Fic: In All the Old Familiar Places (The Invisibles)
Title: In All the Old Familiar Places
Fandom: The Invisibles
Pairing: Maurice/Hedley (Maurice/Barbara, Hedley/Helen)
Rating: R
Spoilers: I think if you've seen the first ep, you're good.
Summary: Maurice's never had a morning after a job quite like this one.
Notes: Thank you to kageygirl for her indulgence (and the title), and to alyse for her fabulous Brit-picking. 2000 words. (Maurice is played by Anthony Stewart Head, and Hedley is played by Dean Lennox Kelly.)
Maurice shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the thick wooden door in front of him. His feet were as traitorous as the rest of him, bringing him here to the Hougoumont like it was the only place to be at eleven am on a Tuesday morning. He supposed that was because he didn't really have all that many other places to be. Other than in the flat.
With Babs.
Nothing for it, he supposed, so he pushed the door open and went on in. The Hougie was a good place, really, dim enough even during the day to have a good hole-in-the-wall feel to it, but not so dark that only the drunks and druggies ever dared to enter. Low-beamed ceiling and rough plank floor were offset by bright walls, polished wood, and vases full of colorful flowers. That brightness was Helen's touch, of course, at least the flowers. Helen with her always-there smiles and just-so nods, bustling about the place and spiffying it up.
Bustling through the swinging door from the back and on up to the bar to greet him.
"Good morning, Maurice! What can I get you?" Helen smiled at him, as warm as always. It'd be easy to take her for just a bit simple, but it was more that she was truly an optimist. Just like Syd. Made Maurice feel like being an even bigger grump to make up for it, except he couldn't be that way with her.
Especially not today.
"Just a lager, thanks." He turned sideways on the stool as she reached for a glass, looking anywhere but at her as she pulled on the tap. There was a new print of a street scene on the far wall, framed in ruddy wood and completely unremarkable, and a vase full of a dozen white roses tucked up next to the gin. Real buds, not silk, and looking fresh from the florist's.
Helen set the glass down in front of him. "You looking for Hedley, then?"
"What? Why would--" He took a big swallow of lager, trying to cover his overreaction. There'd been a day when he could keep a straight face to the most knowing copper while he had hot ice in a pocket and his kit in his hand. That day had faded into the same dusk as Knacker, and he hadn't even noticed it going down. He wiped his lips dry, and tried again. "No, not really. Is he around?"
"He's having a bit of a lie-down. Late night and all." She looked down, attention seemingly taken by the cloth she was working over the already glossy wood. Maurice concentrated on his drink once more, but tea brewed off thrice-used leaves had more kick. He was about to ask for something stronger when Helen raised her head and he got a good look at her eyes. Red threaded through the whites. From exhaustion, he told himself, but the delicate skin under her lower eyelashes was swollen tight.
"Are you all right?" he asked before he could stop himself. Stupid git. You don't want to know. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't ask--"
"I'm fine. We had a long night talking, Hedley and I, that's all." She reached out and covered his hand with her own. "It's fine, you know. With me, anyways."
"What?"
"You don't have to put on a show." Her smile wasn't quite so easy this time, but it still seemed genuine. "I know."
Maurice closed his eyes.
The cold, wet air of the night seeks out his lungs with every panted breath, bringing the blood racing to the back of his throat and sharpening the taste of flesh against his tongue. His heart trips smooth and sure and even, aided by the adrenaline of a successful job--and the thrill of doing this. Strong, young muscles pull him close, hold him tight, as hard lips bite at his own.
"Fuck, Maurice. Like that, yeah."
It's fast and rough and easy. No room for old men here.
"You don't have to worry," Helen said. She patted his hand again. "I can't say it was exactly a surprise. Well, maybe a bit of one. I never thought you'd go for it, honestly. But Hedley... I know he loves me, see, but he's been obsessed with you longer than I've known him. I admit I was a bit jealous when we first got together, but now that it's actually happened, it's a bit of a relief. If you know what I mean?'
"Not even remotely," he muttered, his mouth ahead of his brain once again. Just like it had been last night. Hedley had been so smug, so pleased with the way he'd laid out the pair of thugs, one-two easy-peasy, like it hadn't been his fault in the first place that they'd gotten by. The kiss was all about wiping away that bloody stupid grin.
