I don't own Ashes to Ashes
I'm not sure about this chapter, so feedback is appreciated - tipping the scale from wierd to freaky a little, so fingers crossed it's ok!
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Alex remained where she was, curled into Gene's body as she trembled with nerves and trepidation; Gene stayed still and quiet, his soft snores rhythmic and companionable as he slept gently at her side. She didn't move to wake him, savouring the peace and comfort he radiated and snuggling into it with a willingness and need that surprised her, even as it warmed the pit of her stomach.
She'd known it was coming, really; she'd known the moment his voice had broken across the ether and reached her ears, known the second he'd kissed her so fiercely in the hospital, the moment he'd opened his arms and let her in... But somehow she still wasn't prepared, still felt cheated, hurt, at a complete loss. There was pain in her body that went well beyond anything physical; her chest was tight with pain, and her limbs were heavy with exhaustion that stemmed only from the overwhelming need to stay here with Gene, to lie without question in his arms and make sure that however long he had was as comfortable as it could be... But she wouldn't; she couldn't. Both of them knew that. His arms were tight around her shoulder, his body warm and breath hot against her skin, but still she couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of impending loss; his actions, his words, his very being – all of them were etched with pain and defeat so nauseatingly evident that her head spun with the force of it.
"Bolly..." his mumble was quiet, barely even coherent as his arms drew her tighter, as his sleep-riddled form settled against hers, nose nuzzling into her hair as he spoke, his voice heavy with sleep and warmth as he made a soft noise of contentment, drifting back into deep slumber as Alex pressed her face into his neck, blinking back the hot flow of tears that raced down her cheeks.
She'd known this moment was coming; known it, because he wouldn't have called her back otherwise, because he'd have convinced himself she had to live her life, be young, free, independent and motherly... She sighed, sniffing slightly and shuffling slightly closer into his arms, her eyes closed as she took another deep breath of his scent.
"I love you," she whispered into the quiet of the room; he stirred, nuzzling her head lightly as his hand moved gently up her spine.
"Mmm..." he mumbled, eyes still closed, voice still drowsy and on the brink of slumber once again. "S'good... you too, Bols..." he yawned, tugging her tightly into his hold. "Go to sleep..."
"Do you want to use the bedro-?" She stopped, smiling as Gene slipped smoothly back into his sleep. "Never mind," she whispered, kissing his cheek. "Sleep well..."
She settled back into his hold, sighing softly as the afternoon sun trickled through the window of the flat, lightly up Gene's face with soft light and illuminating every line, every crease, every wrinkle; she shivered slightly, pressed another kiss to the shell of his ear, then slipped one arm across his chest, closing her eyes despite being fully aware of her inability to sleep any more, his smell and warmth overwhelming as she listened silently to the lull of his breathing. The only thought that broke through the gentle cocoon he wrapped her in was the simple, terrifying knowledge that she couldn't stand losing him again.
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"You will let me know if anything changes, won't you?" Alex whispered, her lips against his ear as he stood before her at the door, his arms tight around her back. "You'll call me? Or write, or something? Won't you?"
She felt him swallow, felt his brief nod and the warmth of his lips as he pressed his mouth to her forehead, and then closed her eyes as Gene spoke. "You'll know," he mumbled, stroking her hair. "You know bloody everything..."
"Gene, I'm serious; please just-!"
"Ok," he interrupted softly, gently covering her mouth with his hand and meeting her eyes. "Ok... I'll tell you."
She nodded, sinking back into his embrace and clinging to him as his lips gently caressed her temple, his breathing slightly ragged as his hand slipped up over her back. She was gripped with a sudden coldness, her muscles clamming up as she remained firmly in his arms, her breath rasping and grieving as she bit down on her lip, words spilling forth before she could stop them. "Gene, I can't do this again – I can't. Please, please don't make me leave again; I can't, I can't leave without y-!"
"Shhh," he murmured, stroking her hair and resting his head on hers with a shuddering breath. "Drive me to the hospital, 'ey? Need to get me car... You don't 'ave to leave..."
