remember those walls i built?
Title: Pen, Ink and Words On Paper
Fandom: Wire in the Blood
Character/s: Alex Fielding, Tony Hill
Spoilers: For ‘Prayer of the Bone’, kind of, although this is set between 6.01 & 6.02.
Warning: FLUFF.
Word Count: 3,000 ish
Disclaimer: Not mine, don’t sue.
Summary: Alex is sick and tired of Tony’s worst habit. Or so she says.
Author’s Note: Pen fluff for mammothluv, who is awesome. Enjoy.
~
The very last straw snaps on a Tuesday morning.
Not even the deepest depths of her bag reveals the slightest hint of plastic and ink, and she’s left tapping out notes onto her phone, an activity which happens to lie around the number three mark of things which annoy her most, behind the way Ben leaves his jacket hooked over the banister of the staircase, but before Tony’s habit of falling asleep on her couch when she’s mid-sentence.
The walk back down the high street from the suspect’s nightclub takes her past an endless stream of glittering windows garlanded with the rich greens and reds of Christmas-coloured ribbons, and she’s reminded of the shopping she still has to do, and the plans she’s yet to make for the day itself. It’s due to snow, a whitewashed downpour that Ben is looking forward to immensely, and the prospect of driving north and leaving Bradfield behind for Christmas strikes an inexplicably dull thud in her chest. She likes it here, even though she thought she wouldn’t; there’s something she feels she’s found in the grey streets and sky, in the rain and the perpetually-lit woodsmoke fires clogging the air. She likes the city, but she’s not fool enough to convince herself that the company she’s found within it isn’t more than half the reason.
Thinking of Tony only reminds her of the pens, but the expected spark of annoyance doesn’t come; instead her eyes drift mostly of their own accord to the small, starkly luxurious shopfront, nestled like a secret between two bars, both closed up and dark to bide away the daylight hours.
A gentle chime rings, subtle and expensive, as she steps beyond the heavy glass doors, and a small man with fairy floss hair wearing an immaculate designer suit appears silently behind the counter, his eyes alight with expectation.
It takes almost an hour, and she never would’ve thought, but when she leaves her credit card is considerably lighter and the package is tucked, delicately wrapped in silver and black paper, safe into the depths of her bag. The rain doesn’t stop her from smiling, as she returns to her car.
*
She doesn’t get the opportunity to ask for over a week, doesn’t even see Tony in the midst of paperwork for her case, which should’ve gone to Vice, anyway, and she assumes he’s equally occupied with marking essays and exams and navigating his way through the endless parade of pre-Christmas social events which she is certain make up the highlight of the university year, for the rest of the staff at least. She shoves aside the niggling disappointment that accompanies the lack of any invitation at all from him, reminding herself that he doesn’t do social very well in the best of circumstances, and that he probably assumes she’s just as busy as he is, and wouldn’t attend anyway.
As it is, it’s the Thursday before a Sunday Christmas when the opportunity finally does present itself, and it occurs to her as he’s stretching out his legs along the length of the couch in her office that she might have left it too late. She watches him, hiding her amusement, as he crosses his ankles and tucks his hands behind his head, looking both disconcertingly handsome and impossibly relaxed. Too relaxed, she thinks, and he seems to anticipate her line of questioning when his cheeks flush crimson and his eyes skate briefly away from hers.
“It was just a few glasses of champagne, Alex. A sort of morning tea thing, not a big deal. It’s not like I’m drunk or anything.”
She can’t seem to resist folding her arms across her chest and narrowing her eyes at him, as she leans back against the edge of her desk, still contemplating exactly how she’s going to broach the subject.
“You know it’s really impossible to avoid those faculty drinks things at Christmas time, Alex. I didn’t have a choice.”
His voice is hitching up just enough at the corners to demonstrate his indignance, and she presses her lips hard together, biting back her smile.
“You didn’t have a choice as to whether or not to start drinking at eleven in the morning?”
He tries unsuccessfully to frown, ends up smiling instead, and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners is enough to spur her on.
“Do you have any more college functions, then?”
