Title: Magic Mirrors
Author: MercuryPheonix (Your Angel of Music)
Fandom: EastEnders
Warnings: Some violent imagery, some sexual references
Spoilers: Begins in the period following Tamwar and Afia's wedding (early July, 2011).
Summary: In the midst of a turbulent period in Christian and Syed's relationship, a mysterious figure from Christian's past emerges with a revelation that rocks him to the core. In a world of uncertainly, there is only one thing that can be guaranteed: the couple's lives will never be the same again.
A/N: It's been a while. I hope that you're still out there, whoever you are who have been reading this. I've been having a few issues in real life and a few problems with my muse. Also, lady in waiting, my wonderful beta, has been having some issues in real life as well, and, as such, is unable to continuing betaing this fic for the foreseeable future. So there's been a few issues with finding a temporary beta and then settling into that. Thankfully, AlpineRidge and a_silver_story have agreed to help with betaing duties, on the understanding that lady in waiting will resume when (and only when, I have insisted!) she has sorted out things in real life. Huge thanks to them. Seriously, I'm so grateful.
So, things have settled a little now and I hope to resume with regular updates. I also want to reassure everyone that there is a lot of Chryed interaction coming up - I'm worried that them being separate for long periods in this fiction so far will put people off, but I am genuinely setting up this situation as a means through which to further explore some of the things that have happened to Chryed in the past few months. Black Friday will be a key area of exploration in this new situation - I hope to explore it, and change it, and get behind it, and ultimately make it more true than what we saw on screen.
Thank you. If you're still there, then you are angels - I love you all.
'Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present, and future.'
~Gail Lumet Buckley
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Chapter 7
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Whump.
Christian's fist connected with pliant leather, the sound ricocheting around the open space as he uncoiled himself; like a spring releasing its energy, snapping forward with a force that was almost unrivalled.
Whump.
He didn't come here very often; the whole idea of boxing, beyond the apparent physical benefits, wasn't something that particularly impressed him. Usually, the thought of hitting something with intent – not the handheld bag that he used with his clients, as that, unlike a hanging bag, was not meant to represent a human body – was enough to send him quickly in the opposite direction.
Whump.
But there was something about the point he had reached, something about his circumstances, that suddenly made him want to pummel his fists as hard as he could into the padded leather. With each punch his ferocity increased, his knuckles burying themselves deep into the harsh material before ricocheting back again.
Whump. Whump.
Christian hated this. He hated the deception, the trouble, the unknown that was staring him in the face every single day. For so many, many years his heart had been his and his alone – it had been terrifying realising that, after all his convictions of a lone, individual life, his heart was no longer his to control; it belonged to someone else. And now, less than two years after that particular bombshell, this had happened…
Whump.
…shredding the last remnants of his control, once and for all. Not only that, but the two people…
Whump.
…who had been instrumental to losing that control…
Whump.
…had spent the better part of god-know-how-many days now either avoiding each other or sending each other dirty glances. He didn't know what to do – the tension, that had hung with a considerable degree of thickness over him and Syed for some time, was now so thick it was virtually solid. Walking through that flat was like trying to swim through treacle.
Whump. Whump.
A grimace creased his face.
Whump.
But there was one thing he was certain of…
Whump.
…and that was that he absolutely…
Whump.
…categorically…
Whump.
…hated this.
WHUMP.
"I'd say give me three guesses as to whose face you're imagining on that thing," Christian jumped as a sharp voice broke his trance, his fist throbbing slightly at the force of the punch he had just delivered. "But I don't think I'd need that many."
"How'd you know I was here?" he ran the back of his hand across his forehead, the skin coming back sticky with sweat as he avoided her eyes. He didn't know why, but they made him nervous; every time he looked at them, he felt it constricting in his chest, an irrepressible feeling of whatever it is you're supposed to be doing, you're doing it wrong.
"Because," he continued, repressing that particularl thought. "- technically, I blew off a client to come here and…y'know…punch things."
Mara took a step forward, her arms crossed across her chest; it was a defensive gesture, Christian was sure of it, but it was a posture that was so common on her that he'd stopped paying that much attention.
"I asked that guy in the pub…whatsisface…"
"Alfie?"
"Yeah, him – he said he saw you come this way, so I thought I'd check it out. Not like I've got anything better to do with my time."
