Tuesday, November 12, 2013
"They're beautiful, don't ya think?"
Ian looked around, suddenly finding himself lying supine on cool grass with his arm wrapped around a warm presence that was burrowed into his side. He didn't need to look over to know who he was holding in his arms. He knew it was her. His senses were overwhelmed with the essence that was Rose, a sensation he both cherished and hated. Cherished because he'd so deeply fallen for her illusion; hated because she was just that—an illusion, a figment that would never be tangible.
"Well, don't you?" she prodded gently, her voice caressing his fraying mind.
Ian was entirely certain that he was dreaming yet again; he wasn't foolish enough to succumb to the hope it was real…that she was real.
But his subconscious beckoned him to her, and Ian turned his face to see her warm eyes and brilliant smile waiting for him. Once again, dream or not, he was captivated. For one moment, Rose was his again. Her breath ghosted his neck; her smile warmed his frigid heart; her eyes pierced his soul.
"What's beautiful?" he asked, his voice hovering above a whisper.
She nodded skyward. "The stars."
Ian frowned at her answer. The stars were rarely, if ever, visible in the London skyline. However, he once again allowed himself to be led by his subconscious, and he followed her gaze. Sure enough, the night was riddled with starlight. It was beautiful, nearly awe inspiring, much like the woman in lying in his arms.
"They'd be more beautiful if they were real," he finally answered, his voice struggling against the mass of emotion in throat, "But we both know they're not."
At this, Rose propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him, a small frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"Why do y'think they're not real?"
Ian silently regarded her for a moment, refusing to enter into a debate on the matter.
She searched his eyes briefly before a smile emerged. She saw his answer, even though Ian had yet to formally acknowledge it. Raising her hand, Rose began to gently stroke his temple. At her touch, Ian felt his breath hitch and his eyes briefly fluttered shut.
"Oh, love...," she sighed softly, "They're real. They've always been real."
He was nearly undone as Rose continued to gaze lovingly upon him, her touch stoking the hurt buried within his heart. It was a perfect blend of agony and euphoria. Ian could barely tolerate it and desperately wanted to tell her to stop, to push her away, anything to make the pain cease. Any longer and he was certain he'd go mad.
Just then, Rose stopped her ministrations and cupped his face, lowering her own till her lips hovered just above his, their breaths mingling.
"Love," she whispered, her thumb gently stroking his cheek, "You have to wake up."
It would have been so simple to lean up and capture her lips, to feel that emptiness dissipate. But Ian's stubbornness ran so deep, even his subconscious couldn't render it obsolete.
"Please, Cillian...," she implored. "Wake up."
Just as before, Ian awoke with a start, his eyes flying open to meet the darkness of his bedroom. As it was in his dream, the air was cool around him; but that was where the similarities ended. There was no warm, comforting presence at his side—he was alone. The realization hit him hard and fast, and Ian felt a tear trickle down his temple. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why his dreams insisted on taunting him. It was the cruelest form of torture, to be nightly reminded of a life that wasn't real, of the woman who wasn't his. No matter how badly he wanted her—and he did want her, with every fiber of his being—Ian knew that the Rose of this life would never be his, could never love him; she didn't know what kind of man he was, the blood he had on his hands. If she did, she would run and never look back. Ian wouldn't even entertain the idea of pursuing her. He couldn't face that rejection, to lose her a second time; it would be the ultimate breaking point.
Finally rolling out of bed, Ian sluggishly trudged into the bathroom and began getting ready for the day. As he went about his monotonous routine, Ian could feel something tickling at the back of his mind, trying to reach the forefront. He wasn't sure what it was, but it had been gnawing at him ever since his encounter with Lucy. There was something he was missing. Though he was uncertain as to what it was, Ian knew it was important. Even though he did his best to push it aside, it was still trying to make its presence known as he left his flat and headed to his office.
Tuesday morning found Rose at her usual haunt—in bed, hidden beneath her duvet. Fortunately for her, since her conversation with Jack, she had not been plagued with nightmares, but that didn't mean Ian was not a persistent fixture in her mind. The majority of her waking hours were filled with thoughts and wonderings of Ian. Despite that, Rose found herself craving more than just memories; she wanted him, wanted to be in the same room with him, to breathe the same air, to feel his presence surrounding her.
Days had gone by and all her attempts at contact had failed. It was almost…painful. Rose knew that, objectively, such a strong emotional response didn't quite make sense. They'd only known each other the span of a week, but for Rose, that was more than enough. She'd meant what she'd said to Sally and Donna—she wanted nothing more than to be with Ian, because he…he was it for her. It was undeniable. When they were together, Rose felt a sense of completion, as if a part of her had unknowingly been missing all of her life. Talking with Ian, being with him, even merely thinking of him was like coming home. He was where she belonged.
