Disclaimer: I do not own the Alex Rider series or any characters in this One-Shot.
"Helen, wait up!" he calls. He jogs after her and she turns and beams at him. He basks in her smile for a minute. She is perfection. She is the moon. She is the stars. She is the smell of freshly cut grass. She is the mockingbird's song. She is his future. She is his past. She is everything and nothing at the same time. And for this, he loves her.
Today is the day. Today is the day he will pluck up his courage and pose to her the question he's been dying to pose ever since he met her.
She hugs him as friends do after a long absence. She is soft in his returned embrace. Her perfume is the first he has noticed in his life. It is the scent of summer.
"Ash! I had no idea when you were getting back from Belfast. So how have you been keeping?" she asks. Her eyes glow as they fall into step beside each other. The bustle of the city does not invade their little world as they walk through London happily.
"Good, good. I just got back yesterday. Had an awful time in the airport. Lost all my luggage" he replies. She smiles sympathetically and he feels his heart twist with joy. She has him enraptured with just a smile.
"Poor you. Things like that do happen though. Have you called John? I think he missed his squash partner" she says flippantly. It is true, he knows it. He has known John longer than Helen yet she is the first one he gets in contact with when he returns. John is supposed to be his best friend. But he needs Helen.
"No, I haven't been in touch yet. Any news?" he asks, just so he can hear her voice.
Helen launches into a vivid description of everything that happened while he was away. He takes the opportunity to study her. Her eyes twinkle as she tells him about the New Years party she attended. She politely enquires about his new year.
"It was quiet" he says. He doesn't tell her how he was captured by the IRA and beaten to a pulp. He'd been left for dead on the steps of a police station. He subconsciously reaches out and runs his fingers along the plaster on his forehead.
"How did that happen?" she asks. She doesn't know how beautiful she is. That is why she is perfect. He can feel himself starting to worry deep inside. But none of his nerves matter at all. Because just being near her is enough. He just wants to talk to her for the rest of his life.
"I fell" he replies flatly in a tone that conveys his reluctance to talk about it. He can see it in her eyes. She knows it was an injury given to him while he was on his mission. He knows she will not push him and he is grateful for her silent concern.
"Clumsy, aren't you? First you lose your luggage and now you tell me you fell over. What will become of you, Anthony Sean Howell?" she asks teasingly. She doesn't notice his flinch at the use of his full name. That is the name he was given before his parents left him on the steps of the children's home. He wishes he could change it. But he can't bring himself to sever the only tie he has to his father.
That was the only thing his father had given him. A name.
"Of course, if you did manage to stay on your feet, I don't know if it'd be the same Ash" she teases. He doesn't mind her teasing him. John and Helen are the only people who ever tease him.
"Helen, I have to ask you something. Can we just sit down for a second?" he asks, nodding seriously at the park. Specifically the park bench.
She nods, all traces of amusement gone from her face. Now she has worry on her features. He wants to reassure her but he knows he must ask the question now before he loses his bravery.
He sits down on the bench and looks around. It is perfect. Surrounded by flowers. The sun is shining through the grey, January sky. He is grateful for his black woolen coat. Helen is still in her nurse's uniform. She shivers.
"Here". He holds out his coat and she studies it. She doesn't want him to think her weak but she is very cold. She slips into it and her eyes roam his face, searching for an explanation. He looks up to the sky and then returns his gaze to hers. He savours the moment. The look on her face. And then he is ready.
"Helen, would like to go out for dinner? With me. Sometime. If you can" he says. He says it quickly, the words slipping and crashing out of his mouth. He watches her expression carefully. it is unreadable. Time slows to a halt. He is aware of everything.
The inviting curve of her lips. Her crystal blue eyes watching him in surprise. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. The five hairs that have escaped from her chignon and are hanging over her forehead. The way his coat is too big for her. He can't see her fingers because they are swimming in the sleeves. He shivers. Perfection. All he can do now is hope.
He hopes with everything he is. Harder than he has ever dared to hope before. He hopes harder than he did for a loving family as a vulnerable child. He hopes harder than he did for acceptance to Special Operations. Harder than he did for his own safety in Belfast. Everything he is turns to hope. He wants this so much that he can feel a pain in his chest.
"Oh Ash, I would've. If you'd asked me a week ago I would've said yes with a glad heart. But I'm going out with someone" she says honestly. The word 'crushed' does not do justice to how he feels. She is his everything. But he is nothing. He can feel something inside him fold. The fires of hope driving him die out abruptly. He blinks twice, rapidly.
"Is he..." he trails off. He cannot bear to finish the sentence. The pain has grown. He can barely breathe. He goes hot and cold and then hot again. He has been obliterated. He has been smashed to pieces and put together again in the wrong shape. He is struck dumb. He can barely speak. There is an elephant sized lump in his throat.
"It's John. I thought he told you?" she says. Her face is curious. Her eyes are studying him again. He barely manages to hold himself together. He is angry and now he feels like ripping the flowers out of the ground. He had called them perfect. Nothing was good anymore. She was perfection and he would never know her fully.
"No. He didn't" he says shortly through gritted teeth. In years to come he will replay the conversation many times in his head. He would realise she was being as gentle and tender as she could. And he hated her for it. He wanted her to scream at him. To make him despise someone, something, anything more than he despises himself at the moment.
He gets to his feet and turns to leave. He knows he is being dramatic but she is his world. And now his world has been taken by John Rider. And still he cannot bring himself to hate his only friend.
"Ash, your coat!" she calls after him.
He ignores her and continues out of the park. She is following him. She catches him at the gate and then he appears. His blue eyes brighten when he sees Helen. He is carrying a huge bouquet of flowers. He has eyes for her alone.
"John!" she exclaims. She runs to him and embraces him tightly. Not as a friend. As something more.
He can hear John's laugh in his ears. John whispers something into her ear. She blushes. Temporarily he is pushed from her thoughts. She is so pure and good and whole that nothing bad ever seems to stick to her.
Ash continues on his way. She has forgotten him and John never even noticed him. He feels as though he is invisible. Unworthy of something as perfect as Helen. He strides through the crowds easily and tries to swallow. It is difficult.
The lump in his throat has grown. He feels like sinking into the faetal position and weeping in the middle of the street. There is a bland taste in his mouth that he cannot get rid of now matter how many times he swallows.
He realises that for the first time in his life, the taste of ash is filling his mouth.
Complete. If you want to read a One-Shot set after this there is 'To Live In The Shadow Of Perfection'. It is another one of my one-shots. It is related to this one.