I don't own Ashes to Ashes
---
Gene excused himself ten minutes later, driving the short way back to his house to collect an overnight bag, then returning, slipping in through the side door to avoid the speculation of the rest of the team. Alex had left the door slightly ajar, and he pushed in, slightly unnerved by the oddly domestic feel of having the door open for entry as and when he chose. Pushing it open and slipping inside, he heard Alex in the kitchen, humming something softly in her throat, some tune he'd never heard but that ingrained itself on his memory as it left her. The kettle was boiling, the water bubbling loudly as Gene dropped his bag by the door and walked into the kitchen, leaning on the doorframe and watching Alex as she spooned sugar into a cup of coffee he knew was meant for him. A slight smirk tugged at his mouth, ears picking up on the humming more successfully now, hearing each note for what it was; there might not have been words, but the tune itself spoke volumes- friendship, comfort, happiness... the reason he was here.
"Ain't gonna burst into song are yer Bollykecks?" His voice was teasing, and when she jumped he knew she'd just been jerked from a reverie in which he didn't exist. Her face was blank for a moment, before she grinned cheekily.
"You, Mister Hunt, wouldn't be know what hit you." She handed him the coffee with a smile.
"Don' doubt it for a second, Bols; if your hummin's anything t' go by, my ears might 'ave to be sliced off to save myself." Taking the cup, he took a sip, eyes glinting wickedly, "but if you fancy dancing about like a fairy, s'long as no noise is involved, I'll give 'ole-hearted support."
Alex laughed, glad that he was settling back into his typically flirtatious behaviour as she led him over to the sofa, curling her legs up beneath herself as she sank into the cushions, briefly overwhelmed by the still-present scent of Gene's aftershave on the fabric from the night before. He didn't notice her momentary lapse into fantasy, seating himself with an arm thrown over the sofa's back, coffee in hand. Eyeing the cup in his grip thoughtfully, he said, "Seem to be making an 'abit of drinking non-alcoholic drinks at poncy times of the night..." he quirked an eyebrow at her, and she grinned.
"Two nights in a row is hardly habitual, Gene."
"Dunno Bols," he mused, "spend twenty-years on the booze 'til three in the mornin' it gets kinda normal." He shrugged, looking up to see her hazel eyes assessing him. "Oh bloody 'ell," he muttered, "you ain't gonna start bloody analysing me with your psychtwattery are you?"
Alex smiled, shaking her head, "no, Gene... I'm just thankful you're here." She briefly touched her hand against his, and then pulled it away, lifting her cup to her lips and sipping contentedly.
Gene nodded, face solemn. "Yeah... me too, Bolly."
There was a long stretch of silence, during which they both finished their drinks, placing their cups on the coffee table and stretching out as much as the sofa would allow; one of Alex's legs stretched to brush Gene's knee lightly with her toes, and he had to stop himself jerking away at her touch; it wasn't that he didn't like it, or want it, more the fact that he was terrified what reaction his body would have to her attention, especially when she repeatedly flexed her toes, briefly brushing his leg each time. Eventually, the silence and the touch of her were all too much, and Gene spoke up, voice oddly loud in the quiet of the night.
"What's eatin' you then, Bols?" He muttered, shifting round in his seat and trying not to notice that his knee knocked closer to her foot as he did so. He half expected her to simply explain away her fear as being the same as the night before, but somehow it didn't fit, didn't seem right; she wasn't crying, she wasn't panicking, she was just remorseful, lost...
She didn't reply for several moments, her eyes focused on her foot, resting gently against his knee, before she murmured, "If he killed her, Gene... what does that make him?"
Gene scowled. "A murderin' scumbag, Bols, just like every other sick bastard we lock up week after week." His tone was flat, to the point, and she knew without a doubt he believed his words implicitly.
"But is he though, really? What if she wanted to die? What if... what if she knew her life was past the point of being worth living?" The emptiness in her voice shook him, and Gene looked at her foot with his eyes downcast.
"We're the law Bols, and whether she wanted to die or not, it's still illegal, an' he's still scum. We ain't here to argue it, we're here to stop innocent people dyin' on our patch." His hand found her foot, brain searching for a change of course in conversation, finding one as his mouth twitched into a surreptitious grin at the flowers on her white socks. "Nice, Bols. Real fashionable."
She looked down at her own feet and smiled in return. "I had a pair just like them when I was younger," she answered, remembering with a sigh the pair that Evan had brought her on her 7th birthday, along with a new teddy and a Barbie doll. "Saw them and couldn't resist." She stretched languidly out as Gene's fingers began to rub and caress the base of her foot, and she let out a contented sigh.