“No, that’s it, last one. I think I’ve done rather well, Alex, I was in attendance at every single event I was invited to!”
He’s pleased with himself, and she lets herself smile this time. He grins again, eyes cast down toward his feet, and she makes up her mind.
“Tony… what plans do you have for Christmas?”
His face turns thoughtful, and she has that unnerving sense that he’s staring right into her, which she still isn’t quite used to.
“I haven’t thought about it.”
She nods, slowly, and waits a beat or two, while Tony gazes up at her, head tilted at its usual curious angle.
“Well, I was thinking…”
She begins, and can’t think how to continue, and Tony is still gazing, still staring at her like he wants nothing more than the chance to decipher the deepest mysteries hidden in the back of her mind. He says nothing, just waits, and she draws in a breath, and attempts to convince herself to grow up, and get a grip.
“I was wondering if you might want to come over, on Christmas Eve, for a bit. It’ll just be me and Ben, and I’ll cook, and… well, there’ll be presents. For you. If you want to, I mean. If you want to come over.”
The silence is horrific, and for the longest moment she wonders if she’s misjudged everything, but soon enough he smiles again, and the breath rushes out of her, leaving her feeling almost light-headed.
“I’d love to, Alex.”
They make plans, she tries unsuccessfully to assure him he needn’t buy any gifts or go to any trouble, and it’s only after she’s shooed him from her office and resettled herself behind her desk that she allows herself to relax, relief vying with anticipation and a grin threatening to break across her face that even Kevin notices, when he delivers a mountainload of files onto her desk.
*
Cooking keeps both her mind and her hands occupied, and by the time evening descends the kitchen is strewn with delicate, translucent curtains of pasta, and Ben is covered head to toe in flour, and grinning. The tree standing in the corner of the living room near the fire is small but lush, and glorious with silver bows, twinkling white lights and topped with a lopsided star. The presents are assembled neatly beneath it, the box with the glossy black paper sitting right in the middle.
Ben sets candles on every available surface and she follows behind him, lighting them in turn, and by the time they are finished the house is ablaze and she finds herself feeling surprisingly festive, despite her expectations. They click off the lights as the doorbell sounds, and she hangs back in the kitchen, letting her son race down the hall, his quick footsteps thunderously loud with excitement. She picks up a dishtowel, sets it down again, stirs the enormous pot simmering on the stove, thinks about which bottle of wine to open, checks her hair and makeup in the reflection in the microwave door, tugs at the errant bra strap put mistakenly on display by her sweater, and then waits.
At the last minute she thinks to turn away from the doorway, to look occupied instead of hopelessly expectant, but by then it’s far too late, and he’s there, a bag overburdened with gifts wrapped in bright red paper in one hand, bottles of wine tucked under the other arm, and a smile on his face that she isn’t sure she’s ever seen before.
“Hi.”
She manages to reply, vaguely registering the way Ben is grinning wickedly at Tony’s side, but can’t successfully shift her eyes from Tony’s face as he advances on her, his smile not wavering a millimetre.
“Thanks for coming.”
Her voice sounds utterly pathetic to her own ears; small and slightly terrified, and Ben seizes the bag of presents from Tony’s hand, and says something about putting them under the tree.
He’s close now, and she’s reminded that she’s not wearing heels, because he seems to be towering over her, smiling down at her. He hands over the wine, and she takes the opportunity to look away from him, feigning interest in the labels as she turns the bottles over in her hands.
“Thanks for inviting me.”
When she looks back up he’s still there, still close, still smiling, and she absolutely never expected him to kiss her, not even if it is on the cheek, but he does, and her very lungs and heart seem to seize up and still within her chest.
It’s over far too quickly, and when she opens her eyes he’s not looking at her anymore, not smiling, but staring away to the left, and it feels like something’s shifted. Whether that something is good or bad, she can’t seem to tell, but she musters fortitude from somewhere, and begins filling him on the menu, and her afternoon of endless dough-kneading. By the time she stops talking, he’s smiling again.