But the rest. He had to admit the rest was about those perfect punches, and the way Hedley flowed like a dancer when he was in his element. The way he always looked to Maurice, looking for approval like a damn puppy. His eyes always so full of adulation for his hero.
"You're thinking about him now, aren't you?"
Maurice blinked away the sight of those eyes shut by ecstasy. "I'm sorry?"
"I know that look from my own face." She grinned and pulled her head down for a conspiratorial whisper, just a teenager sharing a giggle with her girlfriends. "He's a bit of all right, isn't he?"
"I don't really--" Gossiping about a shared lover was the last thing he wanted to do, but Helen was waiting with expectant eyebrows, and it occurred to him that a good part of her own ego was probably caught up in Hedley's attractiveness. It wasn't that hard to bring out a smile. Not when his body was still singing from last night. He leaned forward over his lager, sharing her confidential space. "He's more than a bit all right, I'd say."
"I wager you don't know the half of it," she said, her voice lower, dirtier than Maurice had ever wanted to hear. She winked at him and started to turn away, but he caught her wrist.
"Helen." He pulled his hand back, uncertain of how to best ask this of her, especially when he had no right to ask her for anything at all. "You've been incredibly gracious, and I thank you for it. But..."
"Barbara doesn't know, does she?"
No, not simple, this one. Not by far.
"I realize there's probably some code among wives, but please, I beg of you, don't say anything." If Barbara found out, she'd rip his bollocks off right before she ripped his heart out of his chest. He was man enough to admit to himself that the worst part would be the utter betrayal on her face. "It will only hurt her."
Helen's eyes went wide. "I wouldn't! I mean, not that I don't think she ought to know. But that's between you and her, isn't it? It's not my place."
"Yes, well. I appreciate your discretion." He picked up his glass and drained the rest of the lager, though it splashed down his gullet like bile. He set a note on the counter--enough to cover the pint and then some--and nodded to Helen. "I should be getting back."
"Take care, then." She sent him another smile, then picked up her cloth again and set to polishing the wood of the gantry. Maurice paused to straighten his jacket, and caught a glimpse of her bending towards her bouquet.
He fled.
Somehow, his traitorous feet took control again, leading him out the back instead of the front, as he'd intended. He stepped around the hot tub, muttering to his feet about impulse control, and--
There was Hedley, coming in from the alley, bucket and sponge in hand.
Hedley's forearms slap hard against the stone and his body rebounds from the force of Maurice's spin--leaving his bare arse right where Maurice wants it.
"You've done this before," he murmurs against the back of Hedley's neck, just loud enough for the both of them to hear it. He trails a hand over that pale skin, teases a finger down his crack, and smiles as Hedley's eyelids flutter, as his lips part and his head drops against the wall. "Found a way to pass time while you were inside, hmm?"
Hedley rolls his head, not saying one way or the other, but it doesn't matter, not with the way he's offering himself up like a lamb. They've no lubrication of any sort at hand, but Maurice thinks that if he started to press in with nothing more than spit and a prayer, Hedley would beg him for more.
Lucky for Hedley, Maurice is nicer than he puts on. He pushes forward, finding a home between hot, tight thighs, snugging himself up as close as he can to the place he really wants to be. He starts to thrust, slower than he wants, faster than he needs, and reaches around Hedley's hip.
"Mo," Hedley said, nodding before moving towards the drain. "Didn't expect to see you around so early."
"And I didn't expect to see you up and about at all. Helen said you were still in bed." Hedley looked down as he tipped the bucket, guilt pouring over his face as surely as the fouled water down the grate, and Maurice couldn't help adding, "I reckon half a night spent spilling your guts takes it out of a man."
Hedley raised his head, squaring his shoulders as he turned to face Maurice full on. "Look, Maurice. I'm sorry. I know you'd prefer it if she didn't know, but she's my wife. And she would have figured it out anyway, even if I'd tried to hide it."
Maurice tucked his hands into his pockets. It was as chilly today as it had been last night, the fog coming in strong off the water. Last night it had been welcome, keeping him cool while his blood ran hot, but now it simply made him feel wet, like an old mouldering sock. He sighed. "Don't apologize for what you have with Helen. She's a remarkable woman."
