We'll Meet Again

Chapter Eight: What'll I Do

Sleep did not come easily for either of them that night. Vox spent a considerable amount of time strongly considering leaving for the train station and catching the next run home. He was sure he had bungled this whole thing. Surely Alastor was furious with him. He should have asked at the very least, but the moment just took him. He would apologize and hope that Alastor would speak to him again before he left. Just down the hall, Alastor was more consumed with what he had been caught doing, and what Vox was assuming about it. He had asked if I was hurt, perhaps he thought I was just in a scuffle. It was not a lot of blood, but surely he wondered where my shirt was. They both followed their divergent panic spirals all to way down to a fitful rest. Both slept through the coming and going of Alastor's cleaning lady and woke just before noon. Vox woke first groaning from various discomforts, the comfort of the couch turned out to be a lie. He dressed and sat on the bed trying to work out what to say when he saw Alastor. Alastor started awake from a dark nightmare. All of his same prep work for dealing with a target had been done. The person in the cart had a hood on for some reason he couldn't fathom even in the dream. Pulling that thread almost unraveled the dream but it was persistent. At the end of the dock, he removed the hood and Vox was looking back at him. His eyes filled with the same dismissive rage he had seen in so many others. Suddenly, he loosed his bonds and lunged at Alastor. They fought and in the end, Alastor was shoved into the gator-infested swamp. He woke feeling the distinct sensation of falling. He touched his hand to his forehead and found it slick with sweat. He sat up and looked at the clock on his nightstand, he could not remember the last time he had slept so late. He moved to the master bathroom and showered, trying to remember the last time he had a nightmare. He heard footsteps on the stairs, Vox he guessed, and wondered what he could say to him. The idea of telling him a deliberate lie caused an unpleasant tightness in his chest. He turned off the water, dried off, and dressed. Whatever was going to come of this, better to get it over with sooner than later. Vox was standing in the parlor when Alastor reached the main floor. The air was thick with tension between them, and they both seemed to be at a loss for what to say. Alastor broke the silence hesitantly, deciding he would rather put this off after all.

"So, the hotel said they would gather your things and hold them at the desk for you today. Would you like to get lunch and retrieve your bags?"

Vox blinked in surprise, frankly shocked Alastor even still wanted him in his home.

"Sure, that sounds great. I'm getting tired of wearing the same clothes."

Alastor smiled and moved to retrieve his coat and shoes from the foyer. Vox joined him and the pair headed into town. They got lunch at a small cafe not far from the hotel. They ate in relative silence but some of the tension had dissipated. Vox was not only pleased that Alastor didn't seem mad, but actively encouraged by it. It didn't necessarily mean he had liked what happened between them, but at the very least it meant he wasn't actively repulsed by it. Alastor took the comfortable silence and decreased tension to mean that Vox may truly have assumed he had been in some sort of altercation. He could live with a lie of omission, let him assume whatever he liked, so long as it was not the truth. After lunch, they took a short walk to the Holly and Ivy Hotel. The doorman would not let them enter but inquired about the luggage for them. He returned shortly with three bags. Vox hoped that they had taken some care to pack his things away but anything was better than going without it. Alastor stepped up to take two of the bags and Vox took the other. As they waited for the next car to arrive Vox spoke up feigning annoyance.

"You know I'm capable of carrying my bags I think."

Alastor looked him over critically and chuckled.

"Please, a lady should never be required to carry her bags. What kind of uncultured lout do you take me for?"

Vox's face colored a bright red and he jabbed the forefinger of his free hand at Alastor.