She bit back tears, felt the bitter sting of realization as she looked at him; she wouldn't have to leave, because he would do it for her. A sob broke unbidden from her lips, and a moment later she was sobbing into his shoulder, feeling his frail yet still surprisingly strong arms envelop her in an embrace that shielded everything else from existence.
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Gene sat with her quietly for several minutes as she parked up, his hand catching hers as the engine stilled and she rested her head back against the seat, her lower lip trembling with unsaid words and unvoiced emotions; he leaned over swiftly, belying the bitterly fresh wave of pain that overwhelmed him as his leg cramped and his chest tightened to capture her lips with his.
She responded instinctively, hands in his hair, mouth hard against his, tears tracking swiftly down her cheeks; when he pulled away, he was grimacing, his eyes bright with moisture that had nothing to do with the pain in his body, but more with the wrenching, heart-rendering wave of grief that tore at his very soul. His eyes bore into hers, seeing the bare bones of her existence, accepting them with such openness that her mouth opened before she had even considered it.
"Gene, I lov-"
"I know," he whispered, nodding and cupping her cheek, wetting his lips slightly as his fingers tangled in her hair. "I know, Alex... you don't- you don't have to tell me anymore; I know..."
Her lip trembled, and she nodded, whispering softly as his hand entwined their fingers together. "Good," she answered, wetting her lips. "Good... that's – that's good..." She trailed off, biting down on her lower lip for a moment and watching as Gene's eyes flickered from her eyes to her mouth. She shivered slightly, breathing deeply as his finger traced across her bottom lip intimately.
"You're beautiful," he murmured quietly, sounding almost bewildered as he began moving to kiss her again, his breath hot on her skin; she trembled, lips barely brushing his before she whispered gently into his mouth.
"I know you know," she whispered, stroking her hand through his grey hair and hearing her voice quiver with emotion. "I know that... but I have no idea if I'll ever be able to say it again..."
Gene stilled slightly, his eyes on hers, face barely an inch away, swallowing hard as he met her tearful gaze. "Alex, I-"
"I love you," she whispered, cutting him off, her hand on his cheek as she moved closer, dropping a gentle kiss to his lips before she went on, voice soft and quiet; if he hadn't been so close, he probably wouldn't have heard her at all. "And I won't ever be able to tell you enough... It could never be enough..."
Gene's eyes softened, and a moment later he nodded, wetting his mouth and resting his head lightly against her own. "You're more than enough, Bols," he murmured. "You always were..."
A second later, he'd kissed her again, and without question she knew it was the last time; she ached with pain, longing, grief and love, and she felt every emotion reflecting back at her, could taste his need, his pain, and his bitterness that this would be the last, just as clearly as she could taste her own. It was tender, quietly desperate, horrifically poignant, and when he tried to draw back she held him tight, tears streaming down her face at speed as he let out a sharp hiss, drawing her in close, hand tight on her hip, lips searing against her own.
"I love you," she whispered again, never letting her mouth leave his, keeping contact as she murmured into his lips. "Please," she kissed him warmly tears falling onto their lips as she shook her head. "I can't- I can't do this again," she was sobbing, gently taking his lips with hers as she shook her head, crying shamelessly. "I need you to stay," she whispered, "please don't go! Please!"
"Have to..." Gene mumbled, kissing her again, lips gentling against hers as his hand combed through her hair. "Car's gunna get clamped an' towed..."
Despite herself, despite the tears rolling down her cheeks and the painful constriction of her chest, Alex found herself laughing, sniffling as she rested her head against his, briefly touching their lips together. "Right," she whispered, nodding, a small smile on her lips. "Well, you should probably move the car..."
He watched her, eyes intense as he answered. "I meant metaphorically," he murmured.
Her eyes widened slightly, pain etched into her irises and she cupped his face swiftly, shaking her head. "Don't talk like that," she whispered. "Don't talk like-"
"Bye Bols," he murmured, tugging her back to him and touching his lips against hers; a moment later he was out of the car, and Alex could only watch, sobbing quietly as he moved slowly but determinedly in the direction of the double doors that opened into the main hospital. She watched as he disappeared, hot tears spilling from her eyes and down her face, filled with a hopeless, heartbreaking certainty that she wouldn't see him again.
