I don't own Ashes to Ashes
Thanks for all the positive feedback, as ever – I hope this chapter is alright for you... it's been... different.
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The first thing she noticed was the smell; it was so very Gene, that despite the fact it was stale cigarettes and alcohol, she found herself inhaling lungful after lungful of it, catching the distinct and yet subtle hint of Old Spice in the air, and closing her eyes briefly to the welcome familiarity of it. When she opened them again, she bit back a small gasp of surprise, glancing briefly back at Gene, who leaned almost casually against the doorframe, although he was riddled with discomfort, and his eyes shone mournfully back at her as he kept his arms crossed over his chest. Alex gulped hard, turning back to the rest of the room with a lump in her throat, and praying he wouldn't notice the guilt in her expression as she surveyed the familiar layout.
It was her flat, she realized; he'd barely changed anything in twenty six years. It was almost exactly as she had left it, but for a few beer bottles and betting slips that were not there when she'd left for St Douglas Road. Everything else was the same; the old sofa was worn down now, the pattern barely visible in the fabric, the left seat sagging slightly in the middle, as though it were the only side he'd dared to sit on... But it was the same. It was the same television, the same chair, the same phone, the same table... she briefly considered that it might even have been the same magazines she'd left under the coffee table that fateful morning, before biting back a sob of grief so profound she could barely breathe...
"Show me," Gene spoke up, his voice hollow, distant, dry... She blinked slightly, then glanced at him, watching his eyes for a few moments, watching his eyes darken with annoyance and frustration, before she nodded slowly, and moved into the kitchen.
Gene followed her slowly, his gaze narrowed as she led the way; Alex simply ignored him, heading straight to the cupboard that had always stored the alcohol, opening it up and pulling out a large bottle of whiskey. She didn't glance at Gene for confirmation that it was alright, nor ask him whether he wanted a drink; instead, she simply passed straight over the glasses on the draining board to open the cupboard in which they were held, well aware that Gene was watching her every move. His eyes widened slightly at the familiar ease with which she found the items, but he hid his surprise well enough, simply leaning against the kitchen wall as Alex poured both of them a generous measure of whiskey; Gene took his silently, giving no sign of anything as he lifted his eyes to meet her own, waiting patiently for her to speak.
Alex looked down hesitantly at the liquid in her glass tumbler, taking a brief sip for courage and mulling over her words before she dared to speak, hoping against hope that he wouldn't see the way her knees trembled beneath her, or the manner in which her tooth dug nervously into her lip as she stood before him.
"You'd been in Luigi's," she whispered eventually, lifting her gaze to meet his once more, and trying her hardest not to sever the contact, despite the unnerving, churning feeling in the pit of her stomach as his piercing blue gaze stared right into hers. "I came upstairs a bit earlier than usual because I was tired," she went on, "and you followed half an hour later because you were sick of watching Ray molest some innocent woman, and the sight of Chris and Shaz made you want to throw up... If I recall correctly, I believe you said it was like watching two fish suck face..." she grinned slightly at the surprise in his eyes before adding, "It wasn't your best line, I admit, but you had been drinking..."
Gene's eyes widened slightly, and she saw a flicker of recognition in the blue depths, although she refused to respond to it, speaking slowly onwards as she stood there, whiskey in hand, and eyes fixated upon his face.
"I'd been drinking quite a bit too..." she whispered. "You went and sat on the sofa, and I came in here and got you a glass of whiskey – double, with ice, and in the crystal glass with the chip on the bottom that you used to like... I never did get around to replacing them..." She watched as he swallowed hard, his skin whitening slightly in what she hoped was recognition, before she reached out and touched his arm... And although he glanced down at her, he didn't draw away as she'd half-feared, simply acquiescing as she led him gently over to the sofa.
"Sit," she murmured softly; he sat, whiskey still in his hand, eyes boring into her skull. Gulping hard, Alex straightened up and headed back to the kitchen doorway, pushing her toe against the loose carpet and glancing across at Gene from where she stood as she did so. "I was bringing you a drink," she explained, "and I caught my foot in the carpet; I tripped, hit my head on the sofa, and fell here..." she stepped forwards, kneeling beside the arm of the chair and meeting his eyes as she placed her glass of whiskey upon the small phone table.