*
They eat, and drink, and the wine is good and the food excellent, and Ben is surprisingly subdued, his eyes following the movement of the conversation like he’s watching tennis. They leave the dishes scattered about the kitchen but take the wine, and Ben is headfirst into the presents before they can even sit down before the fire.
The room becomes a flurry of gold and silver and sparkles as paper rips, and Ben is both overjoyed with and wholly occupied by what is in no doubt an excessively good haul. Nerves flutter delicately in her stomach, and Alex sets the black and silver box in Tony’s lap. He picks it up, gives it a quick comic shake beside his ear, grins and reaches behind him to hand over a package of his own into her hands.
She feels like a kid, and it’s been so long since Christmas has made her feel that way. She nods at the gift in Tony’s fingers.
“You first.”
“No, you.”
She can’t help rolling her eyes, but it’s only a half-hearted gesture, and she knows her smile doesn’t shift all the while.
“Just open it, Tony.”
For a second or two she’s amazed by how much he resembles Ben, but he manages to unwrap the paper and untie the ribbon with at least a degree of restraint, and when the small suede box is revealed she knows she’s got him, his curiosity piqued.
She watches him closely, and thinks of the little man with the fairy floss hair, telling her with rapturous eyes about minerals and gemstones, the soothing properties of onyx, of the way light can suspend itself within the frozen seawater blue of lapiz lazuli.
She watches as he takes the pen in his fingers, turning it over, his eyes narrowed in fascination as he lifts his head to meet her gaze.
“Alex…”
If she were braver, she could tell him that she chose the night-sky onyx in the hopes it might calm his wildest of mental frenzies, the heliotrope ink in the cartridge because it seemed to stand out as he does, and as such suit him best, and the lapiz lazuli because it reminded her of his eyes, but she isn’t brave enough, it seems.
“Alex. It’s a pen.”
Tension drains from her and is immediately chased by disappointment; perhaps he won’t understand, won’t get the significance until she spells it out in front of him.
“Yeah. It’s a pen, Tony.”
He looks at her, like he’s still mystified by something only he can see inside her head, or somewhere deeper, and she releases a breath that sounds like a sigh. From the floor by the fire, Ben is watching, listening.
He makes a perplexing face.
“It’s very nice.”
She laughs, because she could easily cry, and it’s so utterly terrifying, just how easily she finds herself enthralled by him.
“Tony, there’s a reason I got you a pen.”
“There is?”
“And I didn’t just get you a pen, by the way. I looked for hours, I chose it, picked it out from bloody hundreds of pens, because it was the only one that was perfect.”
The parallel in her words sounds so clear to her own ears she’s stupefied that he doesn’t get it. He just keeps watching her, intrigued, interested. He doesn’t remember the messages he left on her phone, obviously can’t remember the thing he admitted, and that fact makes her feel unreasonably melancholy.
“I got you a pen, Tony, so you wouldn’t feel the need to keep stealing all mine.”
She’s expecting him to smile, or laugh, to give her that amused and vaguely flirtatious look he gives her now and then, but to her shock his face falls. He looks away, glances down at Ben and gives her son a ghost of a smile, turns to stare into the fire. He looks miserable, and she’s stumped.
“Tony…”
“Look, I’m sorry, Alex. I’m sorry I take your stuff, and I’m sorry that it obviously annoys you.”
“Tony!”
Alarm courses through her, and he’s standing up, walking back out into the kitchen, away from Ben’s ears, one hand on his hip, the other raking through his hair, over and over, like he does when stress is gnawing away at him. She follows, finds him leaning palms down over her kitchen sink. His face is reflected in the black glass of the window before him, but she can’t see his eyes.
“You didn’t have to spend a fortune to tell me to stop nicking your things, Alex. You could have just asked me. In fact, I find this whole thing rather passive-aggressive and quite unlike you, if I may say-”
“Tony.”
He stops talking, because she’s laid her hand on his back, and it feels as if the warmth of his skin and the rivet of his spine will become etched into her palm, if she gave it enough time. He turns around, and the last time she saw him look this hurt was not so long ago, in the hallway at work as they shouted and cast blows at one other. The pen is still in his hand, the vein of perfect blue catching the light and glinting, like the candles cast around the room.
