-x-
"It ain't no use in turnin' on your light, babe,
That light that I never knowed.
And it ain't no use in turnin' on your light, babe,
I'm on the dark side of the road.
Still, I wish there was somethin' you would do or say,
To try to make me change my mind and stay.
We never did too much talkin' anyway,
So, don't think twice, it's all right.
It ain't no use in callin' out my name, babe
Like you never did before.
And it ain't no use in callin' out my name, babe,
I can't hear you any more…..
I ain't sayin' you treated me unkind,
You coulda done better, but I don't mind,
You just kinda wasted my precious time,
But don't think twice, it's all right.
-x-
Don't Think Twice - Bob Dylan
-x-
Part I
Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz is a mystery to her. He always has been from the moment they met. Though it's only recently that it has started to bother her.
She never wanted something serious, but she has started to resent his reserve. She knows what they have is only casual, but she has started to doubt the wisdom of their arrangement.
When they met, the spark between them was instant and strong. He pursued her relentlessly. He was charming, determined, and persistent. They both sensed what would happen if and when she acquiesced. And she did, of course, without much real resistance.
She took him to her bed on the first night he took her out. She often regretted that and had wondered whether things could've been different if they'd waited, if they'd tried to discover something deeper in one another, more meaningful.
But it's just mere speculation. Her connection with Alex was always physical – never spiritual or cerebral. They rarely talked, even while in bed together. They never shouted each other's names in love or awe. They shared only scraps of their individual lives and tacitly avoided all talk of their respective histories and the wounds that had led them to this unorthodox union.
She used to feel safe with that distance. She used to crave the mystery that both of them retained. She was not ready to be known again, to be loved again. She was not prepared to love another man and lose him – especially a man like Alex Claremont-Diaz.
In some ways, he was very like her late fiancé and in others, he was Patrick's complete opposite. That made him a safe choice for her. She was aware of that. She was aware of the underlying psychology behind both of their decisions. She was aware of her choices every step of the way and of what she was letting herself in for, the longer she remained in this peculiar, sexual relationship with a man she knows she can never really have.
She has no one to blame but herself – and her continuing and catastrophic grief at having lost the one man who had known and loved her like no other.
A small, desperate part of her had wanted her relationship with Alex to mean more. It had only been six months since Patrick's death when she met him. Part of her couldn't comprehend why she could be so easily seduced after such a relatively short mourning period.
It had to mean more than just physical release between two lonely strangers. She couldn't stand the thought that she could be so unfaithful to her beloved fiancé's memory. She couldn't understand herself behaving in a way that he would never have expected of her. It seemed to somehow diminish her love, her loss.
But it was amazing how quickly one's conscience was appeased with impaired rationale and staunch denial and senseless sex. Bit by bit, her grief slipped into the background, her new, disjointed life took over, and her relationship with Alex flourished in impassioned ignorance.
In the beginning, they saw quite a lot of each other. The sex was extraordinary, transporting. She left her body, and she left her mind. She left her life and her grief so far behind that sometimes she cried when she returned.
But she kept going back for more. She had clung to this gorgeous, tenacious man as her one escape, her carnal liberation.
Once, when she'd cried, he'd held her all night. She'd woken in his bed, with tears still on her cheeks, a raging hangover, and his strong arms enveloping her. Ashamed of her unintentional exposure, she'd slipped out of his arms, out of his bed and out of his house before he had woken, before he could show her any more care, before she could start wanting more from him.
These days, however, it was rare that they slept in the same bed. They both preferred their own beds, their space, their privacy. Alex seemed to require her services or society less and less. It was not unusual now for him to not call for weeks on end. And when he did, all she did was sit on his sofa and listen to his rants about the law or politics, as they shared a bottle of wine or scotch. It was the only thing he would talk to her about, in devout and distant tones.
But he didn't seem to want her to touch him anymore. He didn't seem to relish her kiss or pay attention to her clothes and perfume the way he used to. He certainly didn't like her trying to take his clothes off and made no effort to remove hers.
In fact, he seemed entirely indifferent to her presence. As she watched him sip his wine and rant, night after night, she got the distinct impression that it didn't matter whether she was present or not.
It didn't upset her too much. Men went through phases, and Alex was one of the more peculiar men she had ever met. Except that the last time they had slept together had been very strained and unsettling.
He'd been so absorbed in his own mind. His actions were mechanical and detached, and when he closed his eyes, she could've sworn he was shutting her out. His orgasm was almost violent in its intensity. She'd never seen him lose it so completely.
He moved over her with the force of an enraged animal, with the passion of a tormented man. He seemed utterly possessed for a moment, transported to and suspended in another place. Yet while he was there, he had released the name of a man in a wretched howl.
"Henry!" Alex had howled whilst in the throes of his orgasm.
Afterwards, she didn't reproach him for it or try to draw him out. As much as she wished to, she remained silent. She lay beside his sweaty, spent body, staring at the ceiling as her heart slowed. And while the question repeated over and over in her brain, she wouldn't let herself ask him who exactly 'Henry' was.
She knew he'd lost a piece of himself a lifetime ago. She knew he'd been happily and unhappily attached to both men and women in the tabloids, too many times to count. Her indifferent conclusion was that it was one of these people who possessed Alex's brain, while he possessed her body.