It was in the midst of these hazy sentiments that her mobile began to sound. Mumbling irritably, she burrowed further under her duvet, ignoring the persistent voice of Adam Levine insisting he had the "moves like Jagger." Rose knew that ringtone, and she was not interested in talking to her or anyone else for at least another hour. After a minute, the song ceased and Rose sighed in relief, pulling her pillow tighter to her. Not even ten seconds had passed before the ringtone sounded again. Literally growling in irritation, Rose shot her hand out from under her covers and blindly groped for her phone. Her fingers finally latched onto the offending object, and she jerked it to her ear.
"Sally, you better be bleedin' or missin' a limb or something like it!"
The first sound Rose heard was the sound of Sally violently emptying her stomach. After at least two minutes of retching, Sally finally spoke into the receiver.
"Rose," she croaked pitifully, "I think I'm dying."
"What happened?" Rose asked, sitting up in bed, the covers draping over her like a veil. "Somethin' you ate? Or's it the flu?"
"I dunno," Sally sniffed, "I was spent last night an' didn't feel much like cooking. I found some fish you left in the fridge and ate that for dinner, and that's it."
"Sally, the last time I left somethin' in your fridge was a week ago…and it was chicken."
"Oh Lord…," Sally groaned before Rose heard the mobile drop and the somewhat muffled sound of another round of retching. It wasn't long before Sally picked up the phone and Rose heard her start to cry. Her heart went out to her cousin, and Rose immediately scooted out of bed.
"I'll be 'round in a few minutes, sweetie," Rose assured her, scrambling to dress one-handedly and still keep her mobile securely to her ear.
"'Kay," Sally answered weakly before they both ended the call.
After running around like a madwoman, Rose was able to run to the druggist's and Tesco's before finally arriving at Sally's, and all in less than ten minutes—an impressive feat, considering it normally took more than fifteen to simply make it to the flat. Using her spare key, Rose let herself in and immediately went towards the loo. The door was open and Rose saw Sally stretched across the cold tiled floor, a wet cloth covering her face.
Kneeling down, Rose gently removed the cloth, causing Sally's eyes to slowly open and look at her.
"Hey…," Rose greeted softly. "You feelin' any better?"
"Un-uh," Sally groaned, faintly shaking her head. "Although, I think my stomach's officially tapped out. Thank God, too, 'cause things came outta me that I don't even know how to describe."
Rose wrinkled her face in mild disgust. "M'kay…don't need details. Here," she rummaged through the plastic bag she'd brought with her, "Sip this."
She twisted the cap off of a bottle of ginger ale, and after helping Sally sit up, gave her the bottle to drink. Hesitantly, Sally took a few small sips. Rose searched through the bag again, and this time pulled out a prescription bottle. She tapped out a small white tablet into her palm and held it out to her.
"Martha got one of the doctors at Royal Hope to call in somethin' for ya. She says it works wonders."
Without a word, Sally snatched the pill and popped it into her mouth, chasing it down with a small swig of ginger ale. Rose took in her cousin's appearance. Her long blond hair was straggly from sweat, which had also caused her skin to be sticky. Her clothes were also damp and had a few souvenirs from the night's activity.
"C'mon," Rose said, helping her to a standing position, "Let's get you into the shower. Just rinse off and I'll get you somethin' clean to wear."
Fortunately, Sally was able to undress herself and make it into the shower without any further assistance from Rose. As Sally lay in the shower, Rose went to her room and pulled out a clean T-shirt and shorts, leaving them on the towel rack. After a few minutes, Sally slowly trudged into her room, crawled into bed, and promptly began softly crying. Rose crawled up beside her, pulling her into a comforting hold.
"There now, it's alright. You'll be back to good in a day or two," she assured, stroking her hair.
Sally shook her head. "'S not that. Jake finally asked me out and I spent hours tryin' to find a dress and now I'm a sick, sweaty mess, chuckin' my stomach every ten seconds, and now that bleedin' cow, Louise, is gonna swoop in an' make her move," she babbled.
"Who's Louise?"
"His neighbor," Sally cried pitifully.
Rose couldn't help herself and snorted laughter. "That ol' bat who's always yellin' and beating on the walls? Isn't she, like, eighty?"
"Don't let her fool you. She's got it bad for 'im. I can tell."
"Sally, I don't th-…"
"You," Sally said, sitting up suddenly and pointing at Rose, "You gotta go with 'im tonight. Make sure that bloody home-wrecker doesn't try an'…an'…"
Rose bit her lip, ineffectively hiding her smile. "Try an' what?"
"Take. My. Man," Sally said, punctuating each word with an unsteady poke to Rose's chest.
Martha had said there was a chance the medicine might make Sally a little loopy, and Rose was enjoying the scene. Seemed like it did more than just make her a little silly, it seemed to act somewhat like a truth serum.
"Fine," Rose chuckled, "I'll ring Jake in just a bit and tell 'im what's happening, alright? And I'll make sure Louise keeps her grabby claws and womanly wiles to herself."
"Good," Sally nodded, bumping Rose's nose in the process. "Now stop your blabbering, I'm sleepy."