"Any other fantabulous socks you wanna show the Gene Genie, Bols?" He teased, meeting her eyes with his, blue orbs dancing as his fingers worked magic on her foot.
"Mmm..." she said softly, "only the Tinkerbell ones."
"'ey? That little pixie swot?" The distaste was evident in his voice, laced in each word as his face wrinkled into a frown.
Alex grinned, "yes Gene, the very same."
Gene let out an odd grunting noise, "bloody women."
With a laugh, Alex closed her eyes, concentrating on the touch of his fingers along the sole of her aching foot.
---
They sat for a few hours, talking, Gene casually easing the knots from her feet and making regular statements of complaint, despite continuing his attentions nonetheless. It was nearly one before Alex swung her feet from Gene's lap, not noticing the slight look of disappointment that washed over him, before he replaced it with his customary solemn face. Alex stood up and stretched her hand out to him, "I'm turning in... are you coming?"
Gene gulped. "I... I dunno, Bols..." her sofa was one thing; there was nothing really personal about her sofa, but her bed? Somehow the idea of sleeping next to Alex Drake, in her bed, covered by her duvet, head on her pillow... it was overwhelmingly intimate, and he wasn't sure how to react.
"Please, Gene," she said softly, hand still outstretched, though it twitched slightly, as though begging his attention. Gene stared at the offered appendage carefully, as though assessing which angle it would attack from... he'd never taken the time to really look at her hands, to learn the ridges and contours, and though it was normal, he reasoned, to ignore such pointless things as hands when presented with a face as gorgeous as hers, it was an intimacy he couldn't help but want to engage in...
She had slim, elegant fingers, he noted, with polished and perfected nails, except for one which was ever so slightly mangled at the base. Her bones weren't visible, making the back of her hand appear smooth, milky and soft. There was a slight scar at the base of her little finger, brighter than the rest of the skin, whiter, too, with an air of humanity he might not have expected from the regal posh-bird he'd come to adore. He took in the sight for several moments, imprinting it on his memory before looking up into her eyes, seeing again her raw vulnerability, and feeling the sigh as it breathed through his lips.
"Alrigh'," he said softly, standing up and slipping his hand into hers, ignoring the skip of his heartbeat and the whiff of her perfume in his nostrils as he rose to his feet. His skin tingled at her touch, and it was with a deep breath that he let her lead him towards the bedroom, his stomach all nerves, despite knowing that this was not a bed shared between lovers; it was a bed shared between friends. So even while her hand was in his, and even though he didn't doubt they'd fall asleep with arms around one another, he knew that there was nothing but companionship flowing between their intertwined bodies; nothing to be nervous about... so why did he want to bite his nails and fidget like a three year old caught in the cookie jar?
As she got changed in the bathroom, he sat uncomfortably on the bed, slipping off his shoes and socks, and grimacing at the idea of another night sleeping fully-clothed. He wasn't used to the restriction; in his own bed, in his own house, he slept in nothing or, if it was chilly, boxers and, occasionally, a vest top. Now, all he could do was empty his pockets, placing his cigarettes nervously on the bedside table, along with his lighter, a pen and some loose change. After some internal debate, he opted to remove the heavily buckled belt from his waist, and unfastened his tie and two of his buttons. When Alex walked in, he was in the process of undoing the cuffs on his wrists, rolling his sleeves up to the elbow before sitting there, an almost expectant expression on his face. She grinned at him, walking to the other side of the bed and laying herself on top of the duvet, smiling continually. Gene watched her, eyebrows raised, pretending not to notice that, whilst she was wearing a conservatively long t-shirt and flannel pyjama bottoms, her nipples were clearly visible through the fabric, showing all too clearly that she was not, by any means, wearing a bra. Resisting a groan, he took a deep breath and lay down, looking at her with a soft complacency that sent shivers down her spine.
---
Alex didn't really know what to think as he laid there, a good few inches between their bodies as though they were both scared to initiate contact, for fear of scaring the other away. It was hard to tell what he was feeling, too, as, since their earlier conversation about the 'pyjama party,' neither of them had really brought up the dawning possibility that they might come to share a bed. It was as though they had silently agreed on a taboo of the subject, and now neither of them was able to find a way to verbalise whatever was going through their heads...
But she wanted to.