It was half an hour later, when the tears had subsided enough for her to see the dashboard and the road in front of her, that she turned the key in the ignition, still gasping slightly, and knowing there would only be a certain amount of time before the grief would come again, before heartbreak would descend like a predator and tear at her chest until she could feel nothing but pain.
As the engine sounded, roaring into life and breaking through the haze of silence that had descended upon her, she heard a familiar voice in her ear, felt a warmth on her cheek, a gentle, teasing touch at her chin as it sounded, gruff with emotion and tinged with pain that echoed her own.
"I love you too, Bolly," he murmured, cracking slightly, and she could feel his hitch of breath as warm air seemed to tease her skin.
Against her will, Alex let out a ragged sob, the guttural pain ripping through her as she covered her mouth, body wracking with the force of her grief as she made a split-second decision, putting the car into reverse as quickly as possible and tearing off down the road without thought; when she ran through the front door, she didn't bother to greet Evan, instead running to the safety of her bedroom, listening to the gentle thump of Molly's music in the room next door, before sobbing hopelessly into her pillow, the shirt that had long-since lost all semblance of Gene's smell clutched tightly against her chest.
On the other side of town, still sat at the hospital, Gene clung to the other Alex's hand, his breathing harsh and etched with pain as she slept quietly on.
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It took two weeks; two weeks of pain and longing, of waiting, hoping, and praying... two weeks before she knew, in a sudden, prolonged, blinding flash of pain, that it was over.
It wasn't what she'd expected; she'd been waiting to feel something, waiting for a sudden hole to form in her chest – a hole that she knew would never be filled, leaving only a horrible, aching gap, a pain that shot through her heart and burned at her throat, and that she'd have to carry with her for the rest of her days... But it wasn't like that at all.
She'd heard tell of people who knew when someone was hurt; twins, she knew, had often been known to instantly recognize danger and death to their other self, but this- this was beyond that, and she knew it the moment it started.
They were shopping in the centre of London, with Molly berating the seventy-five pound high heels Alex refused to buy her, and Evan complaining about the congestion in Oxford Street on a Saturday afternoon.
Evan had practically dragged her out, after spending every day of the last week attempting to get her to leave the house, whilst Molly had simply sat with her, not saying much at all, doing little except to occasionally crawl into Alex's arms and whisper for her to smile; in the end, it was Molly that had changed her mind, and she'd joined them for her sake, as much as to stop Evan berating her. She had since regretted it, having spent the last hour being bustled along by the crowd, caught in the flow as Molly led them determinedly towards H&M, and hoping that they could leave soon.
She'd been calling for Molly to slow down, shaking her head in exasperation and hoping that they wouldn't have to stay too long when she felt it; a horrible, sickening, stabbing pain that cut through her chest like an ice-cold blade, driving through flesh and striking between her rib cage as she gasped for breath, hand clutching at her breast as she struggled to speak, feeling sickening, dizzying pain that made her vision blur and her mouth dry up.
She could hear Evan's concerned voice, heard a sharp noise of frustration followed by a panicked question as Molly dashed back towards them, but she could see nothing; she felt Evan catch her as she swayed and nearly fell, heard a panicked shout for an ambulance as the crowd fell away, but then a moment later she was out cold, and the only thing she could feel was her thundering heart as it fought against the invisible blade that seemed to have embedded itself in her chest.
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She could hear voices; she could hear them, but when she opened her eyes, there was nobody there; a hurried call for an oxygen mask, a shout for morphine, a yell for a bed, and a voice that brought a surge of hope, despite the fact she'd never heard it before, all seemed to come from nowhere.
"Don't bloody die you daft bastard," the voice growled. "It'll be just my luck your bird wakes up and castrates me with a wooden spoon!"
She panicked instantly, searching the room she was in for any sign of life; there was an empty chair in the corner, a television to the left of the hospital bed, and an unoccupied bedside table; a door across the room showed a corridor, and she could just make out Evans head, see him talking to a dark-haired doctor, who looked agitated and rushed. Molly stood in the circle of Evan's arms, clinging to him helplessly, and a moment later, Alex moved to get up, slipping from the bed and standing up straight.
