Sorry about the delay. School work is coming in boatloads and I've been horribly busy working on a new story (will be up soon hopefully). There will either be about 12 more chapters, or 2. Please leave a comment telling me if I should finish it soon or continue, because I don't know. Thanks for all the support guys.

It was a long, strenuous, completely soul-shattering and horrific three weeks before Alex was showing signs of going back to being her old self.

For the first week, she didn't move from the position she had first slumped down into on his sofa when she walked through the door. She refused to let him touch her, comfort her, or even speak to her. She didn't utter a single word; she just…sat there, lifeless, like someone had drained the very soul out of her. The only thing she requested was the rest of the bottle of brandy, which was all she fed her stomach. As the days went on, he became extraordinarily concerned of how much alcohol she was consuming, and how little food she had eaten. Her eyes became sunken, and she lost some of the natural radiance she usually emanated. She looked half dead, her curls nearly completely flat, and her lips just in a thin line on her pale face, her eyes having lost their sparkle. Every time he went near her, she just ignored him completely, and it hurt him to see her like this. He did everything he could for her, made sure she was comfortable and all that, but she was unresponsive, broken beyond belief by the betrayal and bruises from her husband. She didn't sleep either; she just sat and looked, and waited for the pain to go away.

And then, like the click of a switch, on week two she changed to the polar opposite of what she had been for seven days. It was at around half past eight in the morning, when she suddenly came bursting into his room, crawled into his double bed, awaking him with such a start that he thought he might just suffer a heart attack, curled up tightly into his chest and sobbed with such heart and passion that he thought she might just split into two pieces. He sat up, holding her calmly in his arms and shushing her loudly – telling her it was going to all be okay. She cried for six days, not all day but for at least an hour on each. She wouldn't let him out of her sight, and clung to him like a lost child hanging onto a security guard in a supermarket. She still didn't eat, but she wouldn't drink either, and he began to notice how much weight she had lost – she had been the perfect size twelve before, now she was at maximum a size eight. She slept in his bed with him every night, keeping him awake for half of it, and often woke him in the early hours of the morning with her intense and fearful screaming. He lost sleep, but she gained it, and he didn't really mind – at least she was showing some signs of life this week.

On the third week, she stopped crying altogether which was a relief if he said so himself. She showered, bringing back her luscious curls to their full potential, and allowed him to remove the bandages from around her rib-cage which needed to be removed about twenty day after they were first attached. Both bruises were clearing up really well, the left having completely disappeared with the right only requiring a few more days for it to be totally invisible. The bruises down her arms had initially gone like horrible green and yellow spots, but now they were but miniscule dots which were basically gone. The stitches on her lip were still there, but Matt cleanly took them out when they got too painful for her. She ate for the first time in two weeks; it was only something little – an apple and a yogurt – but at least it was something. She began to talk again, instead of crying or remaining silent and she began to stand on her own two feet again rather than following him around the whole apartment.

The countdown to Christmas was getting very close to the actual date, with only six days to go. During the last week, where Alex had been getting a hell of a lot better, he managed to convince her to go outside and face the world; they went to Convent Garden and picked a tree and he swung it over his shoulder and they walked back to his apartment, holding hands, her face almost covered by her scarf (however, the media did pick up on it a little, but they both just ignored it). They put it up together, and left it moult for a few days, and now was finally the time for them both to decorate it.

She could not even begin to explain how she was feeling living with him, and coping with what she had been through in the past three weeks. She had been so frightened for so long that she felt like she couldn't breathe, and she could constantly feel his breath on her cheeks, his hands clamping around her throat, choking her slowly. She felt so awful for having put Matt through everything along with her, and she had taken him for granted in that first week – ignoring him and just drinking.

During the second week, her brain had dissolved into a simple pile of mush and she couldn't even begin to remember much of what had happened; she knew only that she had cried a little too much than was normal. The amount of trauma she had been put through was finally beginning to hit her, and she couldn't bear to be alone for more than a second out of fear that she might just collapse. But by the third week, she felt better, and she ate something, although it just made her feel sick.