She wanted to reach over to him, clasp his hand in hers and roll herself into his warm embrace, listen to the gentle rhythm of his heart and maybe, if she were brave enough, press her lips to the small v at the base of his throat, revealed by the unbuttoning of his shirt which was having a more direct affect on her than was strictly necessary. She wanted to feel his arms around her smaller body, feel his breath on her face and the touch of his skin against hers, as she had that morning... She wanted to.
But she wouldn't.
---
It was ten minutes or so before either of them made any attempt at movement, and when it came it was Gene, not Alex, who rolled onto his side and looked at her, eyes locking with hers and holding them in their gaze. "Wanna sleep, Bols?" He muttered, feeling his eyelids flutter with tiredness as he stifled a yawn, before returning back to her gaze.
"Yes." Alex said, her voice small, tentative, nervous...
Gene nodded. "Good..."
There was an awkward pause, then he added, "'ow'd you want me?" before realizing what he had said and looking down, cursing, "shit. Bols, I didn' mean like that I just..."
Alex was laughing hard, eyes watering as he began to apologize profusely, before she finally gave in and shook her head, the grin still on her face as she said, "I know what you meant Gene... and I don't mind... whatever's good for you." He didn't miss the flirtatious lilt to her voice, and he had to close his eyes briefly and envision Maggie Thatcher in a thong before he felt safe to look back at Alex without getting hard.
"'t's your bed, Bollykecks... 'ow'd you sleep normally?"
Alex shrugged, looking down, "well, usually, I'd be on that side, but-"
"Fuck, sorry, I'll move!" But as he went to stand up, Alex caught his arm with her hand, smiling at him and shaking her head.
"Don't Gene, it's fine." And with the touch barrier broken, it felt less encroaching to shift herself closer to him, to rest an arm over his chest in an almost possessive nature and to put her cheek on his shoulder... and he responded by slipping his arm around her waist, holding her firmly to his side, whilst his other arm dangled loosely over the side of the bed.
"You know it's no trouble if you want this side o' the bed, Bols," Gene said, twisting his face to look at her. She shrugged.
"Ok," she muttered, deliberately sliding one leg across his stomach, sitting up and rolling above him, eyes locked on his as their crotch's brushed against one another. Gene swore, grabbing her by the waist and rolling her quickly to the side, though still leaving one arm around her shoulders as he pulled back, rolling the rest of his body away. His breathing was heavy as the brief pressure on his body threatened to take effect, all blood rushing to his groin as he closed his eyes and desperately wished it away. It didn't help that Alex was giggling helplessly, shifting to rest her head on his arm once more and shaking in amusement as Gene lay, tight-lipped and silent, trying to forget the feel of her on top of him...
"Uncalled for, Bolly," he managed to grunt when he had finally got his body back in check. She simply laughed, sliding closer, once more held in his warm embrace.
"Sorry, Guv," Alex grinned, placing her face in the crook of his neck and sighing contentedly. "Goodnight," she murmured, body aligning itself alongside his as her eyes fluttered closed, two nights worth of tiredness pulling heavily on their lids. As she drifted off, she was vaguely aware of Gene's hand on her back, rubbing abstract patterns into her soft skin...
When he was sure she was asleep, he turned on his side, laying his head back on the pillow and feeling her snuggle subconsciously closer. Thinking back to their conversation in Luigi's early that evening, he placed his lips next to her ear and whispered, "I need you an' all, Bollykecks."
With one last look at her sleeping face, Gene closed his eyes, and fell into slumber.
---
When the sun peeked through the curtains - Alex having forgotten to close them before getting into bed - Gene awoke, bright rays of light teasing his eyes open, finding, for the second morning in a row, Alex Drakes body entangled with his own. Only this morning, he wasn't pressing her into the back of the sofa; he was laid on his back, Alex somehow having situated herself between his legs, head resting on his chest and ankle hooked around his, hair blowing softly against his face as a light breeze drifted in through the window. He groaned, trying to twist his face away from the tickling sensation of her soft hair on his skin; it didn't work, and as she slept soundly on, his body awoke to the press of her breasts on his chest, to the pressure of her hips against his crotch. With a groan, he attempted to shift his body to the side, but the friction made the contact worse, made blood rush to his groin with speed, and instead he found himself pressing his hips down into the mattress whilst attempting to keep her body at a respectable distance from his own. It didn't work, and so, after several moments of deliberation, he gathered her gently in his arms, holding her close, taking a brief moment to inhale her scent, before rolling her gently to the side, disentangling his leg from hers... He hesitated a moment, eyes resting on her sleeping face as she shifted slightly on the bed, before he slid away from her... No sooner had his feet touched the floor, than Alex spoke up, voice groggy with sleep.