Her legs crippled beneath her, the pain in her chest returned, and she could just make out a panicked female cry before she blacked out again.
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Doctor Ben Foreman saw her fall at the same moment that her daughter did; he was through the doors in seconds, lifting her into his arms and returning her to the bed as her panicked daughter and godfather stood nearby, the teenager crying into the man's shoulder as she pleaded with him to make her Mum better...
He hated this part of the job; this part, where he had no idea what was wrong, no idea what she needed, and no idea what to tell her daughter – it happened all too often. Men came in begging him to save their wives, women came in pleading for their sons and daughters to be alright, and time and again there was no explanation, nothing he could do; psychological, some might say- they just gave up fighting... But he didn't buy into it; young people with families didn't just give up fighting – people like Alex Drake didn't double over in the street simply because they couldn't be bothered anymore.
He'd checked her records the moment they'd dragged him down here- it wasn't even his shift for Christ's sake!- and he'd sent her in for a brain scan; there was nothing. No stray shard of bullet that they'd missed, no metal drilled into her brain that was stopping her functioning. Her vitals were healthy, strong, almost youthful, and yet for some reason her heart hammered without pause, pounding out a hundred and eighty beats a minute as though she were having a fit... but she wasn't – at least not outwardly, not yet; she'd barely even moved the whole time she was unconscious, except for a few spasmodic clutches at the blankets they'd tucked around her; her breathing was ragged, and yet there was no outward sign as to why...
It didn't make any sense; it never did.
His pager bleeped, and a quick glance at it was enough; he moved into the corridor, beckoned a nurse, requested a blood test, and then raced up the corridor and the staircase as fast as he could, ignoring all sense of hospital decorum as he hurried into the room he'd seen Gene in so many times; but despite having seen it all only a few hours before, he still froze in his tracks.
They'd brought in a new bed on Ben's request; he'd found Gene three hours ago, bent double, clutching at his chest, eyes wide, body riddled with pain, and he'd known without doubt that any offer of treatment that took him away from her would be refused – he suspected that even if Gene Hunt were to slip into a coma himself, he'd still find a way to scare his nurses half to death if they so much as threatened to move him from her; it should have been endearing, but Ben had realized all too long ago that Gene's devotion would probably be his downfall.
Now, Gene was laying in the bed, practically unconscious, though his eyes darted beneath his lids, body going rigid and relaxed in all too frequent intervals, the fingers of one hand clutching at the duvet and fisting it tightly; the other clenched around that of the comatose woman at his side, a woman who seemed vaguely familiar for reasons he couldn't understand, and Ben managed a slight sigh of exasperated resignation, before heading over to the bed and glancing at Gene's heart rate; it was sky-rocketing, and he bit back a gulp – a hundred and eighty beats per minute in a seventy two year old man was never good.
"He needs sedative and oxygen," Ben muttered to a nurse nearby, glancing at Gene's sweat covered brow and grimacing. "And somebody get him a cold flannel; I could cook pancakes on his forehead!"
"Alex..." the grinding voice broke through the panic of the room, and Ben's forehead knitted together as Gene spoke, voice ragged and sharp, yet filled with concern that cut through whatever delirium the fever was bringing on.
"Gene," Ben murmured, moving closer and clicking his hands in front of Gene's face. "Gene, can you hear me?
"Alex... where's Alex?" the pain in his voice was evident, and as his body tightened with his spasms Ben heard the hiss of agony that left his lips, jarring up his leg as Ben motioned for the nurse to hurry up.
"She's here," he assured him, reaching over and squeezing at Gene's hand, still joined with Alex's despite his pain. "See? She's right-"
"No!" His voice was rasping, ragged, ripped from his throat as he groaned and shook his head. "Other Alex... My Alex... Alex... where's Alex?"
Ben swallowed, glancing at the nurse and seeing her look of bafflement as she glanced at him. "Alex is right here with-!"
Gene was shaking his head again, sweat pouring from his brow as he spoke, hissing and gasping as he went. "No, other Alex – need both... my Alex... Bols... Bols... I need Bols..." There was a note of agitation in his voice, a raging, aching need that struck at Ben's chest and ripped at his heart.