Going outside had been a nightmare experience. She hadn't been afraid of the media and what they might possibly say, but just going outside. It was like she had turned into some sort of agoraphobic in two weeks and it had been awkward going out in the middle of London, even with Matt right next to her, holding her hand and wrapping his arm around her shoulders and squeezing her when she looked like she was about to break down.

But for decorating the tree; it was so strange spending Christmas with Matt. Their…relationship, or whatever you wanted to call it, had been put on hold and they had done nothing more than lie together on his bed (not in that way) and hug each other.

Matt emerged from his room, sporting a large woollen jumper with a reindeer on the front which had a light-up red nose, and Alex laughed softly when she saw him. He was also wearing a Santa hat, tilted to the side, and great big polar bear slippers. He looked absolutely ridiculous – that man's sense of fashion could be seen as "cool" or just plain bad. She, however, was just wearing jeans and a blue jumper which did a good job of covering up her arms. He grinned at her and disappeared into the small cupboard where the coats usually were, bringing out a huge cardboard box labelled X-Mas decorations. It was almost spilling over with baubles and stars and tinsel.

'Come on Kingston, let's get this place looking a bit more Christmassy!' he called cheerfully, switching on his CD player and blasting out Slade and Elton john and every other brilliant festive song he owned. She had to admit, as strange as this whole situation was, she didn't half love being here.

Are you hanging up a stocking on your wall? It's time that every Santa has a ball. Does he ride a red nosed reindeer? Does a 'ton up' on his sleigh? Do fairies keep him sober for a day?

She just smiled as he danced around the apartment like an excitable child, and one of the meagre smiles she now rarely produced graced her lips, noticed almost instantly by Mister Smith himself. 'Aha, I saw that Kingston! Come on!' he yelled across the room and he leapt over to her, grabbed her joyously by the waist and started dancing along to the music blasting out. She groaned jokily and allowed him to lead her around the room in a strange version of a tango or rhumba or something else very dramatic they had watched on Strictly yesterday evening.

After a while, Alex's favourite of White Christmas blared at top volume through his apartment and the rhumba stopped, turning into a gentle waltz on the spot whilst she rested her head on his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her skinny waist (she had yet to put the few pounds she had lost back on), holding her closely. It was the closest and most comfortable they had felt together for three weeks, and both had the sincere hope that they would share more moments like this in the future; at peace with each other and the world.

'I'm dreaaaaming of a Whiiiiiiiite Christmaaaaas…' Matt drawled out in time with the music, breaking the beautiful moment completely. She hit him gently on the chest with one of her palms and then muttered into his shirt, 'Matt! You're ruining the song!' They continued to slow dance on the spot before he hastily replied with, 'You love me really.' It was a bold move because he wasn't sure if he was joking, and he wasn't sure if she really did.

It was all she needed to feel better; him dancing and singing and making assumptions. He was all she needed.

She pulled away from him, still holding his hands and laughed loudly. 'Oh yes darling, I'm quite the cradle robber,' she replied, her flirtatious tone heavily invading her voice. He was a bit startled as to her reaction, thinking it would still be a few days, weeks possibly, before she went totally back to normal, but here she was, Alex Kingston, being her beautiful, seductive self again.

'That hurt!' he cried in mock pain, smacking his hand against his chest in an over the top demonstration of his fake emotion, 'I'm very offended!'

'Well, your singing is offending my ears!' she cleverly replied, pressing her index finger to his lips in an attempt to make him cease speaking or singing again. He opened his mouth like a bewildered…fish and looked at her in serious offense. 'I happen to think I'm quite good!' he exclaimed in exasperation, trying to stick up for himself in their jokey argument.

Alex laughed magnificently, throwing back her head of massive curls and letting that enchanting sound emanate from her lips. He watched in wonderment and amazement and couldn't even pretend to be at all affected by her following words of, 'Matt, sweetie, you're the only one who thinks that.' It took him a few moments to react following her bout of laughter, before changing his expression to one of complete scandalize-ation.