She takes it out of his hand, looks closely at it, amazed again at the quiet, unexpected beauty of it, the mastery of the craftsmanship. She keeps looking at it, because it’s easier than looking at him, as she speaks.
“This pen will last forever, Tony, it’ll last a hell of a lot longer than one you pinch out of my desk drawer. I wanted you to have it, to have something perfect that you’ll always have, that’ll never stop working and will always be beautiful. I chose it for you. I wanted to give it to you, so you could keep it, not so you’d get some bloody subliminal message about stationary.”
A pause, and then he looks chastised. He takes the pen back from her, bowing his head to look closely at it, and the sheer tenderness in his hands as they cradle it seems to wrench something loose within her, but he doesn’t notice. He lifts his head.
“I’m sorry, Alex. It really is very nice.”
She closes her eyes, hears him chuckling softly. Feels his fingers curve around the point of her elbow.
“Come on, you’ve still got to open my present.”
Ben stares up at them as they return to the warmth of the living room, and she catches the tail end of fear on his face, before he braves a hopeful smile. The thing that wrenched loose twists somewhere near her stomach, and she gives him the most reassuring look she can, and touches Tony’s arm for good measure as they sit down. This seems enough to pacify her son, for the time being, and he returns to his assortment of treasures.
Tony hands her the package, again. It’s rather heavy, for its size, but she can feel a spine, the smoothness of a hardback cover. Tony hovers, and his face has returned to happiness, to anticipation.
She slides the loosely looped red ribbon off, slices through the join in the paper with a fingernail, and beneath her hand Tony’s face appears, in black and white, a headshot that makes him look far too dashing for his own good, in her opinion.
She turns it over, recognises the title. She can’t help herself from frowning, puzzled.
“Your new book? I didn’t think it was coming out yet?”
“It’s not, this is an advance copy.”
“Oh.”
The smallest note of disappointment seems so obvious in her voice, and she curses herself, but Tony doesn’t seem to notice. He sits up straighter, looks closely at her again.
“It’s not the book, Alex, the book doesn’t matter. Open it.”
She does, and a shimmer of pride hits her as his full name, and qualifications, appears before her eyes in a stately font.
“Not that page. Keep going, Alex.”
He’s excited now, expectant, and Ben has wandered over, his small hand on her shoulder, fingers digging into her collarbone, as if he’s holding on for dear life.
The pages turn, pristine and sharp-edged. It’s Ben who spots it first, her name.
“What’s that?” He points, excited, and Tony leans back against the couch, suddenly looking extraordinarily pleased with himself.
The page swims beneath her eyes. Ben is beaming, adoration radiating from his tiny face as Tony smiles contentedly, but she can’t bring herself to look directly at either of them.
She reads the short, perfect line of text, again and again.
For Alex, who saved me.
Ben has gone, returned to his spot cross-legged before the fire, and Tony remains quiet. When she lifts her head to look at him, he isn’t smiling any more, just watching her, as closely as ever. The loosened thing inside her has dissolved, or so it feels.
“Alex?”
Nothing comes out, when she tries to speak. He smiles again, stretches his legs out across her couch, nudges her knee with his foot. She presses her lips fiercely together, manages a smile.
“Tony…”
“Well, you do, you know. You have, numerous times. Saved me. You… seem to keep doing it.”
There still aren’t any words within her, barely breath to spare with the way her pulse is forcing her blood to fly along her veins.
His eyes are lapiz lazuli, bluer than just about anything she’s seen before, and she can’t escape them, but this is nothing new.
Ben is humming to himself, ignoring them in a very obvious fashion, grinning down at the toy in his hands. The fire crackles, murmurs, casts amber light around the room.
The hall clock chimes. Christmas day dawns, but outside the windows it’s still dark, still snowing.
Tony nudges her leg again, his face utterly serious.
“Alex?”
She meets his eyes.
“Don’t stop.”
She waits.
“Don’t stop saving me. Please.”
He’s tucked the pen into his breast pocket, over his heart. Her voice returns, finally.