"Gene, Alex is-!"
"Molly," he managed. "Molly... she's got a daughter... Molly..."
"Gene, she isn't-!"
The door burst open, and Ben's head snapped up, his hand still squeezing at Gene's, trying to show him against all hope that she was there with him. The trainee doctor at the door was panicked and confused, and Ben bit back a snap of agitation as the younger man struggled for breath, stuttering several times before finally managing to speak.
"Alex- Alex Drake's fitting; we can't stop her- we've given her a sedative that should've knocked her out cold but she just won't stop! She's just-!"
"Alex?" Gene's voice was tinged with fear, hope, and something else that Ben couldn't quite place. "Alex – my Alex – that's her – my Al-!"
"Gene, it's not her," Ben murmured, attempting to keep his voice level as he glanced back at Gene's face; he was rigid with pain, sweating buckets, and the shirt he wore was sticking to him like glue, but there was a look of hope that lit up his features, his eyes flickering slightly open as he glanced around to no avail.
"Alex – it's her... Alex Drake... My Alex – it's her, it's-!"
"Ben, they're asking for you now; Parkers in ICU, James is over at Wakefield ward, and god knows where Andy's buggered off to but I can't find him for shit!" The young trainee was panicked, and Ben nodded, glancing worriedly at Gene.
"I'll be there in two minutes; check her vitals, try and keep her heart rate down, and make sure she's got oxygen!" He saw the hesitation on his colleagues face, and then snapped, his face angry and frustrated. "I'll be there, Rod, just go and do your bloody job!"
"But-!"
"NOW!"
Rod was out of the door a moment later, and instantly Ben turned on Gene, glancing worriedly at his heart rate; it was a wonder that he could still breathe, let alone speak. "Gene, if you're dead when I get back I swear to God I'll bring you back myself and kick ten shades of shit into that stupid-!"
"Alex?" Gene asked again, shaking his head, body writhing so forcibly that he kicked the sheets away. "Where's-? Get Alex! I need-!"
"Gene, I promise you, it isn't her – it can't be bloody her! You're feverish, you're delusional, and I promise you there is no way on this God forsaken earth that it's -!"
"Brown hair," Gene hissed. "Hazel eyes... great tits... Is it-?"
"Gene, she's here with you now – she's right here! What do you want me to do? I can't just-!"
"She's there," he argued, shaking his head gasping and attempting to wet his cracking lips with a tongue that seemed paper dry. "Downstairs... S'her- know it's her... can hear 'er... is she-? she's ok?"
"It isn't-!"
"Tell 'er... tell 'er I love 'er..."
"Gene, she's here!" Ben retorted. "Tell her yourself! I have to-!"
"The other one!" he growled back, muscles going into spasm and great hisses of pain escaping his mouth, clutching one hand to his chest as he bit back groans of pain. "That Alex – my Alex!"
"She's not-!"
"She's got a daughter," he gasped, his nails digging into his chest, eyelids flying open and widening madly as pain tore through his body; Ben could only grimace – the morphine should have kicked in by now, surely? He shook his head and focused on Gene, waiting to convince him.
"Birthmark on 'er face," Gene mumbled, "godfather called Evan..."
Ben stopped in his tracks, halting in his plan to deny that it could possibly be her as his mind's eye scanned back to the girl in Alex Drake's room; birthmark on her face, clutching onto her Godfather called-
"Shit!" He whispered. "How the hell d'you know all-?"
"Just- tell 'er!" Gene growled, head slamming back against the pillow as he bit down on the inside of his cheek. Ben stared, nonplussed, glancing at the eerily unmoving woman in the bed next to Gene's and blanching as he realized that she did seem familiar; familiar, but older than he'd have expected...
"Is she your daught-?"
"No she is bloody not!" he gasped agitatedly, his eyes rolling back in his head. "Just go and-!"
"Gene, I'm not just-!"
"Just go!"