"I smashed the glass when I hit the floor; you thought I was pissed and laughed at me, until you realized I was actually bleeding... and when I started swearing you got up and wrapped it in a towel – it was my favourite one, as it happened, and you didn't even wet it, first..." She laughed dryly, wetting her lips with her tongue and sniffing slightly, attempting to hide the stinging tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. "Then you told me off for being a clumsy cow and made me drink a pint of water before you left..."
She watched him, waiting for any sign that he believed her for several seconds... When none came, she pushed herself to her feet, biting her lip hard, and then turning her eyes away so he wouldn't see the hot tears that sprang to life behind her eyes.
There was nothing but silence for what felt like forever; it dragged on and on, weighing on her shoulders and causing her to gulp and swallow painfully. All the while, Gene said nothing, his reaction untold as she waited in seemingly hopeless quiet...Eventually, just as she had lost all hope, just as she was considering walking to the door and leaving him alone, she heard him move, heard the clink of his glass as it touched the coffee table, heard the creaking of the sofa as he got to his feet... And then his hand found hers, his fingers trembling with some undetermined emotion as he drew her around to face him, clasping her own hand tightly to his chest.
Alex glanced up at him, unaware of the tears that fell from her eyes until his spare hand brushed them tenderly away with the pad of his thumb; his face was wrought with anguish and confusion, but his touch was soft and tender. Eventually, his fingers slipped into her hair, combing through and moving gently behind her head to loosen the practical bun that held it away from her face.
The soft brown hair tumbled down to her shoulders, and his blue eyes tracked her face hungrily, taking in the hazel eyes, the sharp eyebrows, the high cheekbones, the curves of her lips, the simple make-up... His expression was unreadable, guarded, and for a few moments she worried that he would draw away, tell her to leave, accuse her of lying... But he didn't. Instead, he stepped closer, allowing her hair to slide over his hands like silk, smoothing his fingers across the smooth alabaster skin of her cheeks, and then squeezing her hand in his and wetting his lips slowly.
"It's you..." he murmured eventually, his voice dry and cracked with emotion. Alex could say nothing, tears falling thick and fast now as she nodded helplessly, closing her fingers tightly around his own. "Christ..." he muttered, gulping hard, his Adams apple bobbing slightly as he cupped her cheek. "You're just the same..."
Alex managed a watery chuckle, sniffing slightly as she touched her hand to his cheek, thumb rasping against the scattering of grey stubble. "I didn't think you'd believe me," she whispered honestly, her jaw trembling. "I'm so sorry," she murmured, biting her lip. "I thought – I thought I was mad, Gene – I thought I made you up... But you're real... you're here..." Her hand slid into his grey-blonde hair, and she couldn't help noticing the intensity of his blue eyes as he kept her other hand held firmly against the thunderous pounding of his heart.
"I didn't think I would either," he admitted softly, swallowing hard. "Still don't get any of it..."
"Nor do I," Alex whispered, eyes stinging. "I- you have no idea how much I've missed you... I thought it was all in my head, and now you're here, and I just- I just want you to know that-"
She stopped then, blinking in shock as he lifted her hand gently away from his chest, stroking across the clear, unblemished skin that should have been scarred with a cool, gentle finger, before pressing his rough, dry lips to her wrist.
The simple action caused her breath to catch in her throat, shivers tracking down her spine as Gene's eyes closed, his fingers tracing down her wrist and playing across the soft, supple skin. "I think I've got a pretty good idea, Bolly," he murmured, gently kissing her palm as he spoke.
The use of her old nickname made her heart clench, her tears leaking swiftly from her eyes, and a moment later she had thrown her arms around him, wrenching her hand from his grasp as she clung to him in a hopeless, desperate bid for clarity and confirmation. He stumbled slightly, his arms around her back, as much in a bid to stay on his feet as it was to return her embrace; her sobs were harsh and uneven, and Gene held her awkwardly, his frail hands uncertain as they rested against her back. Alex buried her face in his neck, her whole body shaking as she tangled her fingers into his hair again, her tears wetting the warm skin of his throat as she clung onto him.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered again. "I'm so sorry, Gene! I'm so, so sorry, I-!"
Gene squeezed her tentatively, speaking hesitantly in her ear. "Wasn't your fault," he murmured, rubbing awkward circles in her back and gulping against the nervous lump in his gullet.