Rolling her eyes, Rose slinked out of the bed as Sally laid her head down and started to drift off. After tucking the covers around her, Rose quietly left the flat. As she stepped outside, she pulled out her mobile and dialed Jake. After a few rings, he picked up.
"Hey, Rose. What's up?"
"Hey, Jake. There's been a change in plans…"
Sitting behind his desk, Ian looked over the Mitchell appeal, which had managed to be overlooked during his…whatever you want to call it. Even though he was trying to focus on his work, the tickling sensation from earlier was now full-blown, taking over his thoughts. In frustration, he threw his pen onto his desk and leaned back in his chair. He replayed the entire conversation in his mind, word for word.
"That's, um…that's why I'm here. I-I need… I need t-to know… Is he out?"
"What?"
"Harry…He's not out, is he?"
"No."
"Is there a chan-…"
"Absolutely not."
"I didn't think so, but he… well, he sent me a l-letter… It's the first time I've heard from him in years. It shook me up. Imagine it did you, too. But… in light of-…"
Ian straightened up instantly.
"It shook me up. Imagine it did you, too…"
She'd said "did," not "would." Why had she said that? Was she implying that Harry had sent him a letter? The echoes of her words rocked him to his core. Instantly, Ian was on his feet and rummaging through the various papers and pieces of mail. With each passing second, Ian's frustration and ire grew, a heat coursing through his veins as his search remained fruitless. After futilely scattering the papers about the room, Ian threw open his door and walked over to a startled Cathica, who was looking at him wide eyed and confused.
"Cathica, has there been any mail come through that seemed out of place?" he asked without pretense.
No sooner had he finished speaking than Cathica felt the blood within her cease to flow. Dread consumed her and she was unable to speak. Ian didn't fail to notice her altered demeanor and his eyes instantly narrowed.
"Cathica," he said in an icy tone. He didn't need to say anything more than her name; she knew immediately what he was demanding.
"Y-yes, s-sir," she stuttered nervously, "Something came last week."
"What was it and where is it?" His tone became colder with each word uttered. The restraint he was using to not fly into a rage was clearly marked, and Cathica thanked God for it.
"I-I'm not sure what it was exactly. I only saw it was prisoner mail, I don't remember which. As for where it is…," Cathica trailed off, taking a shaky and much needed breath, "…it isn't here anymore."
Ian closed his eyes and took a slow, controlled breath. His eyes remained closed and his jaw was clenched as he spoke. "Cathica… I asked you where it was."
Cathica could feel the heat from his anger. Though a small voice within told her that she wasn't the source of his anger, she knew her involvement was definitely a catalyst.
"Your brother," she answered, her voice strained and hovering just above a whisper, clearly anxious over what his reaction would be to this news.
What felt like an eternity passed before Ian's eyes opened, appearing vacant yet full of rage. The contradicting emotions and their intensity unsettled Cathica and she remained completely still. Without a word, Ian turned on his heels and briefly disappeared into his office before coming out in his coat, his keys in hand. Cathica could only watch in silence as Ian marched past her and threw open the main door, allowing it to angrily smack against the wall. She knew with absolute certainty where he was going, and could only hope that Jack's actions had been worth what was about to transpire.
Tessa sat quietly behind her desk, rereading and organizing the multiple messages for Jack in order of importance, knowing that he was due back from his business lunch any time. She'd noticed his offish attitude over the past week, and wanted to make sure she did everything on her part to make his life easier. Finishing with the messages, Tessa moved on to emails. She was in the middle of replying to an inquiry, when she heard the sound of rough footsteps rushing towards her. Looking up, Tessa saw the tense and irate form of Ian Smith approaching, and she reflexively stood up.
Rather than stopping at her desk, Ian flew past her. "Jack here?" he asked, not bothering to wait for her response and throwing open his brother's office door.
"Mr. Harkness isn't here, Mr. Smith, so you shouldn't be, either," Tessa insisted firmly, hurriedly following after him.
Ian ignored the young woman's implied direction and began searching the room, furiously opening drawers and file folders, tossing them aside when he determined they were of no value. Waves of fury were rolling off of him, and Tessa kept a cautious distance, not wanting to wade any closer than was absolutely necessary. The normally composed young woman was rapidly becoming unraveled at the intense and escalating scene playing out before her. At a loss for how to gain control, she rushed to the phone and dialed her employer's number. After three rings, Jack answered.
"Hello?"
Tessa released a sigh of relief. "Mr. Harkness, I'm so incredibly sorry to bother you, but I'm not sure what to do. I don't know what's going on. He just came in here and he's furious, an-…"
"Tessa calm down! Who's there? What's happening? Are you in danger?"
