a willing receptacle [alannah]

“No running,” she agreed, matching his smirk.  “I wouldn’t want to kill you.”  Holding Charlie’s hand, she led the way out of the station and down the street at a mellow pace.  There was no hurry this time.  They could try to make it last.  Gravesend was fairly quiet this time of night, with only a few other people out on the street or loitering around.  Aside from the odd pub thrumming with muffled music, all of the stores and restaurants were shut up for the night.  A cool breeze blew into their faces as their path took them roughly in the direction of the river. 

“So you were listening then?”  She teased, gently bumping into his hip while they walked.  “Football, yeah.  It’s no Quidditch of course, but I’ll always have a soft spot for it.  I still watch the games on telly with my mates.”  Alannah had been pretty stubbornly clinging to her roots all these years.  It wasn’t always easy to maintain friendships as a busy adult (or a witch) so she loved that no matter how much distance or time passed between catch-ups, she could always count on football, beers and BBQ to get the gang together.  The sport helped keep her connected to her Muggle-side so she’d never give it up. 

Charlie’s hesitance to outright ask about her blood-status was cute.  “Did I give myself away so easily?”  Al made the joke lightly but was aware of all the reasons that the subject was awkward to bring up.  It was hard to believe that just a few short years ago, admitting to her origins could have seen her locked up in Azkaban.  “Yeah, both Muggles actually.”  She purposefully kept her tone warm, even injecting a little note of pride.  Alannah would never let anyone make her feel shame for that part of her identity.  However, that didn’t seem likely to be an issue with Charlie.  “You too?”  She enquired, to confirm what was already obvious.  After everything they’d talked about, it seemed pretty safe to assume he was Muggleborn or at least had a Muggle parent. 

“How crazy is it, being part of two different worlds?”  She grinned at Charlie, sure that he would understand exactly what she meant.  Sometimes Alannah felt the line keenly, having to be careful of not revealing anything to the Muggles in her life (other than her parents) but also being faced with blank looks and confusion from magical folk if she let slip a reference about one of her favourite TV shows in conversation.  Maybe that was part of what made it so easy with Charlie – she didn’t have to try and remember which parts of herself she could share or not.  After a moment she let go of his hand, but only so that she could slip her arm around his waist, seeking greater protection from the chill of the night (or at least that was the excuse she gave herself).

He laughed. “You’re doing a good job of it for someone who doesn’t want to,” he nudged her softly with his arm against hers.

Charlie arranged his face to look offended, free hand clutching at his chest dramatically. “Of course I was listening,” he said, bumping her back with his own hip and a little more force. “I was just resting my eyes,” he smirked. It shouldn't have surprised him that she was into football -- she was into every other fucking thing he was, which was still weirding him out, in a good way. "Who d'you support then?" he asked, no longer as a test but out of genuine curiosity. Football wasn't like some sports where you automatically supported your local team -- he did, of course, which automatically made him a better fan than the types who just went after whomever was winning the Premiership, but there was no knowing if Alannah was more of a glory supporter. Most girls went for whoever had the best looking players.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "No more than I did, I suppose." Not that it was at all a secret in his case -- it had been mentioned in countless articles and brought up interviews, so there had been no choice but to leave the country during the war -- but he didn’t hide it in everyday conversation either. Both muggles. It wasn’t that rare of a thing -- Fflur was a muggleborn too, after all -- but it was just one more thing they had in common. “Yeah, me too,” he replied with a small smile, assuming she was asking to be polite before remembering not every girl he met had an encyclopedic knowledge of his entire life (just the crazy ones). “Both,” he added. “Teachers,” he continued, volunteering the information without thinking twice about it.

He cleared his throat softly and looked down at her, his lips twitching up at her grin. “Crazy,” he repeated, mimicking her playfully. She let go of him and he briefly thought he’d fucked up, but she quickly banished those thoughts as she wrapped herself around him. He snaked his arm around her lower back, mirroring her and pulling her in just a little bit more snug -- not the kind of physical contact he really wanted, but it would do. “Don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” he said honestly, finding himself wanting to keep talking to her. “The worst thing is the lying--” he said, stopping abruptly when he thought about what he’d just said and how that particular order of words sounded coming from his lips. He bit his lip softly. “Lying about what you do, you know, for a job and whatever,” he finished quietly.