“I won’t.”
~
Fandom: Wire in the Blood
Character/s: Alex Fielding, Tony Hill
Spoilers: For ‘Prayer of the Bone’, kind of, although this is set between 6.01 & 6.02.
Warning: FLUFF.
Word Count: 3,000 ish
Disclaimer: Not mine, don’t sue.
Summary: Alex is sick and tired of Tony’s worst habit. Or so she says.
Author’s Note: Pen fluff for mammothluv, who is awesome. Enjoy.
~
The very last straw snaps on a Tuesday morning.
Not even the deepest depths of her bag reveals the slightest hint of plastic and ink, and she’s left tapping out notes onto her phone, an activity which happens to lie around the number three mark of things which annoy her most, behind the way Ben leaves his jacket hooked over the banister of the staircase, but before Tony’s habit of falling asleep on her couch when she’s mid-sentence.
The walk back down the high street from the suspect’s nightclub takes her past an endless stream of glittering windows garlanded with the rich greens and reds of Christmas-coloured ribbons, and she’s reminded of the shopping she still has to do, and the plans she’s yet to make for the day itself. It’s due to snow, a whitewashed downpour that Ben is looking forward to immensely, and the prospect of driving north and leaving Bradfield behind for Christmas strikes an inexplicably dull thud in her chest. She likes it here, even though she thought she wouldn’t; there’s something she feels she’s found in the grey streets and sky, in the rain and the perpetually-lit woodsmoke fires clogging the air. She likes the city, but she’s not fool enough to convince herself that the company she’s found within it isn’t more than half the reason.
Thinking of Tony only reminds her of the pens, but the expected spark of annoyance doesn’t come; instead her eyes drift mostly of their own accord to the small, starkly luxurious shopfront, nestled like a secret between two bars, both closed up and dark to bide away the daylight hours.
A gentle chime rings, subtle and expensive, as she steps beyond the heavy glass doors, and a small man with fairy floss hair wearing an immaculate designer suit appears silently behind the counter, his eyes alight with expectation.
It takes almost an hour, and she never would’ve thought, but when she leaves her credit card is considerably lighter and the package is tucked, delicately wrapped in silver and black paper, safe into the depths of her bag. The rain doesn’t stop her from smiling, as she returns to her car.
*
She doesn’t get the opportunity to ask for over a week, doesn’t even see Tony in the midst of paperwork for her case, which should’ve gone to Vice, anyway, and she assumes he’s equally occupied with marking essays and exams and navigating his way through the endless parade of pre-Christmas social events which she is certain make up the highlight of the university year, for the rest of the staff at least. She shoves aside the niggling disappointment that accompanies the lack of any invitation at all from him, reminding herself that he doesn’t do social very well in the best of circumstances, and that he probably assumes she’s just as busy as he is, and wouldn’t attend anyway.
As it is, it’s the Thursday before a Sunday Christmas when the opportunity finally does present itself, and it occurs to her as he’s stretching out his legs along the length of the couch in her office that she might have left it too late. She watches him, hiding her amusement, as he crosses his ankles and tucks his hands behind his head, looking both disconcertingly handsome and impossibly relaxed. Too relaxed, she thinks, and he seems to anticipate her line of questioning when his cheeks flush crimson and his eyes skate briefly away from hers.
“It was just a few glasses of champagne, Alex. A sort of morning tea thing, not a big deal. It’s not like I’m drunk or anything.”
She can’t seem to resist folding her arms across her chest and narrowing her eyes at him, as she leans back against the edge of her desk, still contemplating exactly how she’s going to broach the subject.
“You know it’s really impossible to avoid those faculty drinks things at Christmas time, Alex. I didn’t have a choice.”
His voice is hitching up just enough at the corners to demonstrate his indignance, and she presses her lips hard together, biting back her smile.
“You didn’t have a choice as to whether or not to start drinking at eleven in the morning?”
He tries unsuccessfully to frown, ends up smiling instead, and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners is enough to spur her on.
“Do you have any more college functions, then?”
