A/N: I don't know whether to just post all that I've got or spoon feed you a chapter at a time so I have time to get it further along? I have 7 chapters complete I think though one is short. Dunno. Guess I'll feel it out.
For disclaimer, see chapter 1.
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He managed to run to the kitchen sink, throwing up all the vodka he'd consumed the night before. Gagging at the smell, he dunked his head under the water and once more realised that he was too old for this shit.
Standing up and squinting as the sun came through the blinds, he remembered he'd had some left in the bottle that had ended up in the corner of the room. He managed to shuffle over to it and bent down to pick it up. He wasn't conscious enough to know why he couldn't, but he paused with his hand just above it.
His pickled brain tried and tried to process but in the end, he growled and picked it up, sloshing some onto the floor in his haste.
Then he understood.
The liquid didn't pool, it slipped down the cracks. Into the floorboards.
That should have been impossible in a sealed floor like hers.
His brain was suddenly on full alert. He blinked and blinked again, dropping the bottle back onto the floor and falling to his knees. His pocket usually held a knife but he reached for it and found it gone. Without time to analyse why he didn't have one, he scrambled to the kitchen and grabbed the first he found. His body was pinging. Every nerve ending was firing. Every molecule was vibrating as he prized up the floorboards.
He gaped.
This was her escape plan. This tattered, ratty blue metal box. His heart crumbled as he jimmied the lock. It was all here. Her passport. Her real passport. Her children, her late husband. Everything was here to make it easy to just go. He smiled, thumbing the passport photo. She was younger here, though she looked as he remembered her. Severe. Mysterious.
She had never smiled much.
But here, in the photos, surrounded by her children, some of whom he'd met at the funeral. She smiled.
He tried to imagine her as a mother. Was she soft? Caring? Kind? Of course, she was, because she was to him as well. Age had not softened her, only made those edges sharper.
He'd never wanted children, never seen the need. His job was dangerous and he didn't really have a nurturing bone in his body. Really, he wasn't even sure he would have liked to have seen her as a mother. That wasn't who she was. Not to him. That's where Silva was wrong. It wasn't a Mummy thing, or whatever he'd said. It was something else. Something deeper.
Something in his soul.
He loved her.
Olivia.
He loved her.
He broke, tears came unbidden to his cheeks and they rolled down his face and onto the filthy shirt he was wearing. He didn't try to stop them. He rubbed his finger on that passport photo and continued looking, sniffing as he tried to read the writing on a few letters and pieces of paper, ultimately finding them useless.
Then, he stilled. A series of photos with nobody in them.
Houses.
All of them.
He turned them over but there was nothing written on them. There were six. He could place a few in different countries. One in France, one, perhaps Greece or Italy. Another in Asia, perhaps China. She wouldn't go back to Hong Kong, he knew that for certain.
One, he frowned. Was a villa. On a beach. Wiping his face, he peered closer, spying something in the far corner. Something he couldn't believe was there. A hotel. One that he'd stayed at. A distinctive hotel.
Mexico.
He didn't think. He piled all of the things together and slid them into her briefcase that had laid on the sideboard for all of this time. He ran to his little corner, grabbing his own escape plan and looked around. He packed them all carefully in the case and set it by the bathroom door. The guest bathroom. He hadn't dared go into her room.
He wasn't stupid.
He showered, disgusted with himself when he saw the bloodshot eyes and the rather ratty beard he'd grown. Not months then, well. Maybe two.
He shaved quickly, tidying up behind him and pulled on a suit he'd saved. He wasn't sure why he'd left one, hanging on the back of the door. Maybe to remind him of what he was?
He didn't know, but he pulled it on, all the same, leaving the tie rolled up in his jacket pocket.
His mind was still foggy and fluffy and he hoped that it would pass in time. He needed to be sharp. He wanted to see what she'd seen. Been where she'd been.
He wanted to stand in her footsteps.
He smirked at himself in the mirror and stepped out, looking around for a final time. Her bedroom door beckoned and he grinned to himself.
He was stupid.
He peered around it, taking care to check for any random ordinance she'd left, just in case. He would 't have put it past her.
He stepped in, smiling as he saw her jewellery. Those awful pearl earrings she wore that he thought were too heavy and a bottle of perfume. He took a deep breath and screwed his eyes shut. He took one of her scarves from the closet door and set it on the bed, wrapping those earrings and another pair, along with her perfume and a brooch. Things he remembered her wearing. He wrapped it securely and slid it carefully into the bag. He'd probably have trouble getting in the airport, but it was also a secure case, so maybe he wouldn't.
Nodding once more, he locked up, dropping the key in the letterbox for Tanner to collect later. He didn't know what he hoped to achieve by leaving, but it was better than sitting in her flat drinking himself to death. A shrine to her existence. Maybe he'd get closer to her memory.
And then be able to let her go.
He called Tanner from the airport. He'd been on a bender for a month and a half but the man didn't seem surprised. He hadn't said where he was going but Tanner didn't ask either. He told Tanner to hold the flat for him. To make sure nobody sold it.
He'd promised quietly and hung up without another word.
He'd flashed his credentials when they queried what was inside. He didn't care what they were arguing about. The case was staying closed along with all the possessions in it.
Finally, he boarded. He sat, staring at the photo, rubbing his thumb on the picture of her face. Finally, as they crossed the Atlantic. He slept.