“I’m a music tutor, you know,” he said a little more brightly, grinning lazily. “Really putting my fancy New York music education to use,” he laughed. It amazed him how easily his extended family had lapped that up -- that he would be plucked from primary school Yorkshire to go on scholarship to somewhere so elite. He supposed the latter part of the lie -- that he was now some home-based tutor in London -- seemed appropriately realistic for what his family thought about the arts, or people that specialised in them at any rate. “My uncle’s offered me an apprenticeship I dunno how many times now,” he grinned.

“What do you do?” he asked, “As far as your family and that know, I mean.”

“In Ireland, I support Cork.  Worldwide - now here’s a shocker - I support Ireland.”  Alannah laughed, tossing her head back.  “I like the Celts too.  And when I have to pick one of your Brit teams…”  She added just the right amount of derision to her voice and rolled her eyes at Charlie to playfully tease him, before providing her answer with complete confidence – “Manchester United.”  These choices probably made her a bit of a cliché but Alannah didn’t care.  The teams she supported were rooted in home and community, and she was deeply loyal to them.  “How ‘bout you?  Not Liverpool I hope?”  (This time Al's scorn was a touch more genuine).  "Fair warning, if you support Liverpool, I will have to push you in the Thames," she jested, struggling to keep a straight face.  "Dems just the rules."

Learning more about Charlie was like gathering pieces to a jigsaw puzzle.  Muggleborn.  Parents were teachers.  She tucked away these details with the rest.  Slowly, Alannah felt like she were getting closer to forming a full picture.  She smiled back at him, nodding in acknowledgement and encouragement.  Go on.

Crazy.  He agreed but teasingly, as though making fun of her.  Alannah poked out her tongue at his cheekiness.  She was pleased when he kept talking then, elaborating on his thoughts.  It truly wasn’t something a person could really get used to - going suddenly from ‘ordinary’ to magical in the space of a day.  Often Alannah had wondered what it must be like for others, to grow up without that kind of surprise (nor the burden of keeping the ongoing secret).  “The lying,” she repeated sadly, reflecting on how it made sense that some Muggleborns chose to leave their ordinary lives behind completely.  Sometimes it was just so hard trying to keep up appearances. 

“A music tutor?”  She smiled warmly at Charlie and used her arm around his waist to squeeze gently.  “What’s wrong with that?  Beats flipping burgers or working in a bank.”  As they drew to an intersection of streets, Alannah paused before drawing them along to the left-hand side.  At no point had she promised to take the direct route home.  Although she figured Charlie would eventually notice if they were going around in circles.  She sniggered when he mentioned his uncle's persistent offer of an apprenticeship.  “I hope you told him where to shove it,” Al commented with a grin.

Then it was Alannah's turn to share again - tit for tat.  Only fair.  “They still think I model.  It was… easier.”  She grimaced at the admission.  Al was not a fan of that particular cover story but hadn't been able to come up with anything more effective.  She sighed before continuing.  “We didn’t want to over complicate things.  My parents are in fashion – he takes photos, she does wardrobe – so no one really questions it.  Besides it works as an excuse for other stuff.  The travelling, the lack of 9 to 5…  Occasionally my dad rigs up some pictures to keep them off my back.”

Thinking back over what he had shared, she smiled and added - “My cousin has kindly offered me a position in her florist shop when my looks fade.  O, woe the day.”  Alannah raised a hand to her brow in a dramatic gesture (as though she really were some kind of vain creature afraid of developing a few wrinkles).  She chuckled, amused with herself, but unfortunately, Al was well aware that age could be just as much of a factor for an athlete as a model.  Eventually there would come a time when her youth and fitness declined to such a point that she’d be forced to retire from Quidditch.  She jokingly claimed to prefer the idea of dying young rather than having to deal with that issue.  It was something she tried not to think about.  Hell, she'd only just started to make a name for herself, it was too early to start thinking about what came after.  “Fucked if I know what I’ll do when I get too old to fly," she admitted as nonchalantly as possible.  "Might have to take her up on that.”  The idea of spending her later years arranging flowers was quite horrific, however, and she tried to shrug it off.

“Kinda sucks, doesn’t it?  Not getting any credit for your successes?  Getting crap from rellies for not having a career?"  Alannah posed the question with a lighthearted nudge.  “I bet if your family knew the truth, they’d shit bricks.”

Charlie grinned, her accent still amusing him despite the fact he really ought to be used to it given he was best friends with an Irishman (but, shocker just sounded so much better in an Irish accent, didn’t it? There’d been a few words and phrases over the years that had sounded that little bit funnier coming from Sam). He nodded along with her teams, but his face fell abruptly when she announced she was a Manchester United fan. “Oh,” he said gravely, loosening his grip around her as though mortally offended. He stepped to one side, stopped, and shook his head away from her. He held one hand out, finger up to her warningly; “Don’t say because of Beckham,” he pleaded in earnest.