Though she recognised the disrespect and the injustice of it, she couldn't really blame him without blaming herself. She couldn't honestly say she hadn't done the same thing herself – imagined Patrick's hands where Alex's were, his mouth covering hers and his body occupying the space beside her in bed.
They were a terrible, reprehensible, damaged, pathetic pair of lovers – so she never said a word.
She pushed the incident from her mind and attempted to dismiss the desperate passion with which he'd called the other man's name. This 'Henry' could mean anything or nothing to him – and frankly, she wasn't sure she wanted to know the truth.
However, it was a week later, when they were out for a casual meal, Alex had gotten a phone call on his cell. It was obviously a work matter, so she tuned out the conversation. Until she heard that name again.
'Henry'
She looked up from her drink. His tone was different to when they were in bed, though. He sounded harassed and irritated as he growled down the phone line at 'Henry'. Two minutes later, he apologised and left, telling her he was needed at work urgently.
She'd been surprised to hear from him only a few days later. He called late at night to request a lift home from a work function, after a long and complicated day. She nearly declined, retorting that she was not his constant chauffeur or personal slave. She actually had a life and work of her own to conduct.
But she didn't refuse. She went, hoping to get a glimpse of the man he'd called 'Henry'. On the way, she'd chided herself for her curiosity, for her jealousy. After all, she was the only person that Alex Claremont-Diaz had taken to bed in the last two years. She was absolutely certain that he had been faithful to her during that time, despite the casual nature of their entanglement. And many men had fantasies about coworkers – it was completely natural. It didn't have to mean anything more.
But Alex had dragged him into the problem by bringing this Henry person into bed with them, the only place where the outside world was not supposed to exist. And she wanted to see for herself the man that could evoke such intense feelings in Alex Claremont-Diaz. Something she hadn't been able to do in the last two years as his lover.
When she pulled up to the curb, deliberately keeping her distance, she saw the usual huddle of lawyers leaving the building. Amongst three shorter figures was a man about the same age as Alex. She'd seen him before but had never paid much attention to him. He was tall and slim, blonde, with a conservative, capable air about him.
He didn't seem like the sort of man who could create extraordinary passion in a man but looks could be deceiving. Neither was he that she would've considered Alex's type, but he was undoubtedly gorgeous. Even from a distance, she could see that beneath the professional suit hid a firmly toned body, high cheekbones and sparkling eyes.
She watched as one of the men punched the other's arm, grinning widely. As they bickered and bantered back and forth, the man in question, standing next to Alex, momentarily placed his briefcase on the ground before, absently running his hand through his hair twisting and untangling the golden blonde coifs of his hair, as he rolled his shoulders to relieve the tension there. She noticed the way Alex traced the movement from the corner of his eye, the way he furtively ran his gaze over Henry's golden coifs when he wasn't looking.
For a man of small gestures in the relationship department, this one was immense and prominent. If she wasn't sure before, she was now convinced that this was Alex's Henry and that shouting his name at the height of his pleasure had been more than just an irrational mistake or random fantasy.
Quickly, Alex turned away, giving simultaneous grins and throwing his signature peace sign to the squabbling boys. He was striding away to have a brief word with an older gentleman. Spotting her car across the road, he sent her a sharp, little nod, then without another word to the rest of them waiting for their rides, he headed in her direction.
He gave her the usual dispassionate peck on the cheek as he jumped into the passenger seat. Lately, she mused as she smiled over at him and turned the wheel. She might just as well be his sister.
As they drove down the street, she noticed the blonde man staring after them for a long moment. This time, she also caught Alex as he glanced in the side view mirror - no doubt watching his retreating figure as he rounded on the other lawyers, scolding them, before brushing past and storming away.
She'd wondered whether to broach the subject with Alex, but she couldn't work out how. It's true she's qualified in this area, but she can't help feeling she's just not the right person for him to talk to; even if he would, which she doubted.
As it turned out, she was not the right person for him, in any respect, and probably never was. She can see that now. She should've known better, a woman of her age and education and experience. She should've thought ahead, past all the meaningless sex, to what she is feeling now. She always suspected he would find someone else, someone who actually needed him, someone who would let him in, someone who he could open up to.
Something told her he had found someone special, and he didn't even realise it.
Downing the last of her drink, she resumed her search of his kitchen cabinets, looking for something vaguely edible. Actually, she's not really that hungry. She's just avoiding going back to that sofa and the perpetual, deafening silence spewing from his mouth.
She slammed the cupboard shut and poured herself another drink, just as she heard a tentative knock at the door. She knows that Alex won't hear it from his sofa while in hyperfixation mode, so she moved down the corridor and answered the door.
On the doorstep was the man she had seen in front of Alex's office a dozen times, but never up close. The tall blonde man stood uncertain, his arms wrapped around his body, and his head lowered as he shifted from foot to foot. He looked surprised as he raised his face, for some reason wearing big, dark glasses, despite the late hour of the evening.
"Oh-" He said softly, his mouth working speechlessly, his chin quivering.
The dark-haired woman paused, looking him over. "Are you looking for Alex?"
She noticed a fresh graze on the tall man's cheek and caked blood on his knuckles as he crossed his arms over his chest. His hair was a mess, his shirt ripped in places, and his lip was split in one corner.
"Yes," He answered shakily. "I'm sorry, I…"
"You're hurt." She sighed softly, trying not to stare at the blood. "Please come in."
