Evie Grace (Repost)

Carol returns from South Africa.

When I wrote this fic to start (almost a year ago) I was a very new writer. I want to have another crack at this fic, so enjoy. Will probably post some new content as well.

Chapter 2: Left To Our Own

'I don't know!' exclaimed Alex. 'Just go home Tony, you're irritating me. And don't forget to be at the airport by 9am.'

'Will do,' he replied, taking his trademark blue carrier bag with a flourish and beginning to leave the room.

Arriving at his home, he turned the key slowly in the door, then trying to push his way through the accumulation of post that had amassed on the doormat in his prolonged absence.

'You spend too much time at work Tony,' he muttered to himself in his usual strangeness as he forcibly shoved the door open, scattering the mail over the floor. 'Too many days falling asleep at the office, or at the Police Station. Gosh I need a holiday!'

Diverting himself away from his subconscious thoughts, Tony scooped up the post and brought it into the living room. He sat down on the sofa, stretching his legs out ahead of him and giving a satisfied yawn.

'Junk, junk, junk, junk,' he chorused, crunching the offending pieces of paper and putting them to the side, planning to toss them in the bin when he could be bothered to get up.

Leaning back in his chair, Tony exhaled loudly and turned his thoughts to what he could occupy his distracted mind with, something that didn't involve the abduction of a little girl by a sexual predator. As he looked to the ceiling, he shifted uncomfortably in a bid to become comfortable immersed in the sofa, and felt the crispness of the previously crunched up junk mail. Sighing slightly, Tony picked them all up, crunching them again as one within his fist and went to the kitchen, dumping them in the bin.

'Bloody junk mail,' he commented, sitting back down.

Noting that his stomach was yearning for culinary satisfaction, of whatever quality as long as it was edible, Tony picked up the phone and dialled speed dial 7, otherwise known as his main source of nourishment. The local Indian takeaway.

'Hi, can I get a bit of everything for one?' asked Tony. '69 Stockwell Way, Bradfield. Thanks.'

Hanging up the phone, he thought back to the day he input those numbers into his speed dial. Carol helped him, because he and technology really were not cohesive. He and a lot of things were not cohesive, he mused.

Ah, that name. Carol. It seemed to roll off his tongue perfectly, it sounded so perfect. She herself was perfect, at the very least to him she was a Goddess. Her number was still on his speed dial, he didn't have the heart to get rid of it. She probably had a new one by now, with a varied list of contacts that probably didn't include him anymore.

The reasons why she left had always played him. Was he that much of a disappointment? Was he so terrible that she felt the need to up and leave him? She had been so understanding, so caring, so tender to him. So why leave? Why leave him to fall apart without her there? But Carol had moved on with her life, for whatever reasons, and Tony was beginning to understand that, even though he could never understand why. But it didn't mean that he had to like it.

To all extents and purposes, he hated the fact that she'd left. He'd tried to hate her for her desertion, but he couldn't. Too much had happened between them, too many feelings involved for hate to become a factor. Frustration was a key one for him these past few years.

He'd tried to carry on, he really had. After Carol's departure and his recovery, he'd struck up a friendship with Carol's replacement, Alex. But he knew for sure that Alex would never become a replacement for Carol in any other way. In fact, he enjoyed the platonic-esque qualities his relationship with Alex demonstrated. He didn't have to think about emotional attachment in a romantic way, just the benefits that friendship offered. And he was okay with that, in fact he rather enjoyed it.

His perplexing trail of thought was broken by the ringing of the doorbell, and then it occurred to him once more that he was in fact starving hungry.

'Food!' he exclaimed merrily, picking up his wallet and heading to the door, quickly opening it, then gently snatching the food from the delivery guy and handing him a ten pound note.

'See ya,' replied the bloke, leaving quickly.

Shutting the door, Tony quickly walked into his kitchen, loading up the various Indian dishes onto a tray and ushering them into the living room.

He threw himself back into the comfort of the sofa, devouring the food that was on offer. Once he was finished, he set the tray aside by the sink in the kitchen, procrastinating that he would do them later.

Throwing himself back in the chair, he decided to load up Tomb Raider on his Playstation, needing some time for free thought. Lara Croft was indeed a cruel mistress, keeping him immersed in the game for many hours, until the signs of tiredness refused to evade him. His eyes drooped unmercifully, forcing him to lose yet another game.

Deciding that enough was enough, Tony shut off the machine, and crawled into bed, not caring that he reeked of body odour and strong Indian aroma, particularly Garlic. He was so wracked with exhaustion that he did not care that his teeth weren't brushed or that he hadn't showered, it wasn't as if there was anybody in his bed to complain about that. He'd do it in the morning. Isn't procrastination a wonder?

As he descended the flight of stairs to sleeping unconsciousness, Tony shot upright, realising that he had to set the alarm for tomorrow morning, or else risk the wrath of Alex.

'It's sad really?' he said to himself. 'I was about to have the best night's sleep ever, and I woke up to set the alarm? I really do need a life.'

Setting the alarm, he turned over, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.