"I should have told you," Alex whispered, clinging onto him, fingers digging into his back as though to maintain a permanent grip.
"Wouldn't 'ave believed you," he admitted, resting his head against hers and feeling his heart rate quicken drastically as her scent filled his nostrils and her hands smoothed across his shoulders and back in hesitant caresses. With a sigh, holding her tight, he murmured quietly in her ear, stroking a hand over the soft locks of her hair as he did so. "I'm still not sure I do..."
Her hands tightened again, and Alex drew back to look at him, her make-up stained face blotchy and - in Gene's opinion - just as beautiful as he'd ever seen it. "What will it take?" She whispered softly, placing one hand on his shoulder whilst the other moved upwards to cup his cheek.
Despite himself, despite being unable to shake the feeling it was all a dream, Gene returned the tender gesture, cupping her face between his large hands, feeling the warmth of her skin and the wetness of her cheeks as he stepped closer, resting his forehead gingerly against hers.
Alex was dimly aware of the wrinkles around his eyes, the tired bags that emphasized his eyelids, and the still enviably long lashes that framed the startling blue pools of colour, but more striking was the taste and smell of his breath in her face; whiskey, cigarettes, coffee... She'd dreamed it so often, but the reality was so much sharper, filled with underlying hints of spice and flavour that set her head spinning, and she treasured the warmth of his skin against hers, the feel of his hands upon her cheeks.
"Dunno," he murmured softly, his eyes fluttering closed as he spoke. "Couple o' slaps?" He mused. "Punch to the gob? Dressin' me down like a naughty schoolboy?" His lips turned up in a silent grin at the thought, and Alex smiled, stroking her fingers through his hair.
"Would it convince you?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she delicately began to caress a particularly striking dash of grey in his hair, smiling into his face and willing him to open his eyes again, to view the meaning in their depths... He did, lids opening in a gentle, fluttering motion as his eyes fixed once more upon her own.
"Probably not," Gene smiled, the grin breaking across his face slowly, followed by a soft shake of the head. "I'd probably think I was dreamin'..."
Alex hesitated only a moment, her breath shaky, before she spoke in a quiet voice; "Good dream?"
Gene hesitated, and then nodded slowly, his own breath hitching slightly as he thumbed her cheek gently once again. "Best dream of my life, Bols..." He whispered, wetting his lips with his tongue.
She trembled against him, her fingers tightening on his shoulders in anticipation as his head turned slightly to the side, moving forwards to brush her own lips with a barely-there caress. She instantly tugged him closer, wrapping her hand in his hair and pressing a more insistent touch to his lips; she was vaguely aware of his shoulders relaxing, of a soft sigh leaving his lips, before his mouth caught her own, desperate and imploring as she responded with equal fervour, pressing so close to him that she could feel the pounding of his heart through the closeness of their chests.
His hands remained upon her cheeks, holding her face firmly in their grasp, remaining unmoving on her face as she kissed him eagerly, as he kissed her with a desperation that he had never dared to imagine, his heart hammering, breath quivering, feeling her hands tightening in his hair as she sighed into his mouth... And then, as quickly as he'd started it, he stopped, dragging himself away in a lurching moment of clarity.
It was sudden, and Alex's immediate response was to try desperately to draw him back into her embrace, the need to be close to him overwhelming as she leaned into him, sucking his lip eagerly between her own, even as he jerked back, gasping for breath and looking, for the entire world, like a man stricken with guilt.
"We can't," he muttered, shaking his head as he dislocated himself from her arms and stepped away; Alex noted the way his hand trembled as he ran it through his hair, saw the way his whole body shook as though fighting against the sensibility of his mind. "I'm sorry," he said, "we-"
"We can," she whispered, stepping forwards and reaching out for his hand, biting upon her lip. "We can, Gene... Please, I-"
"We can't..." he repeated, gulping hard as he shook his head once again, fighting with the desire to be near to her, and the horrifying knowledge that there was nothing he could offer her, that he wasn't good enough... "I'm too old..." He whispered angrily. "It's not- It ain't like before, Bols; you're barely even thirty!" His desperation for her to understand shone through his eyes as he looked at her, swallowing hard. "You've got a twelve year old daughter fer Christ's sake, and I'm wobbling around like a bloody pensioner on a pogo stick!"