The blonde hesitated, glancing back towards his erratically parked car. "I-"
"Please -" She insisted, putting a hand on her elbow and drawing him safely inside.
Henry stepped in slowly, his head bowed, his body huddled. He glanced around the vestibule for any sign of his colleague.
Alex's house was obviously foreign to him by the awkward way he hovered near the door.
"You're Henry, aren't you?" The dark-haired beauty asked carefully, closing the door behind him.
He nodded, and a few tears slipped out from under the big sunglasses, trickling down his cheeks. He sniffed and raised his head, facing the woman and meeting her gentle gaze.
"I'm Nora."
Part II
"Alejandro!" Nora called down the hall to the living room.
"What?!" Came Alex's irritable reply.
"Someone's here to see you." She replied gravely, glancing at the man sitting, silent and subdued, at the breakfast bar in the kitchen.
"Who?" He demanded scratchily.
Nora took a deep breath. "It's Henry," she told him, loud and clear.
Almost immediately, the sound of his footfalls on the floorboards began to creak under his weight as he bound towards the kitchen. Nora wandered away from the threshold and over to the other side of the kitchen, picking up her drink.
"Can I get you-?" She offers, lifting her glass at the other man.
"No, thank you," Henry whispered, shaking his head. "I'm fine."
Alex entered hastily, pulling his undershirt out from where it was hanging, tucked into the back of his sweatpants. He glanced back and forth between the two people in his kitchen as he slipped the shirt over his head and tugged it down over his body.
"Hey," He murmured, tightly, not quite looking at the visitor as he reached for the bottle of scotch. "What's going on?"
"Hey," Henry returned, his voice a mere whisper.
His head was lowered, his blonde hair falling over the forehead on his bloodied face, as he breathed deep and heavy. Shakily, he lifts his fists onto the bench top, his fingers clasped together tightly. Alex's face changed instantly, and he stopped in his tracks as he noticed the cuts and grazes on the skin of his face.
Henry licked his lips and raised his head slightly, but not fully. He lurched towards Henry, sudden but careful. His eyes narrowed and his head ducked to examine Henry's pale, bloodied face. Henry drew in a breath as he felt Alex move closer. Then he sniffed bravely and saw Alex's honey brown eyes from behind his dark glasses.
Slowly, Alex reached out, his eyes fixed on Henry's face as he lifted the glasses off his eyes, sliding them back over his golden hair. His eyes are bloodshot with tears, but Henry refused to let them fall in front of him. Pushing Henry's golden hair off his face, so Alex could see it better.
Alex's keen eyes run over his face, carefully, furiously taking in his injuries. The graze on his cheek is large and swollen and there is a nasty, weeping gash above his left eye that looks quite deep. He dropped his gaze, biting his bottom lip and wincing at the cut in the corner. Alex's eyes travelled down over his figure, noticing Henry's ripped shirt, spotted with blood, and the bruise already forming on his exposed breastbone.
"Who? " Alex finally demanded hoarsely. There is venom in his voice and ice in veins, as his anger intensified, tenfold.
Henry gulped, the tears rising in his throat again. "He…."
"Who, Henry? " Alex demanded again, his tone gentle but resolute. "Give me his name."
"His name's-" He raised his head, looking him in the eye and letting out his breath. "Cole Berenton."
Alex pulled back, standing upright and staring at his hurt face with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Nora could see him mentally adding the man's name to his personal most wanted list.
"He's still in my apartment," Henry continued, making an effort to appear capable and composed for his colleague. He shrugged slightly, dropping his eyes from his incensed, intense expression, and added. "Possibly unconscious."
Alex pulls his cell from his pocket and begins stalking back and forth on the tile. "I'm calling Liam and Spencer. We can-"
"No," Henry spoke up desperately, sitting up in his chair and shaking his head vehemently.
Alex stopped immediately, cell phone in hand, and turned to meet his pleading eyes. His expression softened discernibly as he watched a few tears topple from Henry's eyelashes to his beautiful, but marred cheeks.
"I…" He faltered, his eyes wet and teary. "I don't want anyone else to know."
"Hen-" Alex started with a heavy sigh.
Henry interrupted him, putting his hands up in a defensive gesture. "I don't want to press charges," he muttered, his voice more steady. "I just…. I want him out of my place."
Alex put away his cell phone and moved towards him once more. He planted his hands on the wooden bench top, leaning in and peering closely at Henry, their faces mere inches apart.
"I can't do that, Henry," Alex told him firmly. "Liam can-"
"Yes, you can, Alex. Please." He murmured softly, holding his fierce gaze. "I know you can." Henry searched his eyes for a moment: "Please," He pleaded, earnestly. "Please, just do this for me."
Alex heaved unhappily, shaking his head. "At least let a doctor take a look at you." He mumbled quietly, his eyes skating over Henry's rumpled appearance once more.
"I'm fine," He reassured him, leaning a little closer. He smiled softly through his tears at Alex's unconvinced expression. "I promise." He whispered with a little nod.
"I could take a look at him." Nora offered, from her corner of the kitchen.
Both of them turn towards her with surprise, apparently having forgotten her presence. Two sets of dubious eyes assess her as Henry and Alex pull back from one another's personal space. She glanced from Henry to Alex and then back to Henry again.