"No!" Tessa hurriedly reassured him. "I'm not in any danger. It's…It's your brother. He just rushed in here and he's in your office, throwing papers everywhere, muttering under his breath. I don't know what he's looking for. I told him you weren't here, but that didn't stop him. And I didn't know if I should tell Ms. Jones, or ring Security. I know he's your brother, an-…"
"Just take a deep breath, sweetheart. Don't call Security. Just shut the door and don't let anyone else near my office, understand? I just reached the building. I'll be there in less than five minutes."
Obediently, Tessa took a deep breath and answered, "Yes, sir. I understand."
The line clicked off, and Tessa hastily scurried over and shut the door, standing defensively in front of it and hoping the increasingly loud noises from behind her would not draw unwanted attention.
True to his word, Jack was on the floor and walking swiftly towards her in less than five minutes. Even from a distance, Tessa was able to discern his tense frame, clenching and unclenching his hands on his sides. Despite that, she sighed, deeply relieved at his presence.
"I'm so glad you're here. I'm so sorry. I just didn't kn-…"
"It's fine, Tessa," Jack interjected, halting her repeated apologies. "Just do what I said—keep everybody away from here while I talk to him." Without further preamble, Jack entered his office, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Taking yet another breath, Tessa resumed her post in front of the door, worried about remaining silent, but trusting that Jack knew best.
Jack shut the door harshly behind him, hard enough to cause the frames on the wall to shake. Despite the loud sound, Ian did not look up, merely continuing to search around the desk like a madman. Jack watched him for a few seconds before he finally spoke.
"What are you doing, Ian?" he asked, his voice firm and direct.
Immediately, Ian ceased all movement and shot his head his head upward, his dark eyes boring into his brother. Jack could see the anger radiating off of him—Ian's nostrils flaring, his jaw twitching, his eyes narrowed into thin slits.
"Don't play stupid with me, Jack. You know exactly why I'm here. Don't act otherwise."
Jack pushed himself off the door, taking a few steps forward. "I have a theory, but since you're the one trashing my office, I think you can at least own up to the reason."
"Where. Is. It?" Ian demanded lowly through gritted teeth.
Though he was tempted to ask him to clarify, Jack wasn't interested in antagonizing him. "It's not important. You don't need to see it and there's no way I'd show it to you."
It was Ian's turn to step towards Jack, and he did so somewhat menacingly. "You dare come into my office and take what's mine? Who do you bloody think you are? What right do you have?"
"I have every right to protect you, and that's exactly why I took it! And believe me, I'd do it again in a heartbeat!" Jack countered, his own eyes darkening.
"I don't need you to protect me!" Ian hollered. "I don't need anything from you or anyone else. I'm fine on my own!"
"Oh don't give me that load of crap! You are the opposite of fine! Anyone that sees you knows that nothing about you is fine," Jack replied, spitting out the final word mockingly.
"What do you know, Jack?! You don't know anything about me or my life!" Ian spat in return.
"Well, God knows that isn't my fault! I have tried for six years to be a part of your life, but you make it clear time and time again that you want nothing to do with me! For the life of me, I can't understand one godforsaken reason why! We were always close, what the heck happened?!"
"What happened?!" Ian hissed.
"Yes," Jack shouted, "Ever since the day Dad died, you've cut yourself off. Shoved everyone away. What happened? What changed?"
"I killed him, Jack!" Ian bellowed, running his hands through his hair and pacing like a caged animal. "That's what happened! That's what changed!"
Jack shortened the distance between them. "You didn't kill him! Why do you keep taking that blame?"
"Because it is mine! I didn't listen. You kept saying that we needed to let someone else take over Harry's case, but I wouldn't budge. I was the one bloody stupid enough to think that I could fix things. That I could expose Rassilon, that I could stop Harry's madness, but I couldn't! I failed! Because of me, Harry broke, Lucy ended up in hospital, and our father ended up with a bullet in his chest! How could that not change things, Jack?! I look in the mirror every day and all I see is a murderer, and I know you see it!"
Ian's body shook with barely contained emotion, his chest heaving, and his eyes wild and pained.
"You…," Jack trailed off, flabbergasted. "You think I see you that way? That's why you've written me off?"
Ian turned his eyes away, closing them and desperately trying to calm his haggard breathing. He didn't want to continue this, it was too much. The guilt was consuming him, so he quickly replaced it with anger. Anger was blinding. Anger was powerful. Anger blocked the pain. Anger kept him alive. Without anger, the guilt would ravage him, leaving nothing in its wake. He had to focus on his anger.
He opened his eyes, turning his blackened orbs toward his shocked and troubled brother.
"Give me the letter, Jack," Ian said, his voice laced with ice.
Jack shook his head. "I already told you no."
"Give. Me. The. Letter," he repeated, closing the distance between them.
The intensity of emotions raging in Ian's eyes was almost too much for Jack to bear. He would never be able to discern all of them, no matter how much time he was given, and the pain surging through his brother broke his heart.
"No," Jack reiterated with calm resolution.
In the blink of an eye, Ian grabbed hold of Jack's lapels, shoving him against the wall.
"I said give me the letter!" Ian roared, too overcome with emotion and beyond reason.