"I don't care!" Alex whispered, shaking her head in protest as she reached towards him. "Molly won't care! Nobody will care, Gene, please, I can't lose you again! Nobody's going to care, nobody will-!"
"I bloody care!" He snapped, drawing away with a sharp movement and jabbing himself in the chest, waving his spare arm around, spitting in anger. "Christ, Bolly, d'you have any idea how long I waited around wantin' you to wake up from cuckoo land and kiss me? D'you know how many times I dreamt about it? It's been twenty six years, Alex! An' aside from the fact I'm seventy-two an' about as agile as the average spacker in a cheerleading squad, you're still thirty-four! You still look just the same as the day I shot you, Alex, and it's messing with my head!" He turned suddenly, striding into the kitchen without another word; Alex heard him open the cupboards, heard the slosh of liquid in a bottle as it splashed into the glass, heard him swallow hard, slam the cupboard door, then pour himself another glass.
When he finally came back, he didn't meet her eyes, staring down into his glass and speaking in a quiet, surprisingly vulnerable voice.
"I've watched you get old, Alex," he whispered, his voice quavering. "I've watched you lose weight; I've watched your hair go grey; I've watched you get wrinkles all over yer face... An' it never bothered me... 'cause you could still wake up, still be happy, still give me a chance..." He took a large swallow of whiskey, grimacing slightly and keeping his eyes averted. "An' now you're here it's like none of that ever happened- like that version of you didn't even exist an' I've pissed away twenty-six years waiting for some old bollucks that'd never happen..." He placed his second glass of the afternoon down on the table, then looked up into her hazel gaze, his blue eyes tortured and filled with hurt.
"It was bad enough thinkin' I was twelve years older than you, Bolly," he cracked, grimacing slightly, "but now I'm thirty-odd years senior, an' about as useful as a packet of condoms in a lesbian strip club." He reached into his pocket as he spoke, swiftly lighting up a cigarette and exhaling with a shaky breath.
Alex wanted to move, but she found herself frozen to the spot, incapable of anything but staring as he took drag after drag, a haze of smoke surrounding him as he seemed to fight against some great indecision; she wanted to talk, but her lips were sealed tight, and all she could do was watch, tears streaming down her cheeks as he remained silent, an oasis of calm, and yet somehow a tornado of anger in the very same moment.
Eventually, he looked back at her, stubbing out the cigarette in an ashtray and moving to stand in front of her, his eyes intense as his gaze fell upon her face. She stayed where she was, her jaw trembling, her hands shaking, and a moment later he'd gathered her in his arms, pulling her into his chest with desperation that was so far from his character that she gasped in surprise, feeling his lips on her forehead as he shook against her.
"You don't know what it's like, Bolly," he whispered, one hand in her hair as he closed his eyes to her scent. "You haven't changed; you're still as shaggable as the day I met you..." He stroked his fingers delicately down the back of her neck, caressing the soft, warm flesh with tender hesitance. "It's me that's changed... I'm too bloody old, Alex; I can't- I- you deserve more than a washed out old copper..."
"What if I want you?" She whispered, touching his cheek with the flat of her palm. He turned his head to the side, his face resigned and tired as he brushed his lips against her wrist.
"You don't," he said bluntly. "Or maybe you do now, but you won't always..." He drew back slightly, tentatively caressing her hair, as though afraid to completely sever the contact, his eyes intense on hers as he spoke. "One day you'll wake up to a bag o' wrinkles who pisses the bed an' spouts more shit than sense, an' you won't even be forty... You think I'm gunna put you through that, Bols, after all the other bollucks I did in the past?"
Alex shook her head desperately, grasping his wrist and holding his hand in hers; to her relief, he didn't pull it away. "I can handle it, Gene," she implored. "Please, don't let me lose you again! You have to understand me – you have to believe me... I should have said it before - all those times we were alone, and I never had the courage- but I'm telling you now, Gene, and I need you to believe me..." She stepped closer, dropping his hand and holding his face between her palms as she stood on tiptoe, gazing into his eyes; his face was lined with years of pain and turmoil, age etched into his skin and whittling his features to bare shadows of their former splendour... It didn't matter – not to her; if this was the only chance she had to find peace with Gene, she knew she would grasp it with both hands.