There was a time he'd have disobeyed; there was a time he'd have told Gene where to go, and that he could shove whatever argument he was about to spout out right up his arse, because he wouldn't leave him on his own... But something made him listen; something in the desperate, haunted, aching look on Gene's face, and a moment later he'd squeezed Gene's hand, and was running out of the room at a pace; as the door closed behind him, he heard Gene's relieved 'thank you', caught the groan of pain that left his lips, but he left him anyway, feeling a horrible, aching realization that he'd forgotten to say goodbye, that he might not be able to, even as he raced down the stairs and through numerous winding corridors to the other Alex Drake.
He ran with a speed and foreknowledge that needed no conscious thought; the only thought in his mind was Gene's desperate final plea, and the haunting knowledge that it might already be too late.
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Her heart was practically forcing itself from her chest, and as she came back to consciousness she could feel her muscles tightening, feel them relaxing and shuddering, sending her into spasms beyond her control, her body thrashing against her will as she cried out in pain; she could hear Molly, she could hear Gene, she could hear that comforting panicked voice that sounded so lost and confused.
The argument seemed fragmented, but she knew that she heard it word for word; disjointed sentences, raised voices, agitation, anger... and pain; pain beyond anything she could remember ever having felt in her whole life, pain that wasn't just hers. She could see things that weren't there, hear voices of people who weren't in the room, and she could feel Gene; his hand in hers, clenching and fisting as he writhed in pain... And it wasn't right. How could she feel it? How could she hear him? How could she be in so much unspeakable agony when there was nothing wrong with her?
And then she was blind, deaf, absent of all but feeling as her brow dripped with sweat and her throat went raw with pain. Her legs screamed in agony, her heart hammered violently, and then everything was gone except for three rasping words that broke through the silence of the ether, tearing at her eardrums and loosing a wrenching sob that ripped at the muscles in her throat; "I'll miss you."
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He was in the room minutes later, and though he knew time was rapidly running out, he froze; he froze at the sight of her, because she was moving just as Gene had moved, writhing and spasming, crying out whenever her left leg went too rigid, head thrown back and eyes rolling all too familiarly. She was sweating profusely, tossing and turning and sobbing with pain, silent screams torn from her throat as tears spilled from her eyes. The drip that had been put in her arm had been yanked free, the veins in her slender arms popped out against the smooth alabaster flesh, and Ben could barely breathe, freezing where he was as he swallowed hard.
He'd seen things on the job before that freaked him out; a mother who knew two hours before it was reported that her husband had had a car accident, a twin who hadn't spoken to their sibling in three years, but arrived almost immediately when he was admitted with kidney failure... It had all freaked him out, but this was something else entirely; every movement was familiar and alien, identical and yet different, and it took him several moments before he could even bring himself to think, let alone move.
When he did, it was slowly, almost tentatively, and with a lump in his throat that held neither reason nor understanding; she kept thrashing, groaning, sobbing, crying, and even when he touched her hand she seemed oblivious, hands fisting into the blankets as she went on, her black beaded bracelet coated with sweat.
"Alex?" Ben swallowed, glancing at the door, then moving as close to her face as he could without being hit by her flailing body and limbs. "Alex, can you hear me?" He gulped, looking back towards the corridor, and then speaking again. "Alex, I know you don't know me, but- but-"
He stopped suddenly as her heart rate went off the scale, her body juddering, shaking, trembling, and then, as suddenly as it started, it had stopped, beeping rapidly for a few moments, then flat-lining; the thrashing stopped and the beep went on continuously and without pause, and Ben could only stare as her body went limp, an incoherent whisper on her lips before the door opened.
"I've got the seda-!"
"Get up to the Drake room," Ben whispered, a horrible feeling clutching at his chest.
Rod frowned, glancing worriedly at Alex in the bed. "We're in the-!"
"The other Drake room! The one we were in a minute ago!"
"But-!"
"Now!" Ben's shout left no room for argument, and instantly Rod had left, tearing up the corridor, even as the finality of the flat line pressed down on Ben's ears.
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"Did she know Gene Hunt?"
Ben broke the silence tentatively, his hands wrapped around the cup of coffee in his hands, attempting to ignore the sobs as Molly Drake cried into Evan's shoulder, and trying desperately to block out the silent tears that fell down Evan's face and tracked into his beard...