He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, pulling her back into his side and wrapping his arm back around her -- perhaps a fraction lower than before. “If I supported Liverpool I’d deserve to be pushed in,” he slowly returned to a grin, “but if you pushed me in I hope you realise you’d be coming in with me.” He smirked, “Dems the rules,” he repeated back at her teasingly. Now that she’d put the thought in his head, Charlie couldn’t help but imagine-- not the Thames, but maybe a pool, or a hot tub…

“Sheffield -- Wednesday, not United,” he said, trying to prevent his mind from wandering. “A real team,” he added, referring to her United (so disappointing but so, so expected -- he should have known).

“Stick that tongue out again and you won’t get it back,” he cautioned her with another smirk, intentionally suggestive. The lying. It sounded so much worse coming from her -- like she fell into a crisis of conscience every time she had to be dishonest. For Charlie the lying was just a pain in his backside; remembering what he could and couldn’t tell people, knowing nobody would ever understand just how talented and successful he was.

Her fingers tightened on his waist and he felt a faint sensation run up his spine. He smiled. “I think I’d made a convincing banker, don’t you?” he joked, stressing banker intentionally but subtly. “You’re right, nothing wrong with it,” he agreed quietly, not wanting to draw attention to his childlike need for recognition, as she led them down the next street. “His arms are as thick as my thighs, so...” he grinned, “I thanked him very much for the opportunity.”

Modelling made sense -- who wouldn’t believe her? She could easily say her images were used overseas, he was sure that was a thing. He nodded, stroking her waist with his thumb over the fabric of her dress as she spoke. He wet his lips, smirking before he could get out his next comment; “Hope your dad didn’t take those bikini photos, bit weird.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, grinning, watching her ready to duck out of the way should she decide to smack him for bringing up the B word again.

He laughed softly at her acting. “Well at least you’ve got a backup.” Was more than what he had -- unless he went back to working in a pub. Too old to fly. Fflur would kill him if she ever found out that that particular combination of words prompted him to think of her, but it had and-- “You could always go into training. Teaching, whatever. Hogwarts might have a position by the time you get to retiring age,” he grinned. Come to think of it, he didn’t actually know how old she was -- not that that had obviously mattered to him in the past. It was an improvement that she wasn’t still in school. Christ, what had he been thinking? “That must be ages away for you though,” he led carefully into the question he didn’t really think he should ask a lady, “what’s a normal age for Quidditch players to stop playing?”

Apparently he needn’t have worried about seeming desperate for praise. He let out a soft giggle. “Probably.” His Uncle, for a start. But she was right, there was a reason he tended to feign busyness when it came to large family gatherings. “It does,” he nodded, “suppose you’d have the same problem.” Another thing in common. “I think-- Sam and that, they don’t get it. Liam’s not really on speaking terms with--” He stopped abruptly. It was all well and good spilling his own beans -- he shouldn’t be telling anyone, even fellow tabloid fodder, about the boys’ private lives. He cleared his throat. “They don’t have to hide anything,” he settled on awkwardly.

They walked for a few paces in silence as he tried to think of where to take the conversation next. The cool night air was working to sober him slowly, and as it did he could feel him becoming more and more conscious of where he was, what he was doing, who he was with. He slowed, not sure how much further they had to go before she announced their arrival at her door and the end of whatever this was. “Alannah, I--” he swallowed, wet his lips, “Thanks,” he mumbled quietly, “for not-- you know.”

Charlie evidently considered himself a funny guy, with his overdramatic reaction to her team.  Alannah was willing to just roll her eyes and look past his display, until he had to take a dig at her about Beckham.  "Oi what?!"  The Irish woman rose to the bait.  "Oh c'mon..."  She started off, exasperated.  Then recognising that the Yorkshire  man was pulling her  leg, Al managed to reign her anger  back  to playful  levels.  "Yeah, you caught me...  I only follow Manchester cause I'm hot for Beckham."  Abruptly, she gave Charlie a light shove and a grin, "Fuck off mate."

Alannah's eyes lit up at the challenged he issued - if he was going into the Thames, he'd take her with him.  "Oh really?" she replied, grateful at least that he wasn't a Liverpool fan.  "I'll keep that in mind."  Charlie supported Sheffield.  Obvious.  A real team.  She snorted dismissively at this claim.  "If you say so," Alannah generously conceded -  with a smile that hinted she was throwing him a bone. 