With a few more strides, her heels dragging slightly against the grotty concrete of the floor, Mara was standing next to Christian. He opened his mouth, more questions tripping on the edge of his tongue, but they trickled back down his throat as he realised that she wasn't looking at him.
Her gaze was focused, almost intently, on the softly swinging punch bag beside them. Christian's mouth closed as she leaned towards it, her arm coming up so that she could splay her fingers on the coarse leather; as if she could somehow absorb the energy that still rattled through it from his last hit, the combination of anger and frustrating travelling through the leftover vibrations and into her hand.
"Y'know," her voice seemed unbelievably close and far away, the syllables low and resonant. "I've never hit anyone before. In my whole life. Not once."
What?
Christian was at a loss as to how to respond. He tried to mask his bewilderment by keeping his face neutral - as blank as possible, no judgement, no bias, nothing but a simple, perhaps supportive, expression - but her brow creased tightly. The spell was broken, her hand snatching away from the heavy material and burrowing into her pocket as she turned her gaze to the floor.
"You don't believe me."
"Did I say that?"
Christian rubbed at his gently throbbing knuckles, his eyes never leaving the fidgeting young woman beside him. He watched as Mara sunk her teeth gently into her lip, her gaze flitting between the floor and the gym around them. The cocksure air that had surrounded her like a heavy-handed smoke signal had dissipated into the air, replaced with an all-too-rare, open vulnerability; not for the first time since that day in the pub, he felt an overwhelming urge to envelop her in a protective embrace.
Also not for the first time, something – the sharp spikiness that surrounded her, coupled, perhaps, with the nerves he wasn't going to admit to feeling – held him back.
"So, was it me?"
"What?" Christian had turned away abruptly, fighting back the urge to wrap his arms around her by reaching for his towel; his fingers gripped it tightly as he wheeled to face her, brushing the soft material against his damp forehead.
"Was it me you were imagining on that thing?" she gestured towards the bag. Understanding hit Christian like a fist in his stomach.
"No! No, of course not," he scrubbed his face again, hoping to chase away the crimson heat that was spreading across his cheeks. "Why would you think that?"
"I don't know," she scuffed her foot messily against the floor. "I just…I wanted…I need to know that you didn't…"
Mara stopped suddenly, her mouth twitching.
"I mean that it's pretty obvious you'd rather it was just you and your…boyfriend…" the word was uttered through clenched teeth, as though it left a bitter taste burning on her tongue. It was all Christian could do not to wince; the petulance that had swept back into her tone like a whirlwind was painfully familiar, eliciting a stirring of what might – might – have been shame within him
He scrubbed a hand through his hair, feeling an unusual heat creep into his cheeks. Christian Clarke didn't do shame. Ever. It scared him – to the point at which he suppressed it forcefully, determined to focus on anything but those imposing, frightening thoughts.
"What's your problem, anyway?" he flexed his fingers, sighing as if he could expel those alien emotions with the air. "You and…Syed."
It felt odd using Syed's full name – he'd become so accustomed to using that affectionate shortening, even when referring to him with other people – but something told him that Sy wasn't going to cut it in this situation. It just felt…wrong…using such an affectionate nickname when any reference to him dripped from her lips with such contempt.
There was a huff as Mara laughed, the one-sided smile stopping before it reached her eyes.
"Where d'you want me to start?" she'd tensed, her hands on her hips and her shoulders braced defensively. "Maybe the fact that he's half your age?"
Christian bristled, indignation flaring up within him. It intertwined with something else, a strand of insecurity that had been tickling his insides for a while now. It knit together, growing in potency, in ferocity, until all he wanted was to beg her, or anyone, to reassure him otherwise; to tell him that it didn't matter, it didn't, really it didn't.
But all of that got lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth – all he could come up with was a petulant:
"He's not half my age."
The childishness in his own tone made him wince. Since when did he start noticing these things?
And then Mara glowered, the petulance in her tone mirroring his own.
"Close enough as makes no difference."
Ah, yes – that's when.
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?"
"It doesn't matter, anyway."
"Doesn't it?"
They glared at each other, a mirror-image of stubborn defiance – like a wrecking ball slamming into steel-reinforced concrete, neither of them willing nor able to break. An uneasy silence hung in the air, tension wrapping itself around them; almost forcing them closer together, united in their unwillingness to see eye to eye.