He recognized instantly the look of alarmed surprise in Evan's eyes as he voiced his question, saw the rise and fall of his Adam's apple before the other mans eyebrows knitted together. "How do you-?"
"He was here," Ben explained softly, glancing into his coffee cup and biting back bile. "He- he passed away, this afternoon... as well..." he wet his lips, wondering exactly how much he should divulge, and then added, softly, "he was asking after an Alex, and I- I wondered if it was her..."
Evan swallowed, nodding slowly. "They met briefly," he murmured, his arms tightening around Molly as she clenched the same small, beaded bracelet in her hand that had been around her mother's wrist only hours previously, her fingers counting each bead individually, as though it would help bring her back... He could hardly bear to watch as Molly slipped it onto her wrist, holding her hand to her chest and crying harshly, and instead Ben looked at Evan, finding his authoritative, yet grieving countenance to be far more bearable than the sight of the weeping girl who sat in his arms.
"Her parents died when she was young," Evan went on, wetting his lips with his tongue and swallowing once more. "A car bomb went off and- Hunt was the DCI on the case... They met a few months ago, as far as I know..."
"Were they close?" Ben pressed slightly, feeling his eagerness bubble in his stomach and yet failing to quell it despite the grief that wracked Evan's features; he didn't appear to mind. In fact, Ben might have gone so far as to say he looked relieved to speak about her.
"Not particularly, I don't think," Evan shrugged, shaking his head. "He was just a piece of her past that she needed to meet... I'm pretty sure they only met once or twice."
"Really?" Ben's voice was tinged with disbelief, and it showed, as Evan frowned noticeably.
"What do you mean?"
He swallowed, glancing at Molly, and then rubbing the back of his neck in an awkward motion. "He was- he wanted me to pass on a message... Said there were two Alex's and she was the one I should talk to..."
Evan nodded, wetting his lips again. "Alex Drake – other one, I mean... she worked with him - on the same case, in fact; he shot her, and she never woke up... He still comes every day, as far as I know..."
"But this was specifically for his- I mean, for your Alex... not that Alex- he was very clear; very persuasive..." Ben's voice was insistent, and he swallowed slightly as Evan nodded in understanding.
"He could be like that," he agreed. "What did he say?" Evan's voice was only faintly curious, and Ben watched as he smoothed Molly's hair flat, murmuring hushed words into her ear before glancing back at Ben; he faltered, opening and closing his mouth several times before he shook his head, shrugging slightly.
"Just- just talking about life... Just life and... and- and stuff like that, I think..." he trailed off, taking a large gulp of coffee and hoping Evan wouldn't be interested in any further questions; he wasn't. A moment later, the older man had nodded, gently standing and helping Molly to her feet as he held out a hand for Ben.
"Thank you," he murmured, swallowing slightly. "I erm- I-" He gulped, and then shook his head helplessly. "Thank you," he repeated.
Ben nodding, taking the offered hand and shaking it firmly. "I'm sorry," he mumbled awkwardly, swallowing hard. "I know it doesn't mean much, but, if I could've helped her, I promise I-!"
"I understand," Evan assured him, swallowing hard as he glanced down the corridor towards the room they had left Alex in. "She wasn't- she hadn't been looking after herself..." He sounded pained, as if he blamed himself, and Ben swallowed back a wave of sympathy as he listening. "She wasn't sleeping... not eating, crying at all hours... She just- just packed up; I understand." He glanced down at Molly, and then nodded again at Ben. "Thank you... we'd better get going."
Ben nodded, watching as the two of them walked down the corridor, the teenage girl supported by her godfather as she clung to his jacket, her sobs resonant and shaking.
"You and me, Scrap," he heard Evan murmur, dropping a kiss to her head as he pushed open the double doors. "Just you and me..."
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Ok, so I admit I kind of took a little bit of inspiration from Star Wars Episode III (my uncles and father taught me well lol) but anyway... I'm not sure whether this works; it works in my head and it seemed to read ok, but any tips and pointers would be welcome. I may just have tipped this thing from weird to just plan fucking freaky!
Anyway, let me know!
Mage of the Heart