"That she is. I'm lucky to have her." Hedley tipped his head to the side, so that he was looking through the hair draped over his brow. Damn puppy face again. "And your Barbara, she's pretty amazing, as well."
Maurice nodded. Nodded some more. "Yes, without a doubt."
Hedley stared at him with those big, sad eyes, and Maurice waited for the question. His skin crawled with the need to lash out, to yell because it doesn't work like that for us, not for any sane people, you fool. But Hedley simply set the bucket down next to the pool supplies and snagged an open bottle of cider that Maurice hadn't noticed before. He took a big swallow, and Maurice couldn't help admiring the line of his throat and the way his lips greeted the glass.
"Is this going to affect the gang?" Hedley wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I know I can't undo what happened, but if you're going to kick me out--"
"What? No, of course not. Why would you even--" Maurice rubbed his hand over his face. There were, on infrequent occasions, times when he regretted his curmudgeonly reputation. "Syd has a problem with getting distracted whenever he falls for a woman. It's pure disaster, you've seen that. But this... If you can stay focused, do the job right, then nothing that happens out here affects the gang. I promise."
"Nothing, huh?" Hedley grinned, sad puppy turned playful in an instant. "That's good to know."
Maurice sighed. "It can't happen again. You have to know that."
"Only if you say so."
Maurice had to remind more than his feet about impulse control. He curled his fingers more tightly inside his pockets and hardened his gaze until Hedley dropped his head.
"It was good though, wasn't it?" he asked softly.
"It was." Maurice pulled his hand out of his pocket and reached out, mind and body in full accord. He traced the outline of a bite mark on Hedley's throat with the tip of his index finger, ignoring Hedley's serious eyes watching him. No, Hedley wouldn't have been able to hide that mark from Helen, faded into the stubble though it was, and that was Maurice's own damn fault. He hadn't been thinking about anything last night but Hedley's power and how young it made him feel, how good they felt together, and he was damn lucky neither of them had to pay the price for his stupidity. He drew back, resisting the urge to touch those lips one last time. "It truly was."
Hedley smiled. It was natural that he and Helen were such a match, really, with the smiles they were both so willing to share. Maurice smiled back at him, and turned away. His feet listened at last, setting him on the path directly back to his flat.
To Barbara.
Fandom: The Invisibles
Pairing: Maurice/Hedley (Maurice/Barbara, Hedley/Helen)
Rating: R
Spoilers: I think if you've seen the first ep, you're good.
Summary: Maurice's never had a morning after a job quite like this one.
Notes: Thank you to kageygirl for her indulgence (and the title), and to alyse for her fabulous Brit-picking. 2000 words. (Maurice is played by Anthony Stewart Head, and Hedley is played by Dean Lennox Kelly.)
Maurice shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the thick wooden door in front of him. His feet were as traitorous as the rest of him, bringing him here to the Hougoumont like it was the only place to be at eleven am on a Tuesday morning. He supposed that was because he didn't really have all that many other places to be. Other than in the flat.
With Babs.
Nothing for it, he supposed, so he pushed the door open and went on in. The Hougie was a good place, really, dim enough even during the day to have a good hole-in-the-wall feel to it, but not so dark that only the drunks and druggies ever dared to enter. Low-beamed ceiling and rough plank floor were offset by bright walls, polished wood, and vases full of colorful flowers. That brightness was Helen's touch, of course, at least the flowers. Helen with her always-there smiles and just-so nods, bustling about the place and spiffying it up.
Bustling through the swinging door from the back and on up to the bar to greet him.
"Good morning, Maurice! What can I get you?" Helen smiled at him, as warm as always. It'd be easy to take her for just a bit simple, but it was more that she was truly an optimist. Just like Syd. Made Maurice feel like being an even bigger grump to make up for it, except he couldn't be that way with her.
Especially not today.
"Just a lager, thanks." He turned sideways on the stool as she reached for a glass, looking anywhere but at her as she pulled on the tap. There was a new print of a street scene on the far wall, framed in ruddy wood and completely unremarkable, and a vase full of a dozen white roses tucked up next to the gin. Real buds, not silk, and looking fresh from the florist's.
Helen set the glass down in front of him. "You looking for Hedley, then?"