Mara broke the silence, snatching her eyes suddenly away from Christian.
"Toyboys…they're never a good thing, y'know that?" a quick glance towards him, before it dropped back to the floor. "My mum loved a good toyboy…that was never much fun…used to tell me that they'd all've worked out fine if only I hadn't been there to…"
She swallowed suddenly, shuffling as a blush spread across her cheeks – Christian's natural urge to hug was reaching an almost unbearable level, the tightness in her shoulders and that look in her eyes the only thing keeping him following his instincts. Usually, he knew he wouldn't have this problem…but there was something about her, a familiarity, which terrified him into stillness and yet made him want to hug her harder than he'd hugged anyone before.
"You probably think the same thing," her voice snapped him out of it, his hands falling decisively to his side.
"What d'you mean?"
"That it's my fault," she smiled weakly. "Me - screwing things up between you and your toyboy."
Understanding dawned slowly; creeping up on him with a sluggishness that wasn't particularly pleasant. He mirrored her tiny smile, crossing his arms across his chest.
"I think we were doing a pretty good job of doing that ourselves," he muttered quietly, the words barely brushing their way past his lips.
"What?"
"Nothing," the urge to lash out at the punch bag was almost overwhelming; Christian struggled to contain it, clamping his hands beneath his armpits and quickly changing the subject. "What is it about you two, anyway? Can't you just…I dunno…get on?"
That defensive smirk slotted itself into place, her eyes rolling in an exasperated fashion as she raised an eyebrow.
"You say that like it's an easy thing to do. Anyway, what's the point of making a sudden, dramatic entrance if you can't ruffle a few feathers?" she looked squarely at him, a glimmer of genuine mirth shining through. "I'm sure you'll understand that."
That…something…that was so evasive most of the time seemed to crackle between them, holding their gazes as if they were locked in place together. It only lasted a few moments, but Christian felt his mouth go uncomfortably dry. He coughed awkwardly, breaking their contact; he wasn't looking at her, but he sensed Mara doing exactly the same thing.
"I'm sure you and Syed could get on if you just…"
"He blames me for everything that's gone wrong, or that will go wrong, in your lives and your relationship; I'm an outsider breaking up your little bubble; I'm coming between you; I'm complicating things; things are rocky between you anyway, but now I've come in and shaken things up, his automatic assumptions are going to land on me rather than on anything, or anyone closer to home," Mara's recitation was solid, almost daring him to question what sounded, bizarrely, like a list being read from a psychiatrist's clipboard. "And even if he doesn't now, he will eventually. So will you."
Christian opened his mouth to argue, but, before he could get any words out, his brain began to tick; his mouth snapped shut with such a force that his teeth rattled in his skull. He wanted to refute everything, everything, she had just said – scoff, fold his arms, relegate it as nothing by psychobabble and nonsense. But the shock of realising that he wasn't sure if he realistically could was enough to silence him.
She began to chew on her lip, her gaze once again roving over the punch bag that now hung silently, almost threateningly, between them. There was a strange glint in her eye, as if she was holding back the urge to throw herself on it.
Again, that instinct to pull her inwards, to protect her against the world, was tugging violently at his heart; he knew he had to resist it, but…
"Look, I'll be out from under your feet as soon as I can, I promise. I just need to get myself some solid foundations – sort myself out – and then I'll be gone. You never have to hear from me again if you don't want it."
Christian sighed; guilt….exasperation…everything he was doing was wrong…stop twisting everything, please…
"I never said any of those things."
"I know. I did," she reached into her pocket suddenly, pulling out a crumpled brown bag. "This came today."
Christian was suddenly alert, taking a step forward as she held out the package.
"Is that…?"
Mara nodded. Christian let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.
"Have you…?"
"Yeah. It's in there. Just needs yours, then we can get this whole thing sorted. I've addressed it and everything. And then you can tell your boyfriend the truth."
A wave of nausea suddenly swept beneath Christian's feet, rocking his world off kilter.
Syed.
He hadn't thought about the…the after. There'd been no cause to, when his complicated, confusing now was so all-consuming in his mind. Things had been so different recently; he didn't doubt the love that existed between them, but their ability to hold onto that against outside obstacles wasn't something he was so certain of anymore.