"I'm a doctor." She told Henry calmly. "But we can keep it unofficial."
Alex turned back to Henry, brows lifted, a question in his eyes. Henry wavered. His blue eyes dropped briefly before climbing up to meet Alex's intent gaze. Then he nodded cautiously, in answer to Alex's query, as Nora watched their silent conversation unfold from afar.
Alex straightened again, striding to the vestibule and grabbing his jacket from the staircase banister. "Gimme your keys," He mumbled to Henry as he punched his hands into the sleeves of his jacket and slipped it over his shoulders.
Henry reached out, his hand resting over Alex's for a brief moment as he placed his apartment keys in Alex's palm. He stuffed them in his pocket, his eyes never leaving Henry's face.
"I won't be long," Alex softly promised, adjusting his collar. He glanced over at Nora. "Take care of him."
"I will." She replied, giving him a dim, little smile.
Alex took one last look at his colleague before he headed out of the kitchen, marching down the corridor and slamming the front door behind him.
Part III
"So, you're a doctor?" Henry asked anxiously, from where he sat on the blue bedspread of Alex's neatly made bed.
"A psychologist now," Nora answered from the adjoining bathroom where she was rummaging through the medicine cabinet. She can feel the man's shy but inquisitive gaze studying her behind her back; taking a thorough record of her hair and clothes and figure and words.
"I work as a grief counsellor." She continued, glancing over her shoulder at the younger man.
Picking up a bottle, she squinted at the label and turned, stepping back into the bedroom, cotton wool in her other hand. Henry's eyes retreated from his curious inspection.
Nora approached carefully, giving him a kind smile. "But before that, I worked in the ER, as a doctor for many years."
"Oh," nodded Henry, watching her uncap the bottle and wet the cotton swab with antiseptic ointment.
"Saw lots of cuts and bruises, in my time." She reassured him lightly. Setting the bottle on the bedside table, she put one hand under Henry's chin and gently tilted his face up.
Henry held himself still as she dabbed at the graze on his cheek. "You're a psychologist, now?" Henry murmured dubiously, after a short pause. "And you date Alex?"
Nora smiled softly at Henry "Kinda date, it's very casual. Dating Alex, it's a conundrum."
"I'll say." He replied, a little touch of humour in his voice. Henry winced slightly as the antiseptic penetrated the wound.
"Well…" Sighed Nora, leaning away to retrieve the bottle on the bedside table. "We don't talk about anything of substance, anyway." She admitted quietly, smearing more ointment on a fresh piece of cotton wool.
"Funny." Henry replied, his voice tentative and light. "I am aware of how Alex loves talking, about anything and everything."
Nora quirked an eyebrow faintly, her head bowed. "He doesn't." Nora replied, shortly. "Not to me, at least."
"Oh." Henry mumbled, his eyes dropping to the floorboards once more.
Nora stepped closer, putting a hand beneath her chin and lifting his face again. Furtively, she studied the gorgeous features of the other man as she swiped at his split lip with the salve. She noted the astute arch of his brows, the youthful roundness of his high-cut cheekbones and the slope of his nose.
"Well, he doesn't talk about his work," Nora continued in a casual tone "but sometimes he'll tell me a little about the team of lawyers he works with." Carefully, she placed the cotton wool over the cut above Henry's eye and held it there for a moment, meeting the blonde's circumspect gaze. Nora hesitated, before adding mildly. "He mentioned your name a while back."
A tiny spark went off in Henry's eyes before he lowered his blonde lashes to disguise it. "What did he say?" Henry couldn't help but ask, his tone shy and unsettled.
"Not much…." Nora shrugged in reply, dropping her hand away from Henry's brow. She stared at the man for an instant, then turned and headed back into the bathroom. "But I could tell he likes you," She remarked, over her shoulder. She pulled a washcloth out of the drawer and soaked it with warm water, glancing at the face of her patient in the mirror.
"Well," Henry mumbled, uncertainly. "He's been a great colleague to have around. He's… taught me a lot."
Nora said nothing more as she moved back to the bed and sat next to him. She lifted one of Henry's cut-up hands from his lap and started running the wash cloth over his skin, carefully washing off the blood.
"So, this Cole person…" She began tentatively, glancing at Henry's face. "Is he… boyfriend? Husband?"
"Oh, God. Neither," He huffed out loud. "Barely even a friend." He took a deep breath, shaking his head and found himself confessing. "We went out in college a couple of times. But we were never…." His voice trailed off and he bit down his lip, staring at his hands. "Tonight was just supposed to be dinner, you know? To reminisce over old times…. I don't know why he thought-"
"Doesn't matter what he thought," Nora muttered evenly, bathing the other hand with care. "That doesn't excuse him doing this to you."
"I know…" Henry nodded, his voice heavy and pensive.
"Did he…?" Nora started, closely watching his wounded face and stooped posture from the corner of her eye: "Henry, did he force himself on you…?"
He looks up suddenly, a little disconcerted. "No," He responded, shaking himself. "No. He didn't—he didn't rape me. He…didn't get that far…."
Nora nodded slowly, turning to grab the bottle of antiseptic again and beginning to smooth it over the scratches on his cold, red, bloodied hands. Henry took another deep, calmingly measured breath and they sat in silence for another long moment.