She didn't know what Charlie threatened to do with her tongue exactly and was half-tempted to find out.  Her grin was mischievous as she drew it back between her teeth and then kept it there, out of sight.  "Really, Charlie Banker?"  She tested the sound and laughed.  "Hmmm, you don't look like any banker I've ever seen."  Maybe if he lost all of his hair and gained a gut?  Alannah privately reflected that if bankers looked like him, she might take more interest in her accounts...  However, Charlie's looks would be wasted on a suit and tie, in her opinion.

"Fuck no!" she exclaimed quickly at his suggestion that her dad might have taken her bikini photos.  The cheek!  Somehow she resisted the urge to smack Charlie, maybe because he was clearly expecting that reaction.  Al would hate to be so predictable.  "I can tell you, he wasn't too impressed with that campaign," she offered after a minute.  Alannah's parents always tried to be supportive, no matter what, but she'd never forget her dad's 'you're an independent young lady, you can make your own choices' speech after seeing the bikini ads - containing the clear undertone that he was disappointed with that choice.  No man could be happy with seeing his little girl sexualised in such a way, no matter how open-minded they were.

She was surprised when Charlie made such a reasonable suggestion that she could try training or teaching.  "Hmmm," was all the response Alannah gave, consideringly.  Not that she'd given it much thought before but Al wasn't sure if she'd make a good teacher.  However, sharing her love and knowledge of flying surely wouldn't be the worst thing.  It would certainly beat making flower arrangements.  "I dunno," she pondered his follow up question.  "I don't think many make it past mid-30's.  If I'm lucky I might be able to squeeze out another decade.  If I'm unlucky, I might get bumped for someone younger in a year or two."  Alannah tried to stay optimistic about her prospects but there were new fucking prodigees every day.  She felt fairly secure with the Griffins, at least as long as Harlan was captain.  Still, professional sports could be a competitive and fickle scene. 

Alannah nodded along, agreeing that she faced similar problems in not being able to share her success with her wider family.  Sometimes she wished it were possible to rub her professional sporting career in their faces.  It might also have been nice to have more friendly faces in the stands at her games.  Al's parents were her greatest fans, they never missed a match - perhaps to try and make up for the absence of the rest of the family?  They would always show up, adorably decked out from head to toe in her team colours, doing their best to support her (it seemed likely that they were responsible for a large chunk of the Griffins souvenir revenue).  Yet when the game was over, all of that stuff had to be locked away in a cupboard and never spoken about amongst company.  She tried not to let that hurt - the law was the law.  Statue of Secrecy and all that.

From the way Charlie spoke about his bandmates, it seemed they must be close.  This made sense of course, that there'd be underlying friendship between the Banshee members.  Al smiled gently and did not pry for further details.  She wasn't looking to harvest their secrets.  Yet Alannah felt flattered and humbled by the implication that she might be able to understand a facet of Charlie's life better than them.  "You shouldn't have to hide who you are," she commented softly, but with conviction.  "At least any more than legally required, I hope," she added wryly.

The conversation lapsed into silence as they continued walking through the empty streets.  When Charlie slowed, she did too - pausing to look at him curiously when he said her name.  He was thanking her?  Alannah stared up at him, half-smiling and a little confused.  "For what?  Not pushing you in the Thames?"  Yet she didn't laugh, sensing something in his tone and demeanor which suggested that he wasn't just making more playful banter.  They'd come to a complete stop and Alannah stepped away slightly and turned towards Charlie, so she could see him more clearly.  Her hand rested on his hip while she gazed up into his eyes.  The breeze off the river kicked up, throwing strands of Al's hair accross her face.

"Charlie?"

Charlie flashed her a cheeky grin, a few breathy attempts at a laugh escaping his lips when she pushed at him and it barely moved him off course. “You wouldn’t be the first,” he said. “That’s why half their fans follow them, isn’t it?” he teased. He supposed, if he were being honest with himself, he could see the appeal.

“Really,” he confirmed. “You better,” he smirked, gripping her a little tighter as if to show he meant it – and also, conveniently, because he wanted to remove all the space between them. He chewed on his lip, half-hiding another smile as she conceded to his (in his opinion) superior football knowledge, “I do.”

Charlie groaned and rolled his eyes. “Christ, that’s bad,” he told her honestly. He loved a good pun as much as the next bloke, but – much as he wanted to woo her – even he couldn’t laugh genuinely at that. Well, maybe – a short, giggly sort of exhale slipped out. It was bad though. Charlie looked down at his attire, looked back at her. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he smirked.

