling in her cot. She had lain awake much of the night, fretting about whether she had done the right thing, only to fall into a really deep sleep at dawn. Now she got up and put on her dressing gown, and went to see her granddaughter.
Amelia seemed delighted to see her and wriggled excitedly as Jean picked her up and went downstairs. Christopher glanced up at her and said, "You didn't have to see to her, Mum. Ruby would have done it."
"I know, but I wanted to," she replied. "Let Ruby have a lie in this morning." Jean cuddled the baby closer, kissing the top of her head, knowing that she was doing it to comfort herself as much as Amelia.
Christopher had heard the crack in her voice and looked sharply at his mother. He could see unshed tears in her eyes and he hesitated, wondering if he should ask what was wrong, but in the end he left it. She would tell him what the problem was when she was ready, he reckoned.
Finishing his cup of tea, Christopher went off to work, leaving his mother holding tightly on to his daughter. Then the tears began to slide down her cheeks and drip into Amelia's dark hair.