"You're a wonderful man..." she whispered, biting her lip slightly as it threatened to tremble, then abandoning the effort as she pressed her lips to his cheek, warm salty tears tracking down her face and onto his. "You're more wonderful than you know, and- and my biggest regret, Gene, is that I never told you in person before I left – that I never got to tell you... Never got to show you how much you mean to me, how special you are, how-"
"What d'you mean 'in person'?" Gene interrupted softly, frowning slightly against her, but not pulling away. "Did yer leave it in the fog on the mirror or somethin'? 'Cause I'll tell yer now I never got that message."
Alex pulled away, meeting his eyes in confusion. After a few moments of staring into his bemused eyes, it clicked.
"You never read it," she stated softly, tracing the unfamiliar lines of his face with the shaky fingers of her right hand, whilst the other stroked smoothly and adoringly through his hair.
"What?" Gene asked, frowning. "I ain't big on cryptic clues, Bolly, you should know that..."
"My letter," she answered swiftly, tightening the hand in his hair in an involuntary gesture of nervousness. "You never-? Even after you came here, you never read it- never looked for it?"
He gulped loudly, and Alex felt the hand in her own hair loosen slightly as he looked away, apparently uncomfortable. "Well, I- I looked..." he muttered. "I mean... I kinda- stumbled across it... Thought they were in yer desk, an' when they weren't there, I- I just- I found it- I didn't ever get round to readin' it... figured you hadn't left, so..." He trailed off, wetting his lips almost nervously as she drew back from him, not even trying to stop her as she headed over to the television, kneeling down to the level of the video player and lifting it up; she was met with a thick layer of dust, and four once-white envelopes... Only three of them had been opened; the uppermost of them was slightly off-centre, and looked to have been handled the most recently, although it was still dust-ridden.
Alex snatched it up without thinking, staring at it for several seconds before looking up into Gene's surprised, but, if Alex was correct, relieved gaze; apparently the action had only further confirmed her identity to him, and she couldn't help but feel reassured.
"You really never-?"
"You never gave it back," Gene muttered, shrugging. "Was bad enough I was snoopin' in yer flat, Bols- I wasn't gunna nick yer letters an' read 'em just 'cause you weren't 'ere."
Alex got shakily to her feet, staring at the envelope for a few moments, before holding it out to him, biting her lip. "Please read it," Alex whispered.
"You 'aven't left yet," he pointed out bluntly, pushing his hands in his pocket as if to stop himself touching it and looking away stubbornly. "I'm only meant to read it when you're gone..."
"I need to go and tell Evan I can't make it tonight," she replied softly, stepping closer and drawing his hand out of his pocket to press the letter into his palm. "He's still waiting outside for me."
Gene looked up then, pain and comprehension in his gaze as his eyes widened and he shook his head. "Alex, I can't give you what you want! I just-!"
Alex shook her head, pressing a finger to his lips and swallowing hard. "We can talk... later... soon... just- just don't send me away for good just yet." She pressed a swift, warm kiss to his cheek, and then headed for the door without a word; Gene watched her leave with a horrible ache in his chest, his mouth dry and throat coarse, before turning to the letter in his hand, and slitting open the long-sealed envelope with a nervous finger. Taking a harsh, grating breath, he drew out the neatly folded paper, and opened it up.
---
The script was familiar, and yet foreign all at the same time; her hand had always been neat and inexplicably posh, but within it he now found an odd sense of camaraderie, tracing the first line with the tip of a shaking finger before even daring to read the long-forbidden words – words, he realized, that he had long since accepted would always remain unknown, because that was what she'd wanted... His eyes scanned the paper without reading the words, noting the surprising brevity of her goodbye, and taking heart in the fact that she couldn't possibly have packed all of her angered opinions on his attitude and behaviours into the short, almost compact letter that she had written solely for him.
Breathing deeply, he sank onto the sofa, relaxing at the familiar sound of creaking springs, and settling back into the cushion before finally, with a deep, shaky breath, he began to read; as he did so, his heart clenched and unclenched repeatedly, but through it all he could sense her sincerity, her honesty, her genuine integrity... And although the words seemed haunting as they echoed across three decades of separation, he felt a huge, inexorable wave of comfort in the meaning they imbued, settling his churning stomach and causing his breathing to level out.