"What? Why would--" He took a big swallow of lager, trying to cover his overreaction. There'd been a day when he could keep a straight face to the most knowing copper while he had hot ice in a pocket and his kit in his hand. That day had faded into the same dusk as Knacker, and he hadn't even noticed it going down. He wiped his lips dry, and tried again. "No, not really. Is he around?"
"He's having a bit of a lie-down. Late night and all." She looked down, attention seemingly taken by the cloth she was working over the already glossy wood. Maurice concentrated on his drink once more, but tea brewed off thrice-used leaves had more kick. He was about to ask for something stronger when Helen raised her head and he got a good look at her eyes. Red threaded through the whites. From exhaustion, he told himself, but the delicate skin under her lower eyelashes was swollen tight.
"Are you all right?" he asked before he could stop himself. Stupid git. You don't want to know. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't ask--"
"I'm fine. We had a long night talking, Hedley and I, that's all." She reached out and covered his hand with her own. "It's fine, you know. With me, anyways."
"What?"
"You don't have to put on a show." Her smile wasn't quite so easy this time, but it still seemed genuine. "I know."
Maurice closed his eyes.
The cold, wet air of the night seeks out his lungs with every panted breath, bringing the blood racing to the back of his throat and sharpening the taste of flesh against his tongue. His heart trips smooth and sure and even, aided by the adrenaline of a successful job--and the thrill of doing this. Strong, young muscles pull him close, hold him tight, as hard lips bite at his own.
"Fuck, Maurice. Like that, yeah."
It's fast and rough and easy. No room for old men here.
"You don't have to worry," Helen said. She patted his hand again. "I can't say it was exactly a surprise. Well, maybe a bit of one. I never thought you'd go for it, honestly. But Hedley... I know he loves me, see, but he's been obsessed with you longer than I've known him. I admit I was a bit jealous when we first got together, but now that it's actually happened, it's a bit of a relief. If you know what I mean?'
"Not even remotely," he muttered, his mouth ahead of his brain once again. Just like it had been last night. Hedley had been so smug, so pleased with the way he'd laid out the pair of thugs, one-two easy-peasy, like it hadn't been his fault in the first place that they'd gotten by. The kiss was all about wiping away that bloody stupid grin.
But the rest. He had to admit the rest was about those perfect punches, and the way Hedley flowed like a dancer when he was in his element. The way he always looked to Maurice, looking for approval like a damn puppy. His eyes always so full of adulation for his hero.
"You're thinking about him now, aren't you?"
Maurice blinked away the sight of those eyes shut by ecstasy. "I'm sorry?"
"I know that look from my own face." She grinned and pulled her head down for a conspiratorial whisper, just a teenager sharing a giggle with her girlfriends. "He's a bit of all right, isn't he?"
"I don't really--" Gossiping about a shared lover was the last thing he wanted to do, but Helen was waiting with expectant eyebrows, and it occurred to him that a good part of her own ego was probably caught up in Hedley's attractiveness. It wasn't that hard to bring out a smile. Not when his body was still singing from last night. He leaned forward over his lager, sharing her confidential space. "He's more than a bit all right, I'd say."
"I wager you don't know the half of it," she said, her voice lower, dirtier than Maurice had ever wanted to hear. She winked at him and started to turn away, but he caught her wrist.
"Helen." He pulled his hand back, uncertain of how to best ask this of her, especially when he had no right to ask her for anything at all. "You've been incredibly gracious, and I thank you for it. But..."
"Barbara doesn't know, does she?"
No, not simple, this one. Not by far.
"I realize there's probably some code among wives, but please, I beg of you, don't say anything." If Barbara found out, she'd rip his bollocks off right before she ripped his heart out of his chest. He was man enough to admit to himself that the worst part would be the utter betrayal on her face. "It will only hurt her."
Helen's eyes went wide. "I wouldn't! I mean, not that I don't think she ought to know. But that's between you and her, isn't it? It's not my place."
"Yes, well. I appreciate your discretion." He picked up his glass and drained the rest of the lager, though it splashed down his gullet like bile. He set a note on the counter--enough to cover the pint and then some--and nodded to Helen. "I should be getting back."
"Take care, then." She sent him another smile, then picked up her cloth again and set to polishing the wood of the gantry. Maurice paused to straighten his jacket, and caught a glimpse of her bending towards her bouquet.
He fled.