"Where are you going?" She yawned, patting the bed next to her. Gene glanced at the clock; five fifty-two. Not soon enough to claim he was making her breakfast, then.
"Loo," he said gruffly, "back in a minute, Bols." He paused briefly, watching as she settled herself on her side, eyes closing as she muttered a soft reply.
"Ok... put the seat down when you're done..." she yawned, hands seeking out her pillow and holding it to her chest, "going back to sleep..."
"Yeah... ok, Bols..." He wanted to sound sarcastic, annoyed that she was telling him to carry out good etiquette he had learnt at the age of seven from his Mam, but actually, his stomach was flipping with that odd warmth that came whenever she said something slightly more intimate than that involved in their everyday relationship. With a slight grin, he sloped off to the bathroom.
---
It was full of her smell, he noted, with soaps and shampoos scenting up the room and twirling into his sinuses, sweet smells that were intimately Bolly, like the whiff of hair, the scent on her skin... he couldn't resist sniffing at the perfume bottle on the bathroom shelf, feeling his stomach churn and, unbidden, his trousers tighten on his groin. He groaned, placing the perfume down again and resting his head on the mirror, trying unsuccessfully to rid himself of his arousal... unfortunately, the room was filled up with that gorgeous scent that turned him on, reminding him only of her, the curve of her arse, the roundness of her tits, the wicked glint in her eyes when she knew he was getting horny... And then, in the overflowing washing basket, he could see her delicate lace pants and bra, red in colour, thrown aside almost carelessly, and he knew without a doubt that he was lost. After sliding the lock across on the bathroom door and lifting the toilet seat, he undid his trousers, hesitating only slightly before sliding both them and his boxers low on his hips, hand wrapping around his length as his mind filled up with the scent of her, the sight of her, the feel of her, the sound of her breathing as she'd slept in his arms, the discarded underwear and the wisps of hair in his face... He groaned, working himself slowly as images conjured in the depths of sleep leapt to the forefront of his mind; Alex Drake, straddling him in the front seat of his Quattro and riding him slowly, head thrown back in bliss... Alex Drake, on her knees in front of him as he stroked her hair whilst watching football through blurry, unfocused eyes as her mouth worked over and over him, repeatedly...
Teasing his tip, he pushed aside the slight feeling of guilt at the knowledge that the object of his lust was laying in the room outside that door, integrating himself so firmly in his fantasies that he could feel her tight heat around him, could hear her whimpers and moans as he fucked her, could taste the wine in her mouth as he curled his tongue around hers, could smell the musk of her as he went down on her, could see the pleasure on her face...
And then he was stifling a groan of bliss, a mantra of 'Bolly' going over and over in his mind, but never leaving his lips as he erupted into his own hand, legs shaking with the force of his orgasm, the strength of his morning-fantasies shocking him to the core... "Shit," he groaned, leaning against the wall for a moment, before finally, eventually, bringing himself back to earth enough to clean up, put the seat down, flush the toilet and wash his hands.
---
Minutes later, he was sliding back into Alex Drake's bed, nervous of his indiscretion as she scuffled closer without question, discarding the pillow she had replaced him with and confidently wrapping her arms around his back and murmuring into his shirt, "you took your time."
Gene flinched, "curry," he explained.
Alex looked thoughtful through her tiredness before she muttered, "I thought you had pizza?"
Gulping, Gene shrugged, "food poisonin' maybe? I dunno, Bols, go back to sleep."
He didn't notice the knowing grin on her face as she closed her eyes and answered, "You should see a doctor."
"Yeah, Bols, maybe," and then he closed his eyes again, arms around her once more as he slipped into a sated sleep.
---
They walked into CID a few minutes apart, Gene having left while Alex was still putting her make-up on, the separation much less awkward than before. When she walked into the office, Gene nodded at her, earning himself a smile, before he entered the office, giving her a look which she knew only too well; she followed him in. When the door was shut behind her, Gene perched himself on his desk, frowning slightly.
"Been thinkin' Bols..." he said, "'bout what you said last night..." Alex felt her heart skip a beat, but then it stopped with disappointment as he went on, "'an' maybe we do need to go see 'er Mum again... but if yer comin' wit' me, you gotta keep all your suicidal pish-posh an' mumbo-jumbo to yerself. Got it?"