'Now, you're just being mean!' he complained loudly and childishly, and she just winked and then swaggered off, bending down to grab a few decorations from the box and pulled out a long trail of tinsel before she added, turning around to face him, chucking the tinsel at his face, 'I'm sure you'll get over it.'

Before she had chance to begin wrapping the tinsel actually around the Christmas tree which had been standing for the previous two days, she heard Matt yell, 'Oh that is the final straw!' She had not even time to turn around before he was sprinting towards her, grabbing her by the waist from behind, lifting her up in the air and dump tackling her onto his sofa. She hit the cushions quite softly but immediately started giggling when he started tickling her.

Oh God, he was such a child.

In the end, and apart from the obvious reason of the rugby tackle in his apartment, he ended up sprawled across her with his handing resting awkwardly on the skin above her waist. She laughed gorgeously in his face, unable to restrain herself from chuckling, a little tear of amusement slipping from her eye. 'So Miss Kingston, are you going to apologize for that comment?' he asked deliciously, and she grimaced sarcastically before pretending to think, placing a finger on her chin and pulling her face before saying, 'No Mister Smith, I think I was being very truthful.'

'Oh do you now?' he asked, raising an eyebrow and she pouted before nodding again. They both ceased talking at this point, and the awareness of their position began to sink in. She looked up at him, into his eyes for the first time since the Ritz a month ago, and those memories began to resurface right in front of her eyes. He had kissed her back then, and it seemed like he was going to do so again, leaning down slightly, but she looked away and stared at their reflection in the black television screen.

'I can't Matt, not yet. I'm not ready right now,' she breathed out shakily, and he crawled off of her and offered her his hand, smiling in a small way. He didn't look angry or disappointed, and she felt her affection for him build even higher in that moment, that moment where he realized that she did need more time, because what she had been through was enough to out anyone off for life, and he didn't pressurize her or make her feel guilty. He didn't say this is my home, I looked after you, and this is how you treat me, he said nothing. She returned his beams and allowed herself to be lifted off the sofa. There were so many words left unspoken, so many things left undone, but at least she was almost back to herself. 'Come along Kingston, let's decorate this tree shall we?'

X – X – X

It was fair to say that decorating a Christmas tree with just two people helping out was pretty tiring in the end. By the end of it, yes they had a fabulous looking tree in their living room (Matt had called it "their" apartment at some point during the decoration stages, making her feel so much at home because of it. She should've stayed in her apartment, but her flat was up for sale now, after some careful words and promises from Matt), but both were close to collapsing down on the couch and dying of dehydration.

'Well at least it looks quite good,' Alex stated, sprawling her limbs out across the leather of the sofa, 'I like what you put on the top of the tree.' He didn't know whether to interpret that as sarcasm or as if she actually meant it, but he glanced towards the Christmas tree they had spent all afternoon decorating and towards the top of it. A little TARDIS, with a big hole through the middle was stationed on top, and the windows were sparkly.

'One of my mother's friend's sons made it for me,' Matt replied, waving his arms around in explanation as he too planted himself on the seat next to her, being careful to let his callous arms wrap themselves around her shoulders. He missed the intimacy they had shared on that night, but he accepted that nothing was going to be easy like that for a long time. She had turned into a horribly twisted introvert, and she had suffered, but she was nearly back to normality once again.

There was an awkward silence, with enough gap for many turtles, and no one said anything until Alex quietly whispered, 'Matt, can we forget? Can we start over?' He looked at her and he saw how serious she was being. He could ask what exactly she was talking about, but he knew what it was. And he knew he had to say yes. He nodded. 'Of course we can. We don't ever have to look back. Me and you eh, Kingston?'

She nodded in response and let a smile cross her lips. He carefully placed his arm around her shoulders and let her drift off in his arms, glad to have his Alex back at last.