"I burned it!" Jack hollered back. "I took a lighter to both of ours and watched the flames turn to ash."
Ian flitted his wild eyes back and forth, searching his brother's determined ones. Before any action could be taken on his part, the door to the office burst open and two guards entered, grabbing Ian by the arms and pulling him off Jack. Ian struggled against their hold, but their grip remained secure.
"No, it's fine. Let him go," Jack insisted, straightening his appearance. A look passed between the men and Jack, but it ultimately ended with them releasing their vise-like grip, but retaining a strong hand on Ian's shoulder.
As the men led Ian out of the office, Jack saw a shift in Ian's eyes, almost reminding him of a little boy lost. Jack's own eyes softened, but his body remained fixated in place, too overwhelmed with everything that had transpired to make a move. In his periphery he saw Tessa looking at him with frank concern and worrying her thumbnail. Part of him wanted to put her at ease, but he just didn't have it in him that time. Without a backward glance, he shut his door and sunk his tired body into one of the leather chairs, bracing his head in his hands and finally allowing himself a tearful release.
Ian walked the streets to his flat, his body moving purely on instinct. His mind felt completely disassociated from his body. When he finally garnered some semblance of awareness, he realized that he'd managed to make it into his flat and was standing in the middle of his bedroom. He looked around the darkened room, a room that was sterile, cold. His eyes drifted to his bed and immediately his heart began to ache as his thoughts turned to Rose. In the beginning, he'd been reluctant to fall asleep, anxious and uncertain of what would happen upon waking. Yet with each passing night, Ian found himself craving that sleep, craving the nights that would herald the return of his family…of his Rose.
Now those nights had ended, and he felt so alone, so empty. Out of the corner of his eye, Ian caught sight of a familiar red box, still resting on the nightstand. Slowly, he walked over and picked it up, running his fingers reverently over the embossing, a pained smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
Just that morning he had cursed his dreams, bitter that his subconscious was cruelly taunting him. But now, after the events of the day, Ian wanted nothing more than to sleep, even though his earlier rage had rid all traces of physical fatigue. But he needed to sleep. Maybe this time if he slept… maybe he…
Ian felt a sudden tightness in his chest and he scrubbed his face. He just wanted to cradle his darling Livy, feel his unborn son's movements, bury himself in the loving embrace of his beautiful wife and never let her go. Why… Why couldn't he go back?
He turned and shuffled into his office, walking over to his desk and pulling out the bottom drawer, the drawer that contained one of his most precious memories. Moving the files hiding it, he pulled out the book; but instead of closing the drawer, he reached his hand to the far back, pulling out the small orange container. He looked at it, unsure what to do. Images of Rose and memories of her essence flooded his mind, and Ian was no longer uncertain. His mind was made up. He wanted to go to sleep.
From one of the many round tables situated throughout the reception hall, Rose sat quietly by herself, sipping on her second glass of white wine as she observed the guests dancing and mingling with one another. After placing her glass on the table, Rose picked up her phone, sighing as she noted the time.
Lord, will this bleedin' thing ever be done with?
Normally when Rose attended weddings, it was in a professional aspect, having created the cake and/or desserts. At most, she'd only been to six as a guest, and half of those were when she was younger. For the most part, they had been fairly enjoyable; but as Rose sat there, surrounded by complete strangers, she determined that weddings were swiftly becoming one of her least favorite events.
She'd spent the majority of the time by herself, and though she really wanted to, she couldn't put the complete blame on Jake. Every time he'd attempted to spend time with her, another reunion with an old mate would happen, and they would quickly drag him off. Even though Rose was a naturally outgoing individual, she honestly didn't feel up to it that night. No matter what Jake had said, Rose knew she was merely a stand-in. (Both Jake and Sally's blatant disappointment made that fact clear, even if unintentionally.) Coupling that with the fact her relaxing day had been cut prematurely and she was rather tired, Rose was not in the most festive of moods.
Picking up her wineglass again, Rose took a long sip as she turned her head towards Jake, who was standing in the distance and chatting with the bride—a lovely blonde named Lucy Cole, if Rose remembered correctly. Jake caught sight of her, offering her an apologetic smile as they man continued to speak. She returned his smile with one of her own and took another sip. It was then that Rose felt someone approach her, and she turned her head to see a familiar blonde man standing before her, almost spitting out her wine.
"Fenton?"
Fenton grinned brilliantly at her. "I thought that was you!" he replied happily, taking one of the free seats next to her. "What are ya doin' here?"
"I could ask ya the same. I'm startin' to think I might have a stalker," she said, only mildly teasing. Fenton seemed like a decent bloke, but she did not reciprocate his interest.
He chuckled and shook his head. "Nothin' like that, promise. Lucy's my cousin. Do you know her, or are you a friend of Derrick's?
"Um…neither, actually," she answered sheepishly. "I'm just a plus one."
"Right now ya seem like the only one," Fenton joked. "Where's your date?"