Gene,
There are many things I could say to you, and yet somehow none of them do you justice; how do I begin to describe what exists between us, when I'm only just beginning to accept it myself? You've changed me, Gene – you've changed me more than I ever realized; you've shown me things that I'd forgotten, that I'd lost in the midst of marriage, children and divorce, and I will never truly be able to show you how much it meant to me. You've shown me the passion for policing that's been lost by so many, and the zest for justice that's been sullied and marred by a lust for power and money, and loyalty to your team that is more admirable than any I have ever seen. I know you'll continue to be that same man, even when I'm gone...
But you know this; I'm sure you do. However much you deny it, I know you are a perceptive and intuitive man who notices more than a suspect's twitch or a nervous gulp; I'm sure you've realized how much I've changed. That's not why I'm writing this letter. If I have to say goodbye – and I'm certain that I do, whether now, or in one week, or in two – I want you to understand how I feel about you, with no restrictions, no barriers, and no fears; because the chances are that I will never get to see you again after you read this, and if I can't be honest when I have nothing left to fear from my existence within this place, then I will never be able to.
You are a wonderful, wonderful man, Gene; you are so much more than I could ever have imagined, and I've barely scratched the surface. I rely on you; I rely on you to help me through the day, but more than that, I trust you – I trust you with my life... And yet even more than that, I trust you with my heart; it's silly, really – by the time you've read this, I'll be so far away, and this whole place will cease to exist for me, and yet, somehow, whether it continues to exist or not, I think a piece of my heart will stay behind... with you.
I wish I could be with you tonight – I wish I could show you without words how much I wish things could be different, but a part of me will always need my daughter; what pains me most, Gene, is that, now I've found you, a part of me will always long for you, just as I long for her...But while I have a choice, Gene, I must always choose my daughter –because she needs me, as much as I need her; and as much as it hurts me to leave you behind, all I can do is hope that you will understand why I have to leave you.
Keep my heart safe, Gene.
With all my love,
Your Bolly
x
---
He stared at the paper for several minutes after he'd finished reading, allowing the words to sink into his system, even as he heard her soft footsteps on the stairs, the opening of the door, and the gentle tread of her feet muffled by carpet. He could feel her eyes on him, sense the nervousness in her gaze, and he looked up slowly, taking a moment to search her face for any hint of fear, of regret... If there was any, he missed it, and he tossed the letter gently onto the table, pressing his fist against his mouth for a few moments before he spoke.
"Y'know I wish you'd told me about this heart o' yours sooner, Bolly," he murmured eventually, meeting her eyes. "I'd 'ave stuck it in a box an' wrapped a ribbon around it..."
Alex stared at him, apparently bewildered, and then she smiled, the sight of it causing Gene's heart to twist in his chest; Christ, she was still gorgeous. He stood up slowly, his joints creaking slightly as he lifted himself to his feet and tried to straighten up; he needn't have bothered. A few seconds later she'd thrown her arms around him, her lips pressing to his cheek as he let out a grunt of pain, mixed with laughter, as he fell back down onto the seat he had just vacated with newly added weight.
"Bloody 'ell, Bolly," he grunted, grimacing as his body screamed in protest at the jarring contact. "Yer need to warn a bloke before you pounce on 'im like that – think you've cracked me coccyx!"
"Shit!" Alex gasped, moving as if to clamber off, "I'm sorry, Gene, I didn't think! I-!" She stopped talking, glancing down at him in confusion as he flexed both hands tentatively on her hips and held her in pace.
"What?" He asked, cringing slightly as his fingers clenched awkwardly against arthritic bones. "You aren't bloody movin' – you might break something else."
She smiled weakly, leaning forwards with hesitance as she rested her forehead gently against his. "I missed you," she told him honestly, stroking down his cheek with tentative fingers. "I didn't realize just how difficult it would be until I lost you..."
Gene waited a few moments, not trusting himself to speak, instead simply treasuring the warmth of her against him before sighing and pulling her tight into his arms; she shifted slightly, placing both legs on one side of him and curling them over the arm of the sofa, snuggling all too comfortably into his neck and keeping one arm across his shoulder – his shoulders went noticeably rigid, but the second she made to move away he drew her straight back, both of his arms wrapped firmly around her body as he leant to whisper in her ear.
"Y'know, you'll 'ave to miss me again tomorrow, Bols," he murmured, his eyes closed. He felt her eyes on his face, felt the confusion and the hurt in her gaze without having to look, and he grimaced at the knowing, twisting feeling in his gut that recognised the truth in his words.