And that thought made his heart lurch painfully.
"We'll deal with that when we get to it," he stuttered, forcing out each word. Mara stared at him.
"You have to tell him. If I'm…"
"I know," he looked at her, forcing himself to meet her gaze. "I know, it's just…"
That tiny smile – that brief, fleeting something that he still couldn't put his finger on.
"Complicated?"
Christian nodded.
"Well, you do what you want," she shrugged, her fingers still clamped around the crumpled package; her eyes feigned nonchalance, but the tightness of her knuckles hinted at something else completely.
Christian considered her for a brief moment, taking in the way different parts of her seemed to tell of conflicting emotions, like a story hidden within a story; the discrepancy between her eyes and her mouth; the slight twitching of her cheek; the veins popping from the back of her hand. It was like there was more than one person in there, a battle of wills between what she wanted people to see and a more complex reality.
It was meant to deflect. But it made Christian, who felt a personal pang of recognition every time he watched her struggle, eager to find out more.
"You never told me."
Mara bristled; her whole body tensing as if she was expecting a slap.
"Told you what?"
"Why your mum kicked you out."
"Oh," her body relaxed slightly, but that nervous, coiled tension remained hanging in the air around her. Christian couldn't work out whether the slight relaxation came because it was something she didn't mind him knowing, or because it was something she'd already prepared a lie to explain.
"We had a disagreement."
Christian knew he shouldn't push – but he couldn't help it. Now that he'd started, the urge to build up the pressure against those floodgates was overwhelming.
"Must have been pretty big."
The slight relaxation was reversed, like a solid wall building up her around her. Brick by brick, stone by stone; cutting her off from him or anyone else.
"Why do you want to know?"
Christian took a step forward, a foolhardy eagerness suddenly washing over him. He didn't know where it had come from it, only that it was too potent for him to hold back, whatever his head was screaming at him.
"I'm just curious – and, I don't know, if I knew what had happened I could help you…y'know…to fix things, maybe rebuild a relationship with her, or…"
"I didn't ask for that!" he stopped suddenly as something in Mara snapped, her face reddening and her voice crashing from her throat in a strangle shout. "All I wanted was somewhere to stay, somewhere to crash until I could work something out for myself, not a fucking therapist. You don't know anything."
She stepped forward, her arm outstretched. Christian felt himself flinch, whether from the prospect of a slap (and he'd had a fair few of them in his time) or the lashing her tongue had given him, he wasn't quite sure. This only seemed to incense her as she grabbed his wrist, jerking his hand up and slamming the brown package into his palm.
"Don't try and be what you're not," she hissed, closing his fingers roughly around the crinkly paper. "Just do this; do what you need to do, then walk away and don't look back. You've proven yourself to be so good at that, after all."
With that she released his hand, crossing her arms roughly across her chest and turning furiously on her heel. Just as a few thoughts began to trickle back through Christian's frozen brain, however, she stopped. She twisted slowly, her eyes still blazing but her body still; deathly still, like the ocean on the night the Titanic met her end.
"You wanna know why my mum kicked me out?"
Christian couldn't do anything but nod dumbly, a few rebellious tears prickling painfully at the corner of his eyes: this isn't what I want.
Mara swallowed hard.
"Let's just say - I had a few genetic traits she didn't approve of," Mara took in a shaky breath, her whole body suddenly trembling as she broke away and made a quick, almost frantic escape from the club.
Christian felt as though he had been kicked in the stomach; his whole world suddenly seemed to spin, a mixture of anger, pain, confusion and sheer what-the-fuck-am-I-doing? knocking him violently off balance. He stumbled, catching himself against the punching bag before he could fall properly.
And then, unable to make any sense of the emotions flitting agonisingly sharply through his skull, he swung his body around and did the only thing he could do.
WHUMP.
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TBC
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Thank you so much for reading.
I'm dealing with a huge mish-mash of emotion in this chapter, so I hope that it worked. This chapter and the next few have taken a lot out of me. If you can, please let me know what you think - I promise you there is some Chryed on the way, I promise, but I need to set the wheels of the situation in motion. So please, if you can, your comments and feedback really do help me in those moments when the muse is being uncooperative. Thank you so much. Love you all!
That wasn't meant to sound so grovelly. Sorry.