"Not sure where Jake's at. I saw him just a bit ago, but he seems to have scampered off," Rose answered, looking around the hall for him.
"Jake Simmonds?"
Rose nodded.
"Last I saw him, he was chatting with someone by the buffet," Fenton answered, motioning towards the opposite side of the room. "I only met him a few times. Seems like a good bloke. Didn't realize you two were together," he said, the disappointment in his voice clearly evident.
Rose couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped her. "Me an' Jake? No, we're not together. Not by a long shot. He's an' my cousin have it bad for each other. She's actually the one who's s'posed to be here, but she's sicker than a dog. I promised her I'd go with him and make sure no one stole her piece of cake—my words, not hers."
Fenton laughed at her explanation, his eyes sparkling as he looked at her. "So, Rose, since your 'date' is failing miserably, care if I steal a dance?"
Rose felt her mind start at the request. She was reluctant to accept, simply because she was concerned he would interpret as encouragement and continue his pursuit. But on the other hand, she was ridiculously bored and this would help pass the time.
"Alright," she acquiesced, a small but genuine smile as she stood.
Fenton put his hand under her elbow, guiding her to the dance floor. They had just joined the crowd when the music changed from upbeat to slow. Rose felt herself tense ever so slightly when Fenton put a hand on her waist and pulled her closer to him. It wasn't as if she'd never before danced with a man, but in light of the intensity and depth of her feelings, Rose couldn't help but think that the only man who should hold her close, who should hold her at all, was Ian. Knowing that her feelings were bordering on overreaction, Rose took a breath and forced herself to relax and enjoy the dance with Fenton.
However, as the song began, Rose found it impossible to think of anything but Ian.
If you're not the one then why does my soul feel glad today?
If you're not the one then why does my hand fit yours this way?
With these words, her mind and heart, of their own volition, had instantly diverted to thoughts and images of Ian. Of the way her hand fit perfectly within his each time, how it felt right.
I don't want to run away but I can't take it, I don't understand
If I'm not made for you then why does my heart tell me that I am?
Is there any way that I can stay in your arms?
Rose couldn't help but smile as she remembered stumbling into his arms that day in the lift and the indescribable feeling that had passed between them as his hands held her and their eyes locked.
'Cause I miss you, body and soul so strong that it takes my breath away
And I breathe you into my heart and pray for the strength to stand today
'Cause I love you, whether it's wrong or right
And though I can't be with you tonight
You know my heart is by your side
As the melody continued, Rose could feel a wealth of emotion building, the words resounding within her. They reflected her emotions perfectly. Ian was in her heart, entwined with her soul. If it wasn't right, if wasn't real, then why would she feel so passionately about him?
"Are you alright, Rose?" Fenton asked worriedly, his brow drawn.
It was only then that she realized a tear was trailing down her cheek. She embarrassedly pulled away, wiping away her emotion, and heading back to her chair.
"Well, that's not embarrassing or anythin'," she chuckled. "Nothin' like crying over some bleedin' ballad."
Fenton chuckled, but there was no trace of mocking. "Well, we are at a wedding. I guess you can chalk it up to the mood."
"Yeah, I don't think that makes it any better," she laughed, "But thanks for trying."
They both took their seats. Rose smiled awkwardly at Fenton before turning her head and taking a sip of her wine that, thankfully, hadn't been bussed. When she looked back at him, she noticed that he was regarding her, but not in a leering sort of way; it was more as if he was trying to decipher her.
"Something tells me that that song made you think of someone, and I'm not cocky enough to think it's me," Fenton prodded, offering her an encouraging smile.
Rose's eyes widened at his statement; she wasn't expecting him to be that observant.
"Um, well…," she mumbled nervously, unsure of how she should reply, let alone it she wanted to.
"S'alright. That friend of yours…Donna, I think…anyways, she told me you fancied someone."
"Did she now?" Rose asked, arching a brow as she did so.
Fenton smiled and chuckled at Rose's expression. "Yeah. At the time, I didn't give it much weight, but now…," he gave her a knowing look, "Well, now I think I see why she tried to warn me off."
Rose opened her mouth to speak, but her words were immediately halted by the sound of her mobile. She didn't recognize the number, but answered it regardless, grateful for the interruption.
"S'cuse me," she said, standing and walking towards the entrance and away from the noisy atmosphere.
"Hello?"
"Rose?"
"Jack?" she inquired, furrowing her brow in confusion. "Is that you?"
"Yeah, it's me. Look, I know this is a long shot, but is Ian with you?"
The panic in Jack's voice instantly caught Rose's attention, and she felt her whole body come to attention.
"No, he's not." She heard his rough sigh, and she pushed on. "Why, what's wrong? Somethin' happen?"
"I don't know. I honestly don't have any idea what's happening right now. I-…" he trailed off.
"You what, Jack?" she asked firmly, her own panic beginning to rise.