“No, that’s it, last one. I think I’ve done rather well, Alex, I was in attendance at every single event I was invited to!”
He’s pleased with himself, and she lets herself smile this time. He grins again, eyes cast down toward his feet, and she makes up her mind.
“Tony… what plans do you have for Christmas?”
His face turns thoughtful, and she has that unnerving sense that he’s staring right into her, which she still isn’t quite used to.
“I haven’t thought about it.”
She nods, slowly, and waits a beat or two, while Tony gazes up at her, head tilted at its usual curious angle.
“Well, I was thinking…”
She begins, and can’t think how to continue, and Tony is still gazing, still staring at her like he wants nothing more than the chance to decipher the deepest mysteries hidden in the back of her mind. He says nothing, just waits, and she draws in a breath, and attempts to convince herself to grow up, and get a grip.
“I was wondering if you might want to come over, on Christmas Eve, for a bit. It’ll just be me and Ben, and I’ll cook, and… well, there’ll be presents. For you. If you want to, I mean. If you want to come over.”
The silence is horrific, and for the longest moment she wonders if she’s misjudged everything, but soon enough he smiles again, and the breath rushes out of her, leaving her feeling almost light-headed.
“I’d love to, Alex.”
They make plans, she tries unsuccessfully to assure him he needn’t buy any gifts or go to any trouble, and it’s only after she’s shooed him from her office and resettled herself behind her desk that she allows herself to relax, relief vying with anticipation and a grin threatening to break across her face that even Kevin notices, when he delivers a mountainload of files onto her desk.
*
Cooking keeps both her mind and her hands occupied, and by the time evening descends the kitchen is strewn with delicate, translucent curtains of pasta, and Ben is covered head to toe in flour, and grinning. The tree standing in the corner of the living room near the fire is small but lush, and glorious with silver bows, twinkling white lights and topped with a lopsided star. The presents are assembled neatly beneath it, the box with the glossy black paper sitting right in the middle.
Ben sets candles on every available surface and she follows behind him, lighting them in turn, and by the time they are finished the house is ablaze and she finds herself feeling surprisingly festive, despite her expectations. They click off the lights as the doorbell sounds, and she hangs back in the kitchen, letting her son race down the hall, his quick footsteps thunderously loud with excitement. She picks up a dishtowel, sets it down again, stirs the enormous pot simmering on the stove, thinks about which bottle of wine to open, checks her hair and makeup in the reflection in the microwave door, tugs at the errant bra strap put mistakenly on display by her sweater, and then waits.
At the last minute she thinks to turn away from the doorway, to look occupied instead of hopelessly expectant, but by then it’s far too late, and he’s there, a bag overburdened with gifts wrapped in bright red paper in one hand, bottles of wine tucked under the other arm, and a smile on his face that she isn’t sure she’s ever seen before.
“Hi.”
She manages to reply, vaguely registering the way Ben is grinning wickedly at Tony’s side, but can’t successfully shift her eyes from Tony’s face as he advances on her, his smile not wavering a millimetre.
“Thanks for coming.”
Her voice sounds utterly pathetic to her own ears; small and slightly terrified, and Ben seizes the bag of presents from Tony’s hand, and says something about putting them under the tree.
He’s close now, and she’s reminded that she’s not wearing heels, because he seems to be towering over her, smiling down at her. He hands over the wine, and she takes the opportunity to look away from him, feigning interest in the labels as she turns the bottles over in her hands.
“Thanks for inviting me.”
When she looks back up he’s still there, still close, still smiling, and she absolutely never expected him to kiss her, not even if it is on the cheek, but he does, and her very lungs and heart seem to seize up and still within her chest.
It’s over far too quickly, and when she opens her eyes he’s not looking at her anymore, not smiling, but staring away to the left, and it feels like something’s shifted. Whether that something is good or bad, she can’t seem to tell, but she musters fortitude from somewhere, and begins filling him on the menu, and her afternoon of endless dough-kneading. By the time she stops talking, he’s smiling again.