Alex nodded, arms crossed. Gene ground his jaw briefly, then muttered, with his eyes to the floor, "d'you... did yer sleep ok?"
Smiling tentatively, Alex nodded once again in affirmation. "Fine, thanks... did you?"
A curt nod, eyes still fixed as far from her as possible, "need me to...err... d'you wan' me to... to come over tonigh'?"
Trying to cover up her joy, Alex shrugged nonchalantly. "Shall we see how today goes?"
With a gulp, Gene nodded, corking his disappointment and trying to appear nonchalant. "Yeah... alrigh'..." There was a moments silence before he finally said, meeting her eyes this time, "right, let's get over to Mrs McKellen, 'ey?"
Alex nodded, then, looking hesitant, glanced out towards the rest of the office; Ray, Chris and Shaz were all huddled together, facing away... Stepping towards Gene, she slid her arms around his waist, feeling his confusion and his tension before he returned the gesture with deliberate tenderness, and she murmured, face buried in his blazer, "but, just in case... can you get your bag?"
Her voice was timid and shy, and Gene nodded, before realizing her face wasn't turned towards him. "Yeah... but I ain't drinking tea and coffee again; it's whiskey, or it's bitter, or I'm showin' up pissed as a fart. You got that?"
Alex smiled. "Yes, Gene. You bring the whiskey. We'll make a night of it."
A hum went through Gene's chest beneath her ear as he whispered, "you bet we will, Bols... now come on... gotta go see the Mother Goose."
---
Amanda McKellen was not pleased to see them; her eyes went dark as they fell on Alex, who shifted without conscious thought closer to Gene, so that her white, booted foot was touching his black one. He made no movement to say that he'd noticed it, other than to gently nudge back at her with his toecaps, all the time addressing Amanda, his eyes fixed on her.
"Sorry, love," Gene shrugged, "we need to ask you a few questions..." He flashed his police badge as though this would have a positive effect, but the glare on Amanda's face told them she didn't need the badge to know who he was. Indicating Alex, Gene added, "an' I promise this one'll keep her gob shut this time."
With a reluctant sigh, Amanda opened the door and stepped back, allowing them to enter her house, Alex staying a step behind Gene as he followed Amanda towards the living room.
---
"We're followin' a... a differen' line of enquiry," Gene said, sitting on the chair awkwardly, hands dangling between his legs and searching for something to do. "We err... we spoke to Benji... Rosa's Benji, I mean... an'... well... what d'you make of 'im?"
Amanda rolled her eyes. "Benji Bragden's got a heart of gold; not much to look at, but he wouldn't kill my Rosa... that much I'm sure of."
Gene ground his teeth briefly, then muttered, "'e 'ad some information 'bout the crime scene we wouldn' 'ave let slip... knew things that were there, things 'e wouldn' know if 'e 'adn't been there..."
"You're as bad as that one," Amanda snapped, glaring daggers at Alex, who was sat conservatively and, for a change, in silence. She looked up as Amanda spoke, but didn't respond, letting her continue. "He might well know things –he's a bright lad after all – but he would never have killed my Rosa. You're jumping to conclusions based on the fact he was close to her - If you're here to ask me to give a character witness against him, you're looking in the wrong place, now if you please I-"
"Mrs McKellen," Alex said softly, eyes falling on a crucifix above the mantelpiece, "was Rosa a religious person?"
Gene looked at her as though she were mental, "wha' the bloody 'ell 'as that got to do with-"
"Yes," Amanda interrupted, meeting Alex's gaze squarely, her own eyes filled with confusion and query. There was a moment Alex didn't expect her to reply, but when she did, her voice was sharp and clipped, as though she, as well as Gene, thought that question was a pointless waste of time. "She went to church every Sunday. Why?"
"Did she believe in Angels?"
"Answer my question, DI Drake, and I might answer yours." Amanda's voice was cold, icy, and Alex sighed, having hoped she would not yet have to mention Benji's theory.
"Benji mentioned that Rosa often spoke about someone called Angel; he said that they were friends. Did she ever mention that to you?"
Amanda blinked. "She mentioned an Angel, yes," she said slowly, face wrinkled into a frown, "but I always assumed she was referring to Benji- she thought the world of him. He wouldn't hurt her, of that I'm sure; they had their moments, but I know – I know – he loved her! He couldn't kill her, I know that. He isn't the type."
"Did she ever say who Angel was, what he looked like, anything like that?"