"I'm at his flat. He's not here. I found an open bottle of sleeping pills. I don't know how many he took or where he's at. I've called his phone more times than I can count, but it goes straight to voicemail. I reverse-searched your number, thinking maybe he'd be with you. But since he's not, I'll ju-…"
"Tell me where you are," Rose interjected, running to collect her coat from the coat check.
"That's not necessary, Rose. I'll fi-…"
"Jack, you either tell me where you bloody are, or I start lookin' for Ian on my own. I can do this with or without you. Your choice."
There was silence as the attendant handed Rose her coat, and she quickly threw it on.
"Jack," she said, giving him one last opportunity to answer her.
"I'll text you the address.
At that, Rose ended the call and rushed out the doors, hurriedly walking to find the nearest underground station.
Twenty minutes later, Rose was practically sprinting towards Ian's building, only slowing once she saw Jack pacing outside on the sidewalk. Hearing her footfall, Jack stopped and looked at her, relief filling his troubled eyes.
"Have you heard from him yet?" Rose asked hastily while trying to catch her breath.
Jack shook his ruefully head, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Nothing. The doorman said he went left, but that's all he knew. I don't know where to look."
Though her own heart was tearing apart with worry, Rose forced herself to remain strong. Jack looked as if he had been beaten, an invisible weight continuing to crush him. Taking a deep cleansing breath, Rose closed her eyes and began to think of what course to take. An idea suddenly came to mind, and her eyes flew open.
"Give me his number," she instructed, pulling out her own mobile.
"I already told you he's not answering."
"Doesn't matter. I know how we can find him. But I need his number," Rose answered emphatically.
Jack spouted off a series of numbers and Rose hastily inputted them into her mobile. She texted something before scrolling through her phone and then putting it up to her ear. She obviously had a plan, but as to what it was, Jack had absolutely no idea.
"C'mon, c'mon," Rose muttered, impatiently tapping her foot as she waited for the call to be answered.
"Hello?"
"Mickey!" Rose cried in relief. "Finally. Listen, I need you to do somethin' for me."
"Rose, I was sleepin'. Can't it wait till tomorrow?"
"No, Micks. I need your help now. It's an emergency."
"Are you okay? Do you ne-…"
"I'm fine, Micks," she interrupted, "I'll explain later. I sent you a phone number. I need you to ping it or whatever it is you call it. I just need you to locate it."
"Rose, what's-…"
"Please, Mickey!" Rose pleaded.
There was a brief pause before Mickey spoke again. "Gimme five minutes. Ten at most."
Hanging up the phone, Rose turned her attention back to Jack, batting away the frantic emotions threatening to overtake her. She ran a hand through her hair, and took a steadying breath.
"What happened to him, Jack? There's somethin' you're holdin' back. What is it?" she demanded, the time for boundaries now gone.
Jack's dark eyes locked with hers, and she could see the emotions passing through them. But then, it was if something gave, and he released a shuddering breath, scrubbing his face.
"About a week ago I got a letter…from Harry," he gritted out. Rose gasped on hearing the name. "Without going into detail—and let me assure you, it was rather graphic—Harry basically recounted our father's murder, along with some rather choice words. I knew he wouldn't single me out. I went to Ian's office and talked Cathica into giving me his letter. I went home and burned it. I didn't even bother reading it. All that mattered was that Ian didn't get a chance to read it. Harry's such a sicko, I can only imagine what he wrote to him.
Then today, I get a call from my assistant telling me that Ian was trashing my office. He demanded the letter, we fought, and then Security burst in and escorted him out. When I couldn't reach him, I went over to his place, but it was empty. Then I saw the open bottle…"
He trailed off, turning his face away in an attempt to rein in his emotions. Rose felt hot tears pricking behind her eyes. She tried to contain them, but her fear for Ian became overwhelming, and they streamed down her cheeks as she furiously worried her bottom lip. The two of them stood together in silence, both trying to keep their heads above water.
Just then, Rose's mobile alerted and she immediately looked at the text just received.
"Is that about Ian?" Jack asked, coming up beside her.
Rose nodded as she read.
"Where is he?"
Pocketing her phone, she turned to answer him.
"St. James' Park."
For the second time that day, Ian found himself resting on cool grass; except this time, it wasn't a mere dream. After taking the sleeping pills, Ian had left his flat, wanting to be rid of its suffocating emptiness. He'd looked down at the book in his hands and knew instantly where he wanted to go. That was how he'd ended up on the cool, damp lawn of St. James' Park.
A chill blew through the air, causing a slight billowing of his coat and the pages of the book sitting beside him to flutter. Ian's eyes grew heavier with each passing second, and he felt his body slink fully to the ground. His eyes finally closed, and he knew instinctually that sleep was imminent.
The wind blew again; but this time, it not only carried a chill, but also a voice that had be engrained on Ian's heart.
"Ian?"
Hearing Rose's voice caused Ian's body to stir, but he still remained on the ground.
"Ian?"