"Do you ever-" Henry paused briefly then turned to look the dark haired woman in the eye. "Do you ever get the feeling," He asked, bluntly. "That you are utterly pathetic at reading men?"
Nora smiled and lifted her eyebrows. "All the time," she nodded at him, ruefully.
"So, it's not just me then…" Henry sighed under his breath, feeling defeated and hopeless.
"No," she answers musingly. "It's not just you."
Peering at the back of his shirt, Nora noticed a gash in the material and hesitantly said. "Ah….do you know your shirt is ripped back here?"
"Oh," He hums, twisting and trying to get a look at his back: "He…I was… pushed against the bureau when we-"
"You better take it off," She urged gently. "Let me have a look."
Henry pursed his lips, then got to his feet. Slowly he unbuttoned the shirt and slipped it off his shoulders. He dropped it on the bed as Nora stepped behind him, running her eyes over his back.
There was a thin scrape crossing diagonally over his spine. It wasn't too deep, just long. However, what was more worrying was the bruise below it, right over his kidney. It is already purple and blue and slightly swollen. It looked more like a fist than a bureau but she doesn't say that. She heard Henry wince as she probed the area a little, checking for any serious damage.
"Your ribs feel okay?" Nora inquired quietly, moving her cool hands up his back.
"Yeah," Henry nodded, holding still as she proceeded to trace the outline of his ribcage with her fingers.
"Good, that's good…" Nora mused with a creased brow.
As she meticulously inspected the condition of the body in front of her, in exactly the same way she has with hundreds of others before, Nora can't seem to locate her usual professional detachment. She can't help but notice the younger skin and delicate curves, the gentle shape and toned muscles of her lovers' colleague.
She remembered having a body like this. She's shorter; but her figure has always been slim and sleek – like Henry's. Not that she had anything to feel ashamed of or disappointed by, now. She still has a form that can attract glances of admiration and desire; she still has a body that receives and appreciates physical intimacy.
Yet, unbidden to her mind came a startling vision of the brown hands and honey brown eyes she knows so well, caressing this body instead, this younger specimen, this man. She shook the notion from her brain, attempting to dismiss it as an unfounded and unlikely intuition.
There was something strangely iniquitous about the thought of these two men together. And yet, she had to admit, there was something vaguely touching and assuring about it. It's something that's obvious and perfect.
If this night had proven anything, it had shown her that this man who Nora has only just met – however younger, inexperienced or conservative; even seemingly unlikely, is certainly a match for Alex Claremont-Diaz in terms of strength and will, tenacity and courage. Henry is the sort of person he needs. He is the sort of man who needs a man like him, suits a man like him.
"This hurt at all?" Nora asked distantly, slipping her hands underneath Henry's arms and carefully checking the front of his ribcage for a sign of injury or discomfort.
"I think I'm fine," He murmured, shifting a little on his feet.
"Okay," She nodded quietly.
Nora took a breath as she withdrew her hands, content to accept Henry's personal diagnosis. Slowly, she heads over to the closet and opens the doors.
Inside, Alex's clothes are hung in neat sections, his shirts lined up like soldiers, ironed and starched and ready for duty. She slipped a white one off the hanger and walked back to Henry, who has his arms folded over his naked chest, as his eyes drift curiously about the bedroom of his colleague.
"Here," Nora offered, holding out the shirt with one finger hooked in the collar. "You can sleep in this."
"Thanks," He muttered, taking the shirt and looking uncertain for a moment. "Here?" He asked incredulously, pointing to Alex's bed with one finger.
"Someone should." Nora shrugged, then turned slowly and headed for the door. "I'll let you get some rest," she whispered, staring at him thoughtfully from the threshold: "Yell out, if you need anything."
"Thanks," Henry smiled weakly, clutching the shirt to his chest. She gingerly takes a seat on the big bed as the darked haired doctor closed the door behind her with a quiet thud.
Part IV
Nora is sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, nursing her fourth scotch, when she heard Alex come through the front door, closing it quietly behind him. He headed down the corridor towards the light in the kitchen, his footsteps heavy and unhurried. He barely looks at her as he grabs a mug and pours himself a serve of the smooth liquor.
"Did you get him?" She asked Alex gently, after a long silence.
"Yep," He nodded, taking a long sip. "Not before he destroyed half of his apartment, though."
Nora sighed, "Well, the main thing is that he's okay." She stated, smoothly.
Alex looked at her, his brow crumpled: "You checked him over?"
"Yeah," she answered, tilting her head to one side as her eyes scanned his face. "He didn't go easy on him. He's got a few nasty lacerations and he'll be a bit sensitive for a while. But, I'd say," She sighed faintly, lifting her drink. "The wounds are mostly internal."
"Where is he?" Alex asked, leaning back on the kitchen counter and scrubbing a hand through his dark mop of curls on top of his head.
"He's lying down." She told him in a hushed voice.
Alex looked up at her from under his manscaped brows. He faltered slightly, before frowning at her. "In my bed?"
"Yes," She replied, sharply. "He needed rest. And peace."
Alex nodded reluctantly in agreement, but was obviously uncomfortable with the idea. He moved forward, shoving himself off the counter. But before he could reach for it, she snatched the bottle of scotch and poured him another drink. He nodded his thanks, unsurprised by her pre-empting his craving. He let out a troubled sigh as he withdrew again, settling back against the kitchen counter.