"Gene," she protested, "I thought-!"
"I know," he said, opening his eyes and turning her face towards his so that they were inches apart. "D'you think this is easy fer me, Alex?" He shook his head, swallowing hard. "I've met nun's who were easier than this, Bolly, but I can't just un-live twenty six years of my life; I met you thirty years ago an' it's like it never happened!" His whisper was desperate and imploring, hands framing her face shakily as he swallowed and gulped painfully at the corrosive iron knot in his throat. "You've got a daughter, Bolly," he murmured, reiterating his point from earlier in the evening. "She needs a Dad; an' I ain't him."
"You could be," Alex whispered, grasping his hair in a tight fist; he didn't react, except to close his eyes and lean forwards to whisper quietly in her ear.
"No," he murmured softly. "I couldn't..." He felt her tense, could sense her about to argue, and he sighed, resting his head against hers and talking over her babbling. "It ain't up fer discussion," he told her, tightening his hold. "It's the real world out there, Bols," he said, wetting his mouth. "People don't like scummy old bastards hookin' up with the talent; you know what it's like Bolly- I don't fancy joinin' the perv parade."
She waited for a few moments, the magnitude of his words sinking in as she rested her face in his neck, breathing deeply; she understood what he was saying – of course she did – and she didn't blame him, but it didn't make it any easier. The idea of having found him, only to have him torn away all over again, caused tears to form in her eyes. But she knew what it would cost him to accept her; it was clear now how devoted he was, whether or not she was sixty or thirty years old, and she'd seen the aching pain in his eyes when he'd spoken about watching her age – she couldn't ask him to act as though none of that had happened to him, couldn't expect him to let her completely into his now drastically different life without question and forget the endless hours he had spent in the company of her sleeping alias.
She knew she couldn't ask it of him; he was far older than her now, whatever age he had been upon meeting her so long ago, and she knew he would never accept her attentions, no matter how deep it ran, whilst he thought she deserved better, whilst he thought she was too young to be with him... It would hurt him; it would hurt them both, and there was no point in denying it, but she wasn't foolish enough to believe her pain would be any greater than his – if she was honest with herself, she imagined his would be ten times worse; he'd waited twenty-six years to see her again, and the ramifications of that fact were so profound it made Alex's head spin. In hindsight, it made her few months of pain and longing seem like nothing but a grain of sand on a shore...
She had no right to grieve this loss; she hadn't truly earned it, as he had...
But his hand was in her hair, his arms were around her back, and all she could think was that she had finally found her place in life, that she had tasted the sweet tang of happiness only to have it ripped away from her like candy from a baby... She didn't know how she was going to come to terms with letting go of him this time.
Hesitance seeped from her body and into his before she managed to find the words she needed, her eyes clenching shut for fear of his rejection as she rested her head beside his, her whisper desperate in his ear. "Then just let me have tonight..." she said softly, her voice tinted with fear and emotion as she clung to him desperately.
Gene's discomfort was telling in the stiffness of his shoulders, the loud gulp that rose in his throat, but Alex said nothing, awaiting his reply as she breathed nervously against his ear, her fingers crossed and eyes clenched shut.
Gene swallowed, glancing down at her as she hid her face in his shoulder and feeling a horrible wave of loss at the idea of losing her, of finally knowing her and having her separated from him barely a moment later... In that moment, a thousand and one thoughts assaulted him, all of them questioning the sanity of giving into temptation, all of them telling him he should let her leave now, before she snared the rest of his heart and took it away with her... Not that it would make any difference now, he realized; she'd stolen what little remained of it the moment she'd kissed him, and he knew there was no taking it back again now.
"Ok," he whispered eventually, his voice weak, frail and pained. "Ok..."
Alex drew back to look at him, her hands framing his face as she combed through the thin locks of his hair, fingers tracing and memorising the contours of his face as she met his eyes...
He didn't say anything; neither did she.
---
This was... difficult to write. I hope it's not too cringey, and that it comes across alright... depending how this goes down, I have a plan for the next chapter, and I'll aim to get it up before Friday with a bit of luck... if that fails, I can't make any promises as to when the update will be, as it will all depend on whether I can bear to write anymore lol.
Let me know what you thought! :)
Mage of the Heart