4.
The hotel room is rather small, and it smells of damp carpets and despair. The officer, assigned to Stevie, lets them in, nods to River, and leaves. Stevie walks to the bed in the middle of the room, drops her bag, and sits heavily, her back to River. He remains at the door, watching her.
They haven't exchanged a word since they left the police station. While in the car the officer made several attempts to start a conversation, but eventually gave up. And so, in complete silence they went to Stevie's apartment for her to collect a few things, then - around London for a while, until they reached this hotel.
"You should go," she says after a long pause, her back is hunched. "You should…"
"Stevie," River interrupts, but he has no idea how to continue, "I am… I am so, so sorry…"
And he is. He is also angry, and worried, and scared for her. And he is also very, very disappointed that Stevie has never so much as mentioned to him her investigation of her own family. The investigation she's being conducting all by herself for the past several months, while she sat at her desk, few feet away from his. While she rode in the car next to him. While they ate, and talked, and walked, and…
"Why haven't you said anything?" It comes out against River's better judgement. But there it is. Out. Because the one person he trusts explicitly, the one person he'd giving his life for and knows she'd do the same for him, the one person, he's relied on to help him carry on through the worst, the one person he lo… treasures more than life…, the one person… River breathes. In and out. In and out. And desperately tries not to say it, but says it anyway, "You should've told me…"
She shakes her head, "No, River, there was nothing you could've done…"
He knows it is not about him. He understands Stevie must be going through hell right now. And yet that horrible realization of being rejected, like a tidal wave, swallows him whole, and all he is left to do is to try and keep on breathing. In and out. In and out. In and out.
Stevie, her back is still to him, thankfully doesn't notice his humiliation. "River, I should tell you something else."
Breathe. In and out. In and out. The hot angry tears swell in his eyes, and he is trying his damnest not to sniffle, when he utters, "Else?"
"Frankie…"
The little fat shit, drunk enough to shoot at his own sister?! River, his fingers rolling into tight fists for the umpteen time today, wishes he was the arresting officer. And here she is, still worried about that arsehole. Always Frankie, everything for Frankie. Up to the last penny. Wait. "The money you gave me last night? I left it in my coat, at my flat."
"No. No, it's not about the money." Stevie sighs. "Look, there is something… It will come out soon enough, and I want you to know first. It's," she pauses, "See, Frankie is not my brother."
River barely manages to squash a daft "he is not?"
"He is… He is…" she clearly has hard time getting it out.
"Stevie?"
"He is my son," she whispers.
It takes River a moment to process. Frankie? Son? Stevie has a son? So, there was a block, whom she… Maybe still… And there is some heart-wrenching story... And he is just an old wacko, raving loony tune, who… But then it hits him, "Wait, you were fourteen?! How? Who?"
As questions go those are not the clearest, but Stevie understands. "We were in Cork for the summer, and… my mum sent me to take something to… Michael's house. He was alone, and… I couldn't… I was too scared to scream…"
At least now he knows what to do. "I am going to kill him."
"No, River. It's… No, please, just leave it."
"I am going to kill that son of a…"
She turns to him and snaps, "No, River, no! Don't you understand?" She turns away from him again, and continues calmer, "Jimmy, and mum, and all of them, they'll say I was easy, I wanted it, I…" She buries her face in her hands, "I can't deal with that right now. I just can't."
Unneeded once again, River practically feels himself beginning to fall apart. He fights to keep it together, more for Stevie than for himself, really. He breathes, breathes in and out as hard as he can, thinks what else… Is there anything else? "I am sorry," comes out almost automatically, "I am sorry, Stevie, I…" What? Just want to help? Want to shield you from the whole world? From your own damn family? From anyone, from anything… But mostly from himself, because he is a mess, and she doesn't need it, she doesn't need him, she doesn't…
"Now you know," Stevie says, her face is still buried in her hands, "So, you should go, River. Let me think. I have to figure out…"
"I can't leave you, Stevie! I can't!"
The crack in his voice makes her turn to look at him. "River?"
And he can't stop, he can't rein in his despair, and he can't hide it. "I love you. I love you more than life… More than life." He is crying, because he knows he shouldn't be saying it to her. Not now. Maybe not ever. But he can't help it. No amount of breathing in and out is enough to prevent him from going farther down that rabbit hole. "I love you…" he croaks.
He is so consumed by his own shame and helplessness he doesn't notice when Stevie gets up and slowly walks to him.
"River?" Realizing how close she suddenly is, River makes one more frantic attempt at measured breathing, but fails. Stevie studies him for a short while, then takes a hold of his right sleeve and leads him into the room. Obediently, he follows.
She guides them to the only armchair in the corner and motions River to sit down. He does, and good thing too, because all the forced breathing makes him lightheaded.
For the next few long moments, River stares at the stain on the carpet by his shoe and tries to collect his thoughts, if not his dignity. He knows he has to look Stevie in the eye and tell her that he'll be alright, she doesn't have to deal with his pathetic meltdown, that he is sorry he's told her he loved her, that the only thing he'll ask for is to watch over her while she sleeps to make sure she is safe, because he doesn't trust her family, that everything will be alright, eventually…
"Stevie," at last he masters the nerve to face her, "I… You…" He stumbles under the gaze of her blue eyes, tries again, "I am sorry…"
Stevie moves a little closer, waits for him to stop her, but he doesn't. After a moment of hesitation, she steps closer yet, careful not to disturb his slinged left arm. As if hypnotized, he watches her hand slowly moving to his face. When Stevie strokes his cheek, River is horrified to realize that he is still crying. Bloody nutter, he begins to think, and then stops thinking all together, because there is this new look on Stevie's face that he can't completely categorize. All he is left to do is breathe. In and out. In and out. And then she runs her fingers lightly through his hair, and he is suddenly stuck somewhere between in and out. And then she smiles, "John…"
In the murky light of a rainy early morning hour the hotel room seems even more dejected that it did last night. The lumpy mattress and flat pillows do nothing to improve the impression.
River stares at the ceiling, considering if it is actually grey or just looks like that now, reflecting the general bleakness of the upcoming day. By his side, Stevie whimpers in her sleep. He glances at her, hesitates, and then lightly rubs her back. As if in response, she flings her leg over his. River chuckles, looks at the ceiling once again, then back at Stevie.
He really likes watching over her while she sleeps, River decides. Just like this, wrapped around him, relaxed, calm. Safe.
Beautiful...
River scoffs. He is bananas. Barking, barking mad, batty, bonkers, crackers, crackpot, crazy, crazed, delirious, demented, deranged, off his rocker. A loony.
A sentimental old fool…
Stevie throws her right arm across his stomach, barely avoiding hitting his slinged left arm. River oomphs and shifts slightly to accommodate Stevie's various limbs. He then puts his hand on her back and pulls her closer to him. Stevie sighs and snuggles into his side. River contemplates their positions for a moment. Satisfied, he tightens his grip on Stevie. There, this is better. He smiles.