"I don't know why he didn't come to me sooner." Alex muttered darkly, staring at the floor.
Nora gazed into her scotch glass. "From what he told me," She says carefully. "This was a one time occurrence. He doesn't seem like the type to put up with long term abuse."
Alex glanced at her once more from beneath his brows, his expression skeptical. She can see that he's not entirely convinced of her professional opinion concerning a man who he has known for three years, but she has only just met. He's seen more than his share of scumbags in his line of work. However, she's seen more of their handiwork and aftereffects. And she's fairly sure of her impression of his young colleague.
"And anyway," she added, more insistently: "He did come to you, Alex. As soon as he got out of there, he headed straight for your door."
He raised his head, pinning her with a narrowed, indignant look. "You make it sound like there's something wrong with that."
"No," Nora responded swiftly, shaking her head at him. "There's nothing 'wrong' with it." She shrugged, continuing in a tentative tone. "I mean…I find it a little strange that he didn't go to a friend or boyfriend, even an ex." She gestured at him with one hand, her voice remaining impartial. "She went to her colleague…" She paused, meeting his suspicious gaze with an open countenance. "But there's nothing wrong about that."
"Then, why do I feel like I'm being accused of something?" Alex demanded brusquely, his eyes spitting icy daggers at her from across the kitchen.
She sighed in frustration. "You're not being accused of anything." Nora assured him evenly, leaning across the countertop and trying to lessen the distance between them. They rarely talk this way with each other, and now she knows why. They really aren't very good at it.
"He trusts you," she reminds him gently, her eyes holding his. "That's a good thing."
Alex grimaced uncomfortably, averting his eyes from her perception and her understanding. He set his scotch aside and ran a hand over his face, huffing tiredly. She watched his movements closely, studying every facet of how he looks and moves and sounds, both impartial and tender in her regard. Then, she pushed her unfinished drink away from her and slipped off the high stool.
"I'm going to get moving," Nora murmured quietly, straightening her skirt.
Alex peered at her, his hand resting over his mouth. "You're not going to stay?" Alex mumbled out, surprised.
Her mouth turned up in one corner. "Where do you suggest I sleep?" She asked, lightly. "The sofa? It's too late for dinner and I don't intend to watch you rant about whatever enters your head, or watch you worry about Henry all night."
He stood up straight, shuffling on his feet. "But… what if he wakes up?"
"Well, you could try talking to him." Nora suggested, mirth written on her face as Alex catches her gaze over her shoulder, as she turns and heads for the front door.
He frowned as he followed her down the corridor, watching from a distance as she retrieved her bag and her coat from the stand by the door. She flicked a stray dark curl behind her ear and out from the collar of her dark coat and turned towards him.
"But whatever you do, Alex," She advised him in a quiet voice. "Be gentle with him."
He held his hands out at his sides and demanded exasperatedly. "What exactly do you think I'm gonna do to him?"
She stepped forward, levelling him with a flinty stare. "None of this is his fault."
"I know that" Alex retorted, indignantly.
"So, tell him that," She urged him, raising her eyebrows at his irritated expression. "He needs to hear it from someone he trusts. Maybe-" She stalled, turning towards the door before murmuring softly. "…maybe that's why he's here."
Alex strode forward, opening the door for her to exit and muttering mechanically. "I'll call you tomorrow."
"No," She replied, briskly and certainly, turning to him on the threshold. "You won't."
He glared at her incredulously. "I won't ?" Alex questioned her, pointedly.
"No," She repeated, adamantly and sure of herself. "And I don't want you to."
"Why?" He asked, his face creased with confusion.
It takes her over a minute to answer him. She slips on her gloves, staring at her hands as she tries to put words to what she feels in her gut, as she strives to fashion some sentence he will actually buy. The reasons have always been there, against them. They've both known it. They've both ignored it.
But that's not what he's asking for. What she needs now is an explanation for what has changed all of a sudden, why all those reasons matter now when they never did before. She looks back at his face, as her mind lights on the simplest summation she can create.
"Because" She mused, hesitantly: "Because… we're not good for each other, Alex." She sighed and shook her head: "I'm not sure that we ever were."
"Don't you think I should decide what's good for me?" He retorted testily, his eyes piercing her with their resentment.
"Yes," She replied mildly. "You should. You really should. And..," She moved a little closer to him, ignoring his hostility and laying a calm hand on his jacket. "If you would like my professional opinion on the matter, I would say- go upstairs - and talk to Henry."
"Henry?" He stuttered, dazed and lost: "What's Henry got to do with this?"
"He's got everything to do with it," Nora told him, a little irritation slipping into her smooth voice: "He's probably more a part of it than I am." She pursed her lips and admitted, somewhat reluctantly. "He'll be better for you than I ever was."
"So, I'm being dumped here?" He growled, impatiently. "Is that what you're telling me?"
She wet her lips and took a deep breath. "What's good for me," She told him evenly. "Is a clean break. So, do me a favour," she tips her head to one side, her eyes glinting sadly. "Don't call me… don't fight me… don't follow me…." She moves closer and puts a hand on his cheek: "Just let me go and with some time and distance, maybe we can be friends."
"Nora-" Alex protested, but the words died in his throat as she leaned in and planted a lingering, tender kiss on his cheek.
