Falling Free

-Fifteen-

Lightning flashed across the darkened sky followed by a rumble of thunder that made Cyril whine and nestle against Alfie's neck. Patting the dog reassuringly, Alfie chuckled to himself thinking it highly ridiculous that his beast of a mutt was terrified of a bit of bad weather. He rolled onto his side, reaching for Niamh and he frowned when he found her side of the bed empty. He had realised over the course of the last two weeks, as long as his boys had been in Liverpool tailing Janowicz with nothing to report of any concern, that when Niamh wasn't around he felt... incomplete. Her scent seemed to linger, overriding the smell of the bread in the air at the bakery and he could hear her dirty little laugh even when she was nowhere near him. Cuddling up to Cyril, Alfie waited patiently for Niamh to return and his mind wandered, thinking about just what a strange turn of events his life had taken. Niamh had wormed her way into every part of him without even trying, and it didn't displease him at all. Somehow it strengthened him in a way he hadn't even known he needed it.

"Come on, mate," he mumbled eventually, urging Cyril to come with him on his search for his missing wife who still had yet to return more than fifteen minutes later.

The bathroom was clear as was Niamh's old bedroom, although they had never actually discussed the fact that his bedroom was now hers. One day it had been his and the next her things had slowly began to move there until it was most definitely their room.

Heading downstairs he expected to find her in either the kitchen or the living room. Both locations turned out to be void of any women having a middle of the night wander, but when Alfie caught sight of the back door which was open just a tiny bit he frowned to himself.

The rain was coming down heavily, the sound pattering on the roof and the windows and only interrupted by the intermittent claps of thunder moving steadily to the north, further away from the house. Squinting in the dark, Alfie caught sight of a figure clad in only a pale blue nightgown sitting beneath the shelter of the glass summer house.

"What the bloody hell are you doin' out here?" Alfie padded over, his hip still stiff from being laid in bed and his feet freezing on the cold stone steps that were spread out across the grass, leading to the small building.

Niamh looked up and smiled as he approached, bending down to stroke Cyril who wagged his tail excitedly upon seeing her.

"Come and sit with Mummy," she cooed, grabbing his face and kissing him in between the eyes.

"Yeah, Cyril, go and sit with your mum, the absolute nutter who's sittin' in the freezin' cold with barely any clothes on in the middle of a storm," Alfie muttered sarcastically. "Come inside the house, both of you, how about that?"

"Not yet," Niamh frowned. "When the rain stops."

"When the rain- what on earth is wrong with you, woman?" he scoffed. "It's freezin' cold and you're pissed wet through."

"I'm only a tiny bit wet," Niamh rolled her eyes. "And it's not that cold, Alfie; you're being dramatic."

"Love, your lips are as fuckin' blue as your nightie."

"Then come closer and warm me up," she reached for him, smiling when he picked her up so that he could sit down on her chair even though there were plenty of others close by.

Settling herself comfortably on Alfie's lap, Niamh hummed contentedly as his arms wrapped themselves around her. Closing her eyes, she didn't speak, only listened to the rain and Alfie's steady breathing, the thunder claps coming further and further apart. She had been out in the summer house for an hour just listening to the weather, letting the rain pour in through the open door and thinking. Storms always brought out her melancholia; her thoughts of her childhood and of her mother.