Snippets of an affair ~ First steps

[zahraowens]

Title: Snippets of an affair (17/?) ~ First steps Author: zahra_owens Beta: An absolute angel who'll remain anonymous... Rating: R Word Count: 1311 Warnings: Angst Disclaimer: Persons and events described here may, on the surface, seem familiar, but I don't have a clue what I'm talking about. Author's note: The POV may change throughout the story, so the 'I' from this chapter may not be the 'I' from the previous chapter.

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My hands are shaking. I can't stop them.

Ever since that day at the apartment, you've been so calm, so in control. Even when they told us there was not enough evidence to keep your pilot incarcerated until his trial, you didn't panic. I loved seeing how strong you'd become and then last night you shouted at me and I realised that I'd been wrong. Your tears and the way your voice broke made me understand that you’d been keeping your emotions at bay while I broke down. I was so self-absorbed, so preoccupied by wallowing in my own pain, that I didn't see yours. I gave you space and let you heal after he repeatedly hurt you, for years on end for all I know, until you came back to me of your own free will. We were so happy then. I’m nowhere near as strong as you are, but that doesn’t mean I can give up. Will we ever be that happy again? I don’t know, but if I don’t try then everything we’ve been through will have been for nothing and I can’t give up. As long as you don’t give up on me, I can’t give up on us.

Damn, I need to get out of here. I know, I'll put on my coat and go out for a walk. It's cold outside and the fresh air will do me the world of good.

Not taking any money. Don't want to be tempted to buy more booze along the way.

Where to go? The restaurant. You always walk to and fro so it can't be that far.

I zip up my coat, raise the collar and shake my hands out before balling them up into fists and pushing them deep into my pockets. That'll work. Set a brisk tempo, one foot in front of the other, one step at a time. It was easy encouraging you that way, when that's what you needed to hear, but it's not so easy telling myself that. I'll try though. I need to try. If not for myself, then for you.

Even if you never want to sleep with me again, I'm still scared to face the world without you. I can live without sex, hell, I practically lived without it for the five or so years before I met you anyway, but I'm not sure about you. You're younger than me and used to a lot more sex, which was evident between us before everything went to hell, so what if you couldn't live without it? Could I handle it if you slept with other people?

I shake my head and try to ban the thoughts. Bad thoughts. Shouldn't think badly about you right now. I think I'd rather split up with you, than lie in my bed at night waiting for you, or heaven forbid, have to listen to you fuck some other guy into the mattress in your room.

Almost there.

I won't go inside. It's a pretty posh deal and I'm not dressed for it. Besides, they'll probably offer me a drink and in no time, I'll embarrass you again by getting drunk. Yes, my hands will stop shaking, but it won't get me anywhere. My headache may go away, but I won't be able to show you I want to try and make a go of this, a go of our relationship, or what's left of it once you subtract the physical aspect of it. If I give in now, the last fifteen hours or so of shaking and vomiting and cracking headaches will have been futile.

It's pretty dark outside, although the street is lit by the occasional shop that keeps its light on in the display windows even though there's a heavy trellis in front of it. Only the restaurants are still open and the one at the end of the street is where you work. I'm out of breath by the time I arrive there and I'm brutally reminded I need to do something about my general fitness. It would help I suppose, to keep my mind off things to go running or cycling.

The restaurant is quite packed and although the windows are small, I can look inside without seeming too conspicuous. There's a large group in the front area of the restaurant and there's some sort of celebration going on. Suddenly I see you appear from the back with a large tray filled with pastries and desserts. Each of them looks like a work of art, but I can't keep my eyes off you. You look amazing in your black and white uniform and you move fluidly between the rowdy guests with your overfilled tray. You laugh with the men and wink at the ladies and manage to get everyone's dessert in front of them in no time before disappearing again. I wish you'd stayed a bit longer, I would have loved to stand here and stare some more.

I wait for a while but you don't return, so I eventually lean against the wall of the house next door and try to relax. It's pretty cold and I rub myself in an attempt to keep warm, but I want to wait here so I can walk you home. If you'll let me, of course. You were mad at me last night and I don't blame you.

My bones are weary and my head heavy. No sleep for 30 hours will do that to you. But I can't sleep. Whenever I sleep, I dream and they're never pleasant dreams. Even when they start out that way. Two nights ago I dreamt of you. You were leaning over me and looking down and you were telling me that everything will be okay. Then, just as I was getting quite turned on by your display, he appeared, your pilot with his knife and this time he didn't try to cut me a new one, he cut you, and I woke up with a start. It's going to be even harder to sleep now that I don't have the whiskey to dull the pain.

I look up and realise I've slumped down in the entranceway of the house when I hear your low voice saying goodbye to your work colleagues. "See you tomorrow!"

I quickly get up and try to follow you, but I'm not totally steady on my legs yet and it takes me some time to catch up with you. The fact that you're walking fast doesn't help. Eventually you stop and turn to me, clearly ready to fight if necessary. Then a smile breaks on your face.

"It's you," you say, clearly surprised. "I thought you were some vagrant trying to rob me or something."

"I did shower and put on clean clothes like you asked," I rebut, but not very convincingly.

You lift your hand towards my face and rub my beard. "You could stand a shave and a haircut." Your voice doesn't sound condescending, in fact you sound kind and my heart starts beating faster.

"Sure, I'll shave when we get home," I answer after clearing my throat.

You smile at me and hook your arm around mine, then you gesture with your head to start walking again. "It's bloody cold outside and I for one can't wait to get home."

"Me neither," I answer quietly and that's about the last breath I have, because you're keeping up a deadly pace. It feels good to be this close to you again, even if many layers of clothing separate us.

At the curb, while we're waiting to let a whole fleet of taxi cabs pass, you briefly put your head on my shoulder and I want to kiss you, but the moment passes. I'm worried about what tonight will bring, but at least I know that you realise I'm trying.

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