This time, her voice was nearer, and Ian couldn't help but smile. He didn't even have a chance to call to her, before he felt her soft hands cupping his face.
"Ian! C'mon, Ian," Rose pleaded, caressing his cold cheeks with her thumbs. "Open your eyes for me, love."
Releasing a breath, Ian sluggishly blinked open his still heavy eyes. Hovering above him was Rose, her eyes wide and searching his frantically. A long, curled lock of her hair grazed his cheek and he inhaled her scent, instantly recalling her familiar scent.
"Rose," Ian breathed, a small smile emerging as her name left his lips.
On hearing Ian's voice, Rose released a strangled sob of relief. "Oh thank God." She turned to look behind her. "Jack! He's over here!"
When she returned her gaze back to Ian, he could see tears streaming freely down her reddened cheeks.
"You're crying," he whispered, his voice still sleep laden.
"You scared me," she sniffled. "Don't ever do that to me again, Cillian."
Ian's eyes fluttered shut for a moment, the sleep still struggling to claim him. "Don't be scared. It worked."
Before Rose could question him, Jack was at their side.
"Is he okay? Is he breathing?" he spouted off worriedly.
"He's fine," Rose assured him, "But he can barely keep his eyes open."
Jack took Ian's face from Rose's hands, forcing Ian to look at him. "How many of those pills did you take, Ian?"
"Two."
"C'mon, Ian. Be straight with me," Jack demanded, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You wouldn't get like this with just two. What all did you take?"
"Just two," Ian insisted groggily. "Chased 'em down with a tumbler."
"God, Ian…," Jack grumbled, scrubbing his face.
"Where's Rose?"
Rose reclaimed her hold on Ian. "Hey, I'm right here, love," she reassured him through her tears. "I'm right here."
Hearing her endearment caused Ian to lazily smile, his mind still hazy. "Can we go home?"
Tenderly, Rose ran her fingers over his forehead. "'Course we can."
"You think we should take him to the hospital?" Jack asked, kneeling beside them again.
"No," she said, shaking her head for emphasis. "I honestly think he just needs to sleep it off. We can take 'im back to my place. My flatmate's a doctor…well, nearly one."
Looking up, she noticed Jack's uncertainty.
"It makes sense to do it this way, Jack. I don't live far from here, and if somethin' does happen, I have someone there to help and who knows what she's doin'. Now help me stand him up."
Jack pondered her words briefly, before nodding in agreement and taking the lead in bringing Ian to his feet. As Rose stood, she noticed something left behind in the grass. Bending down, she saw it was an aged leather volume of Shakespeare's works. Understanding came to her as she recalled hers and Ian's conversation about Shakespeare and this very park.
"Rose?" Jack's voice called, breaking her train of thought.
Quickly, she put the book in the inside of her coat, tightening her belt so it wouldn't dislodge.
"Coming," she answered, swiftly turning on her heel and walking to Ian's side, putting a steadying arm around his waist, as she helped Jack navigate them out of the park.
It wasn't long before the three of them managed to reach Rose's flat. By that time, Ian was fully passed out, and Jack practically carried him into the flat, depositing him onto the sofa. Rose found a blanket and covered Ian, ghosting her fingers across his forehead and unruly hair.
Finally looking at Jack, she could see the exhaustion ravaging his body. It was clear it took exceptional effort for him just to remain upright. She walked up to him and pulled him into a hug.
"You should go home, and get some sleep. You're completely dead on your feet."
Pulling back, Jack shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe I should-…"
"Jack," Rose said with quite determination. "Go. Get some rest. I promise I won't leave him."
Sighing, Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, and nodded his compliance. "Alright. I'll be back in the morning."
Rose smiled softly and he pulled her in for another hug. "Thank you."
She nodded into his shoulder before Jack pulled back and walked out the door. Quietly rushing to her room, Rose hurriedly changed into shorts and an oversized jumper, before grabbing a pillow and blanket and returning to the door, locking the deadbolt. With a sigh, she turned to see Ian's slumbering figure. Carefully minding her footsteps, she walked over and knelt beside him, studying his quiet features.
Events, memories, conversations, all of it, came rushing over her and Rose burst into silent tears. She bent her head and placed several soft kisses to his forehead, her tears trailing onto his soft, cool skin. Her own exhaustion finally caught up with her, and she laid down on the floor next to the sofa. Unable to bear the loss of contact, her hand traveled upward, immediately finding Ian's. Her eyes grew heavy, and in mere minutes, both were sleeping soundly, their hands lying intertwined between them.
AN: So, I want to apologize for my slowness. I know that this is angsty, and it will be for at least two more chapters. But, everything that happens is essential. Ian's behavior may be frustrating, but pain makes us act irrationally, and Ian is definitely in pain. Thank you for your kindness, patience, and interest. Please be assured, I will NOT abandon this story! Thanks again to each of you!
Lyrics mentioned are from If You're Not the One by Daniel Bedingfield.