*
They eat, and drink, and the wine is good and the food excellent, and Ben is surprisingly subdued, his eyes following the movement of the conversation like he’s watching tennis. They leave the dishes scattered about the kitchen but take the wine, and Ben is headfirst into the presents before they can even sit down before the fire.
The room becomes a flurry of gold and silver and sparkles as paper rips, and Ben is both overjoyed with and wholly occupied by what is in no doubt an excessively good haul. Nerves flutter delicately in her stomach, and Alex sets the black and silver box in Tony’s lap. He picks it up, gives it a quick comic shake beside his ear, grins and reaches behind him to hand over a package of his own into her hands.
She feels like a kid, and it’s been so long since Christmas has made her feel that way. She nods at the gift in Tony’s fingers.
“You first.”
“No, you.”
She can’t help rolling her eyes, but it’s only a half-hearted gesture, and she knows her smile doesn’t shift all the while.
“Just open it, Tony.”
For a second or two she’s amazed by how much he resembles Ben, but he manages to unwrap the paper and untie the ribbon with at least a degree of restraint, and when the small suede box is revealed she knows she’s got him, his curiosity piqued.
She watches him closely, and thinks of the little man with the fairy floss hair, telling her with rapturous eyes about minerals and gemstones, the soothing properties of onyx, of the way light can suspend itself within the frozen seawater blue of lapiz lazuli.
She watches as he takes the pen in his fingers, turning it over, his eyes narrowed in fascination as he lifts his head to meet her gaze.
“Alex…”
If she were braver, she could tell him that she chose the night-sky onyx in the hopes it might calm his wildest of mental frenzies, the heliotrope ink in the cartridge because it seemed to stand out as he does, and as such suit him best, and the lapiz lazuli because it reminded her of his eyes, but she isn’t brave enough, it seems.
“Alex. It’s a pen.”
Tension drains from her and is immediately chased by disappointment; perhaps he won’t understand, won’t get the significance until she spells it out in front of him.
“Yeah. It’s a pen, Tony.”
He looks at her, like he’s still mystified by something only he can see inside her head, or somewhere deeper, and she releases a breath that sounds like a sigh. From the floor by the fire, Ben is watching, listening.
He makes a perplexing face.
“It’s very nice.”
She laughs, because she could easily cry, and it’s so utterly terrifying, just how easily she finds herself enthralled by him.
“Tony, there’s a reason I got you a pen.”
“There is?”
“And I didn’t just get you a pen, by the way. I looked for hours, I chose it, picked it out from bloody hundreds of pens, because it was the only one that was perfect.”
The parallel in her words sounds so clear to her own ears she’s stupefied that he doesn’t get it. He just keeps watching her, intrigued, interested. He doesn’t remember the messages he left on her phone, obviously can’t remember the thing he admitted, and that fact makes her feel unreasonably melancholy.
“I got you a pen, Tony, so you wouldn’t feel the need to keep stealing all mine.”
She’s expecting him to smile, or laugh, to give her that amused and vaguely flirtatious look he gives her now and then, but to her shock his face falls. He looks away, glances down at Ben and gives her son a ghost of a smile, turns to stare into the fire. He looks miserable, and she’s stumped.
“Tony…”
“Look, I’m sorry, Alex. I’m sorry I take your stuff, and I’m sorry that it obviously annoys you.”
“Tony!”
Alarm courses through her, and he’s standing up, walking back out into the kitchen, away from Ben’s ears, one hand on his hip, the other raking through his hair, over and over, like he does when stress is gnawing away at him. She follows, finds him leaning palms down over her kitchen sink. His face is reflected in the black glass of the window before him, but she can’t see his eyes.
“You didn’t have to spend a fortune to tell me to stop nicking your things, Alex. You could have just asked me. In fact, I find this whole thing rather passive-aggressive and quite unlike you, if I may say-”
“Tony.”
He stops talking, because she’s laid her hand on his back, and it feels as if the warmth of his skin and the rivet of his spine will become etched into her palm, if she gave it enough time. He turns around, and the last time she saw him look this hurt was not so long ago, in the hallway at work as they shouted and cast blows at one other. The pen is still in his hand, the vein of perfect blue catching the light and glinting, like the candles cast around the room.
