Jeez it's quiet. Well, I suppose the whole fandom is in mourning right now. I for one am still in denial. HE'S COMING BACK PEOPLE...I...I hope!

If you're reading, a wee review would be lovely!


Home - Part 3

She's not sure if it's the little sleep she's had, or what the girls had said to her, but she wakes up the next morning convinced she has to do something about it. Whatever it happens to be. Her marriage, rotting from the inside out, or something altogether more sinister.

He's at work during the day, called out. And by the time he comes home she's so engrossed in the bedtime routine that she barely gets a look at him, before he's swept off, to wash hair and read stories.

In fact, the clock strikes 9.30 and she still hasn't spoken to him. She silently gets changed before heading back downstairs.

He is nursing a rather substantial glass of whiskey in the armchair.

She plays it cool. Or as cool as she can. Or as cool as she remembers being, way back when, and leans casually on the doorframe in her brand new short, silk kimono. His stare remains troubled, on the carpet.

"Come to bed?"

She waits for a few seconds for him to respond, but it feels like hours as she stands there, shivering slightly, each moment that goes by another agonising rejection.

So she walks over and takes his glass from his hands, placing it down on the floor. He squints at her, eyes only on her body fleetingly and when she looks back, there is no passion.

Just familiarity.

So she perches on the arm of his chair, where his whiskey had been, making sure to let her only garment of clothing ride up substantially, graphically, in an attempt to entice him.

Yet he still says and does nothing.

So she smiles sweetly and bends back, until she is draped over his lap. Her fingers find his own and guide them to the tie at her waist, giggling.

"Come to bed with me!"

"Nikki…I'm on call…"

He speaks to her as if she were a bothersome child, gently lifting her back off and back onto the arm of the chair. He looks tense, stressed and a little pissed off, though it doesn't seem to be with her.

"So!?"

"So, I want to get some sleep."

She doesn't give up quite yet, taking his hand again and resting it high on her thigh, untying the kimono herself.

"Plenty time for sleeping once you're dead, sweetie."

"Nikki. Stop."

He is firm and cutting and it's so final that it's almost like having a telling off and – as she always did as a child – she feels an inexplicable need, urge, to cry.

"It's just been a bad day, okay? I, uh, there was a stab victim on the slab today and it really got to me and I just…not tonight ok?"

He gives a sigh and reaffirms his gaze on the carpet.

"Ok. Sorry."

Feeling more than a little ridiculous, she suddenly doesn't know where to put herself and winds up simply climbing the stairs and climbing into a cold bed. She wonders to herself; is it all in her head? Is this just happening because of lunch the previous day? Or is he really behaving differently of late? Is it her? Is she simply just not attractive anymore? For the second night running, she can't sleep and she is still awake when he comes in an hour and a half later.

Without a word, he undresses and climbs in beside her. Silently, she lies there, she on her side and he on his, not touching, neither of them crossing the barrier between them.

They'd always been straight with each other. After everything that happened between them at the start, when Kit was born. When they started again, with the fear of trying too hard, it was the one promise they'd made to each other. Be honest.

So she lies there for a few minutes more, hushed, listening to the little sounds that she's grown so used to in this house, the house that was only ever meant to be 'for a few more years' biting her lip to hold in the tears, before she asks him. Straight out. No pretense.

"Are you having an affair?"

A lot has happened to her over the years. Her Mother died, Her father left, various men treated her like dirt, she'd been in life-threatening and blood curdling situations, she'd miscarried a baby at 28 weeks and watched helplessly as he struggled to live. But she is sure the minutes in which he remains silent are the worst, most horrifically unbearable moments of her life. He is the heart of everything that has ever been good in her life; he gave her hope, love, a family, security, somewhere to belong. She cherishes him as a husband and a dear, dear friend. The fact of the matter is, he is the world. The idea that this may be taken from her is the worst pain she has ever felt.

"Is that a genuine question or an 'I have an answer in my head and if you say the wrong one I still won't believe you' question?"

"Just tell me."

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"No. No, I am not. I can't believe you just asked me that, Nikki."

He gets up and takes a throw from her rocking chair before leaving, presumably to sleep on the couch.