Somehow, his traitorous feet took control again, leading him out the back instead of the front, as he'd intended. He stepped around the hot tub, muttering to his feet about impulse control, and--
There was Hedley, coming in from the alley, bucket and sponge in hand.
Hedley's forearms slap hard against the stone and his body rebounds from the force of Maurice's spin--leaving his bare arse right where Maurice wants it.
"You've done this before," he murmurs against the back of Hedley's neck, just loud enough for the both of them to hear it. He trails a hand over that pale skin, teases a finger down his crack, and smiles as Hedley's eyelids flutter, as his lips part and his head drops against the wall. "Found a way to pass time while you were inside, hmm?"
Hedley rolls his head, not saying one way or the other, but it doesn't matter, not with the way he's offering himself up like a lamb. They've no lubrication of any sort at hand, but Maurice thinks that if he started to press in with nothing more than spit and a prayer, Hedley would beg him for more.
Lucky for Hedley, Maurice is nicer than he puts on. He pushes forward, finding a home between hot, tight thighs, snugging himself up as close as he can to the place he really wants to be. He starts to thrust, slower than he wants, faster than he needs, and reaches around Hedley's hip.
"Mo," Hedley said, nodding before moving towards the drain. "Didn't expect to see you around so early."
"And I didn't expect to see you up and about at all. Helen said you were still in bed." Hedley looked down as he tipped the bucket, guilt pouring over his face as surely as the fouled water down the grate, and Maurice couldn't help adding, "I reckon half a night spent spilling your guts takes it out of a man."
Hedley raised his head, squaring his shoulders as he turned to face Maurice full on. "Look, Maurice. I'm sorry. I know you'd prefer it if she didn't know, but she's my wife. And she would have figured it out anyway, even if I'd tried to hide it."
Maurice tucked his hands into his pockets. It was as chilly today as it had been last night, the fog coming in strong off the water. Last night it had been welcome, keeping him cool while his blood ran hot, but now it simply made him feel wet, like an old mouldering sock. He sighed. "Don't apologize for what you have with Helen. She's a remarkable woman."
"That she is. I'm lucky to have her." Hedley tipped his head to the side, so that he was looking through the hair draped over his brow. Damn puppy face again. "And your Barbara, she's pretty amazing, as well."
Maurice nodded. Nodded some more. "Yes, without a doubt."
Hedley stared at him with those big, sad eyes, and Maurice waited for the question. His skin crawled with the need to lash out, to yell because it doesn't work like that for us, not for any sane people, you fool. But Hedley simply set the bucket down next to the pool supplies and snagged an open bottle of cider that Maurice hadn't noticed before. He took a big swallow, and Maurice couldn't help admiring the line of his throat and the way his lips greeted the glass.
"Is this going to affect the gang?" Hedley wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I know I can't undo what happened, but if you're going to kick me out--"
"What? No, of course not. Why would you even--" Maurice rubbed his hand over his face. There were, on infrequent occasions, times when he regretted his curmudgeonly reputation. "Syd has a problem with getting distracted whenever he falls for a woman. It's pure disaster, you've seen that. But this... If you can stay focused, do the job right, then nothing that happens out here affects the gang. I promise."
"Nothing, huh?" Hedley grinned, sad puppy turned playful in an instant. "That's good to know."
Maurice sighed. "It can't happen again. You have to know that."
"Only if you say so."
Maurice had to remind more than his feet about impulse control. He curled his fingers more tightly inside his pockets and hardened his gaze until Hedley dropped his head.
"It was good though, wasn't it?" he asked softly.
"It was." Maurice pulled his hand out of his pocket and reached out, mind and body in full accord. He traced the outline of a bite mark on Hedley's throat with the tip of his index finger, ignoring Hedley's serious eyes watching him. No, Hedley wouldn't have been able to hide that mark from Helen, faded into the stubble though it was, and that was Maurice's own damn fault. He hadn't been thinking about anything last night but Hedley's power and how young it made him feel, how good they felt together, and he was damn lucky neither of them had to pay the price for his stupidity. He drew back, resisting the urge to touch those lips one last time. "It truly was."
Hedley smiled. It was natural that he and Helen were such a match, really, with the smiles they were both so willing to share. Maurice smiled back at him, and turned away. His feet listened at last, setting him on the path directly back to his flat.
To Barbara.