Shaking her head, Amanda murmured, "no... No. She just said he was her Angel... that he looked after her, made her feel beautiful..." She met Alex's eyes, her own full of questions as she whispered, "why is this important?"
Alex glanced at Gene, who muttered gruffly, "Benji says this Angel bloke was with Rosa the nigh' before we found 'er..."
"But that's impossible," Amanda said, "I dropped Rosa off at Benji's flat myself and..." the colour drained from her cheeks, but she remained resolute as she said, over and over, "It wasn't Benji... it wasn't Benji..."
"Can you think of anyone else it might have been? A friend of Benji's perhaps? Someone they both knew, someone they got on with?" Alex was careful to keep her voice level and gentle, and Gene glanced over at her and could practically see the need for information clawing at her brain. Hiding a smirk, he looked back toward Amanda, who was shaking her head slowly.
"No... Their only mutual friend was Joe, and he was with me on Tuesday night." Her voice was honest and flat, but, despite knowing that it was unprofessional and that there was really no reason to further enquire, Gene couldn't help the small smirk that played across his lips as he spoke.
"All night?" He asked, with more than a hint of innuendo. He could feel Alex's disapproval, but shrugged it off. Amanda sighed, turning her gaze on Gene.
"Yes, Chief Inspector, all night. He's been my closest friend since childhood..." with a smug tone she added, "and he's bent as a nine bob note; always has been. So you won't be pinning sexual liaisons on ME Mr Hunt. My relationship with Joe is of no relevance, anyway."
Gene blinked, attempting to block out the snort of amusement coming from Alex, but realizing he didn't need to when Amanda turned on her, face alight with anger. "I should expect nothing else from you; with your judgemental upbringing, your boarding schools and prejudice towards any one slightly different to you!" Her voice was heated, fast spiralling out of control, pitch varying as she spoke. "Can't accept the differences in society, have to pass judgement on any lesser people than yourself and-"
"Alright, love," Gene interrupted, voice stern. "She weren' laughin' at your poxy mate, an 'e sure as 'ell ain't so perfect as you're making out."
"I don't quite understand your meaning, Mr Hunt," she said coldly, "and I'd appreciate it if you didn't revert to endearments."
"An' I'd appreciate if you didn' revert to type when referrin' to an officer of 'er Majesty's Police Service!" Gene growled, voice level, but menacing, "'cause I don' give ten shades of shite whether you think DI Drake's a posh, toffee-nosed tart wit' a poker up 'er arse; she's tryin' to solve a murder an' you're bloody divertin' 'er investigation, so either be polite or zip yer lip!"
Alex remained stock still in her chair, staring, aghast, as Gene gave Amanda McKellen a verbal dressing-down she wouldn't forget in a hurry, all in her defence. With a shaky breath, Alex looked at Amanda, who was red in the face, although, it would seem, not out of anger, but out of embarrassment. A few moments of silence passed, before Amanda looked at Alex apologetically, and though she didn't say it aloud, Alex caught the meaning and nodded in acceptance. Gene just stared as the mood lightened all of a sudden; he would never understand women and their silent looks that, apparently, spoke volumes.
"Other than Joe, was there anyone they both knew?" Alex's voice was gentle, lighter, as though the silent apology had righted all wrongs between the two women, and Gene continued to stare blankly as Amanda shook her head.
"Nobody... they were always secluded; them, Joe, me... nobody else." Tears fell from Amanda's eyes and Alex reached over to grasp her hand. Gene wanted to roll his eyes; bloody women, at each other's throats one second, embracing like sisters the next. At Alex's next question, he expected Amanda to turn into the Devil incarnate once again, but she didn't, instead simply consenting, shoulders sagging...
"Would it be possible to see Rosa's room?" Alex asked softly.
Amanda nodded, still clinging to Alex's hand as she led both she and Gene out of the living room and up the stairs.
"It's in there," Amanda whispered, pointing to a plain white door, scattered with a few stickers. "I can't come in with you... I haven't... I won't be able to face it."
Gene let himself in, avoiding the bewilderingly emotional moment of Alex wrapping a consoling arm around the grieving mother and whispering promises of justice. Moments later, Alex joined him; he didn't need to see her face to know she was crying, and as she closed the door behind her, she slid her smaller hand into his.
---
So, the plan for the next chapter is to tell you all a bit more about Rosa, so I hope you liked this, and I shall look forward to hearing your thoughts on that. Until then, thanks for all the support and review so far- they've been very encouraging. Hope the chapter was up to par!
Mage of the Heart