She takes it out of his hand, looks closely at it, amazed again at the quiet, unexpected beauty of it, the mastery of the craftsmanship. She keeps looking at it, because it’s easier than looking at him, as she speaks.
“This pen will last forever, Tony, it’ll last a hell of a lot longer than one you pinch out of my desk drawer. I wanted you to have it, to have something perfect that you’ll always have, that’ll never stop working and will always be beautiful. I chose it for you. I wanted to give it to you, so you could keep it, not so you’d get some bloody subliminal message about stationary.”
A pause, and then he looks chastised. He takes the pen back from her, bowing his head to look closely at it, and the sheer tenderness in his hands as they cradle it seems to wrench something loose within her, but he doesn’t notice. He lifts his head.
“I’m sorry, Alex. It really is very nice.”
She closes her eyes, hears him chuckling softly. Feels his fingers curve around the point of her elbow.
“Come on, you’ve still got to open my present.”
Ben stares up at them as they return to the warmth of the living room, and she catches the tail end of fear on his face, before he braves a hopeful smile. The thing that wrenched loose twists somewhere near her stomach, and she gives him the most reassuring look she can, and touches Tony’s arm for good measure as they sit down. This seems enough to pacify her son, for the time being, and he returns to his assortment of treasures.
Tony hands her the package, again. It’s rather heavy, for its size, but she can feel a spine, the smoothness of a hardback cover. Tony hovers, and his face has returned to happiness, to anticipation.
She slides the loosely looped red ribbon off, slices through the join in the paper with a fingernail, and beneath her hand Tony’s face appears, in black and white, a headshot that makes him look far too dashing for his own good, in her opinion.
She turns it over, recognises the title. She can’t help herself from frowning, puzzled.
“Your new book? I didn’t think it was coming out yet?”
“It’s not, this is an advance copy.”
“Oh.”
The smallest note of disappointment seems so obvious in her voice, and she curses herself, but Tony doesn’t seem to notice. He sits up straighter, looks closely at her again.
“It’s not the book, Alex, the book doesn’t matter. Open it.”
She does, and a shimmer of pride hits her as his full name, and qualifications, appears before her eyes in a stately font.
“Not that page. Keep going, Alex.”
He’s excited now, expectant, and Ben has wandered over, his small hand on her shoulder, fingers digging into her collarbone, as if he’s holding on for dear life.
The pages turn, pristine and sharp-edged. It’s Ben who spots it first, her name.
“What’s that?” He points, excited, and Tony leans back against the couch, suddenly looking extraordinarily pleased with himself.
The page swims beneath her eyes. Ben is beaming, adoration radiating from his tiny face as Tony smiles contentedly, but she can’t bring herself to look directly at either of them.
She reads the short, perfect line of text, again and again.
For Alex, who saved me.
Ben has gone, returned to his spot cross-legged before the fire, and Tony remains quiet. When she lifts her head to look at him, he isn’t smiling any more, just watching her, as closely as ever. The loosened thing inside her has dissolved, or so it feels.
“Alex?”
Nothing comes out, when she tries to speak. He smiles again, stretches his legs out across her couch, nudges her knee with his foot. She presses her lips fiercely together, manages a smile.
“Tony…”
“Well, you do, you know. You have, numerous times. Saved me. You… seem to keep doing it.”
There still aren’t any words within her, barely breath to spare with the way her pulse is forcing her blood to fly along her veins.
His eyes are lapiz lazuli, bluer than just about anything she’s seen before, and she can’t escape them, but this is nothing new.
Ben is humming to himself, ignoring them in a very obvious fashion, grinning down at the toy in his hands. The fire crackles, murmurs, casts amber light around the room.
The hall clock chimes. Christmas day dawns, but outside the windows it’s still dark, still snowing.
Tony nudges her leg again, his face utterly serious.
“Alex?”
She meets his eyes.
“Don’t stop.”
She waits.
“Don’t stop saving me. Please.”
He’s tucked the pen into his breast pocket, over his heart. Her voice returns, finally.
“I won’t.”
~