"Bye, Alejandro." She breathed out, drawing back, a thoughtful expression passing across her face.
She stepped away from him, the silence stretching between their bodies. Stopping on the first step, she turned back to him, standing solid and stunned in the entrance, his hand gripping the door and his face stoney.
She swallowed tightly, her heart softening. "Take care of him," She nodded, holding his eyes for an instant. And when he didn't give any response, she descended the rest of the stairs and walked away. Not looking back as she slipped off, quickly into the chill of the night.
Part V
There is a soft knock at the door before it opens. Henry's not asleep. He sits up in his bed, clasping the sheet to his waist as Alex poked his head through the door. He looks tiny to Alex, sitting in the dim wash of the old lamp by his bed.
"Hey," he murmured softly.
"Hey," Henry replied in a whisper.
He pauses with uncertainty. "Can I come in?" Alex eventually asked hesitantly.
"Mm hm." Henry nodded at him, through hooded eyes.
The silent air is tense and fragile. He can see that Henry's eyes are still rimmed with redness and insecurity. His body language is shy and crushed as he huddles under his sheets, crossing his legs beneath the heavy covers.
"Did you…? Um…?" Henry asked in a mumble dimly, not finishing his thought.
He glanced at his face as Alex took off his jacket and hooked it over the bedpost. He knows what Henry's trying to ask. He wants to know whether or not he found the charming Cole Berenton in his apartment. And whether he thrashed him within an inch of his life or sent the bastard on his way without legalese as he'd requested. Alex planted his hands on the railing at the foot of the bed, bowing his head and staring at the worn bedspread.
"I escorted Mr. Berenton home," Alex muttered through gritted teeth. He really thought he should have called his buddies Liam and Spencer to deal with him. But Henry had pleaded with him, and he couldn't say no to him.
Cole Berenton was in even worse shape than Henry. But Alex had expected that. Must have been quite a match, not that the man deserved any pity. He got exactly what he deserved; less than, in fact. Henry Fox was not someone to be taken on lightly. And it took a hell of a lot to rattle the lawyer from London, with the cute English accent.
Alex had known by the state of him when he'd turned up at his house, that his opponent would be an absolute mess. But, despite his dark and vicious visions of revenge, he'd done only what Henry had asked of him. He'd hauled the half-conscious son-of-a-bitch out of his place, locked the door securely and drove the asshole to his hotel.
He knew where the loser was staying now. And he didn't let him out of the car before explaining in graphic and numbing detail just how pointless his life would be if he so much as cast a thought in the direction of Henry Fox again.
"I still think not pressing charges is a mistake," Alex sighed heavily, shaking his head: "This guy assaulted you. Liam and Spencer would be discreet for you, Hen."
Henry is silent for a long moment. "I have my reasons," He muttered quietly, partially to himself. "Believe me…"
"It's your call, Hen." Alex grimaced, reluctantly. He harshly took a breath before releasing in a fierce rush: "But if he comes near you again-" Alex clenched his jaw tightly, clutching the wooden railing and glaring at the blue bedspread. "You've gotta promise me-"
"I'll tell you, Alex." He nodded quietly, his face grim and drawn. "I promise."
Alex raised his head finally to look at her. His blue eyes seem larger on his pale face, and they smoulder with subdued fire. He finds himself immensely relieved that that unique spark he admires in Henry so much, and has done from the very beginning, has not been stamped out entirely by the night's unpleasant events.
Henry gazed at his hands in his lap, then took a breath and mumbled slowly. "I'm sorry about all this, Alex…"
He shakes his head weakly and moves closer. "Don't apologise," he muttered, taking a seat at the foot of the bed.
"I know, I know," Hummed Henry, smiling ruefully. "It's a sign of a weakened facade."
"No," Alex stated, clearly and firmly. "Not what I meant."
Alex looked up, his eyes steady on Henry's, despite their shattering vulnerability. He gritted his jaw a few times and swallowed the assurances he wanted to give him sticking in his throat.
"There's nothing to apologise for," Alex murmured finally, his voice low and slow: "You did the right thing - I'm glad you came to me."
His words sound awkward and forced, even to his own ears. He usually avoided this sort of talk as a rule, especially when he was with Nora, and his rawness seems to be showing. He feels like he should reach out with some gesture of comfort, give Henry a friendly pat on the knee or something, but they're sitting too far apart for it to seem natural.
Instead, he planted his hands on his knees and bobbed his head as he gazed about at his bedroom walls. He never realised how dull and tiny his bedroom really is. He feels a little embarrassed by the state of his bedroom.
After a short while, he looks back at Henry, his eyes downcast, hands folded in his lap and hair falling over his eyes. His cheeks are ruddy from fresh tears and the wounds he can see on the pale skin have already started to turn purple.
"How're you feeling?" Alex inquired gently, moving half a step closer to him.
Henry sniffed and rolled his eyes heavenwards. "Stupid." He muttered, bluntly. He shook his head and spreads his hands in a frustrated gesture: "I should've-"
"It's not your fault, Hen." Alex reminded him instantly and insistently. Thankfully, this time the words leave his mouth easily and freely.
Henry met his eyes momentarily and sighs, not convinced of his own innocence. He shook his head again, Henry's eyes drifting over Alex's shoulder. His thoughts obviously possessed some earlier word or deed.
He leans in closer to him. "It's not your fault," Alex reiterated, his voice firm, his eyes fixed on Henry's face. He sees his blue eyes well with another bout of reluctant tears.
"I feel like it is!" He sobbed faintly, his body tensing up as the tears fall down his cheeks: "I feel like—"
Alex shifted closer, scooting up beside him on the bed. He puts an arm around Henry's shaking shoulders and draws his head onto his chest. Henry fell against him, softening into his sheltering embrace. Gradually, release overcomes his smaller frame, and he lets his sobs free, his hands curled tight against Alex's chest, his hot face pressed into his shirt.
"S'okay, s'okay," Alex whispered as Henry wept in his arms, taking safe refuge in their uncustomary intimacy. "I've got you, Henry." Murmuring as he rocked Henry back and forth slightly, in a comforting manner. One hand smoothed gently over his hair, pushing it back from his flushed face. "I've got you, Hen…."
As his sobs subsided, he moved up the bed further, sitting himself against the headboard and drawing Henry closer to him. Alex crossed his legs at the ankle and opened his arms, urging him into the safety of his arms. Shyly, gratefully, Henry snuggled into him, moving closer.
Alex stroked his shoulder, his arm, his hair as he carefully rested his cheek on his chest. Pulling the blue covers up over him, he peered down at his faraway expression, Henry's eyes still wet with his troubled tears.
"Hey," Alex murmured, teasingly, as Alex attempted to draw his attention, his smile. "You don't think I'd ever let anything happen to you, do you?"
Henry's darkened eyes glanced up at him, uncertainty written on his face.. "I can look after myself," Henry muttered, halfheartedly into Alex's soaked shirt.
"I know," Alex nodded and paused, as his hand skated down Henry's arm. "But if… you couldn't…" He shrugged, keeping his voice light and even. "If you ever need help…"
He tilted his head down to look at him and Henry tilted his back to meet Alex's resolute gaze. He sniffed, blinking up at him expectantly.
"I've got your back, Henry Fox." Alex whispered, giving him a half-smile and a wink.
Henry stared up at him for a moment, then with a pensive nod, he lowered his face. Henry wiped at her moist cheeks as he laid his head back on Alex's shirt. One of Alex's hands moved of its own accord, carefully to rest under Henry's chin, flat on his chest. Alex took a deep breath, shifting slightly against Henry's softer weight.
"That's good to know." Henry finally answered, his voice smooth and sleepy.
"Yeah, well…." Alex shrugged, but he couldn't think of any way to complete the sentence.
"Just so you know," Henry sighed, giving his chest a light, affectionate pat. "I've got your back too, Alex."
"Good. That's good," Alex nodded and smiled warmly, squeezing his shoulder with one hand. "I, for one," Alex decidedly admitted "Feel a hell of a lot safer."
Henry giggled softly at Alex's antics. "Me too."
Alex found himself smiling and looking down at Henry's face as his eyes close over and his breathing started to deepen. He watched Henry for a little while, his eyes and thoughts completely taken with the delicate peace of Henry's serene face, the soft warmth of his body curled next to his, and the precious swelling of emotion in his chest.
When the feeling became too much, Alex surrendered it to the darkness, he pressed his lips to Henry's forehead, reaching across to turn out the light. A moment later, his eyes drift shut too and sleep overcomes them together.
-x-
Sitting outside in her silver Ford Focus on the opposite side of the road, Nora saw the light go off in the upstairs bedroom, leaving the whole house dark. This is what comes from avoiding love, avoiding life, she thinks. You end up on the outside of it, looking in.
She never meant to care for Alex Claremont-Diaz, the way she grew to. And, yet, walking out on him had been one of the easiest things she'd ever done in her life.
Perhaps it's because he barely fought to keep her, barely tried to stop her leaving his life; albeit momentarily. Perhaps it's simply because she knew it was the right thing and the right time for both of them to move on.
Or, perhaps, it's that she has already experienced great love in her lifetime; and she knows that whatever it was they shared was not the same thing. That they would be better off as friends.
What she and Patrick had felt for one another was deep and unconditional and joyous and immense. To lose that at the ripe old age of forty-two seemed to be a dirty, sadistic joke on behalf of the universe and left a hole in her heart that the world couldn't fill. She was too old to find a new love and too young to curl up and die.
As she wiped the tears from her eyes, she chided herself that she doesn't intend to compromise her heart again for anything less than the real deal. If it can happen to Alex Claremont-Diaz, then it is possible for her too.
So, if she gets another chance at true love - next time, she won't think twice. And, for Henry's sake, she hopes Alex won't either.
Part VI
ONE YEAR LATER
Nora is walking out of her new office, to her car after a long day of patient appointments, eager for a glass of scotch and some alone time. Laughter; loud and unbridled broke through the stress of her day, startling her. Looking up, she smiled, as her eyes laid upon the familiar couple.
Alex and Henry.
Alex was smiling into Henry's lips as he kissed the blonde man against Alex's truck, lovingly and passionately. His tongue slipped between the slit of the blonde man's lips. Henry's hands grasped to regain their purchase on Alex's body, as Henry slotted his thigh between Alex's parted legs.
She recognised the look of lust, want and desire written on her former flame's face.
With her gentle push, Alex and Henry had found one another.
Maybe there was still hope for her, too.