Charlie laughed again, threatened to tip himself over into giggling territory once more. “Sorry,” he said as he calmed down, squeezing her side. He adopted an air akin to disappointed parent; “I’ll bet. I wouldn’t be either.” He smirked; the expression faltered slightly when he realised it sounded like he was passing judgement on her for the very thing she’d admitted to regretting. “If, you know, I had a daughter,” he added hastily, clearing his throat quietly.

Alannah didn’t really take to his teacher idea – had he verged too far into serious territory now? There was a first time for everything, he supposed – would have preferred for it not to be now, here, with her. She focused on his question – asked and unasked – and seemed to miss the hint to reveal her age to him. Maybe it was better he didn’t know. She couldn’t have been in his year, at least, and he definitely didn’t think she was older than him (then again, he’d thought Fflur was like, maybe a year or two older and she’d turned out to be several years ahead of him). He tried, as she spoke, to recall seeing her around in school – but if she was an outdoorsy, Quidditch type, made sense that he couldn’t place her.

Charlie laughed again, but it was without any joy behind it. “That’s the problem, ain’t it? It is legally required.” One good thing that had come out of his wedding (just the one thing, obviously) was that his Nan knew the truth now, too. Made things that little bit more bearable— but, again, he didn’t want to think about his wedding(s), his family, any of that right now.

He smiled wryly. “That,” he said, before his face fell serious, “and…” They’d stopped walking and she’d come around to face him. Charlie met her eyes and hesitated, acutely aware of Alannah’s hand on his hip – his hip, which was fully clothed and really only a few inches lower than his waist, which she’d been wrapped around, but which was still new. He reached out and pulled her closer slowly by her waist, his other hand coming up to tuck her hair out of her face and back behind her ear. After another moment of gazing into Alannah’s eyes Charlie leaned down to press his lips to hers again, all expectations of this going anywhere other than to her front door – where it would end – having quietly left him. He could do this; kiss her and have that be it, for tonight. The arm around her waist tightened, but slowly; curling like a constrictor lulling its prey. The hand at her ear had slipped to her neck, thumb resting against her jaw as he took his time kissing her.

She was starting to form the opinion that Charlie was perfectly imperfect.  Every laugh (or giggle), every playful touch, his teasing as well as his efforts to navigate more serious subjects too…  Somehow he found the ideal balance between comfortable and exciting, keeping her simultaneously at ease and intrigued.  He was sweet enough to keep her charmed, yet mischievous enough to keep things interesting.  Alannah didn’t think she really had a type, but if she did then it was this - Charlie as he was tonight.  It was difficult to remember that she couldn’t – shouldn’t – get used to his company.

“Maybe we should petition for a reform,” she put the joke forward with enthusiasm, dangerously close to suggesting – you and me, vs the world.  Proposing to join forces to overthrow a centuries old international statute seemed a bit much, even for how well they were getting along or how energised he made her feel.  Besides Alannah didn’t have any real interest in getting involved in politics, as nice as it would be not to have to pretend to be a different person at family gatherings. 

The suspense continued to build when Charlie remained silent.  What was he trying to say?  Alannah’s stomach felt full of butterflies from the way he was looking at her.  When he pulled her in close, she let her hand slide around to his lower back.  Every movement was so unhurried that it almost seemed cruel to Al, eager as she was to understand what he meant.  In that moment she felt absolutely helpless, yet so completely safe.  Giving into his embrace, she instinctively tilted her face up towards his, like a flower seeking the rays of the sun.  There was no laughter, no devious grin, not even a smidge of smugness on Charlie’s features now – just this kind of look that suggested the only thing he could see was her.  Alannah could scarcely draw a breath, frozen under his gaze.  Then he kissed her – and she was revived, life flowing back into her limbs, arms wrapping around him.

They had shared so many different kisses in one night, hot and passionate, slow and sweet, now this – this…  She had no words to describe it.  Alannah didn’t think anyone had ever kissed her like that.  If anything, it felt like flying – no, like falling.  It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.  Her knees might have buckled under her, but Al held herself steady (there was no fucking way she could allow herself to swoon).  It was probably the best kiss she’d ever experienced, but what right did Charlie have to kiss her like that?  Especially when they couldn’t afford to take this anywhere serious?  Underneath the elation, Alannah was thoroughly confused.  She wouldn’t claim to be an expert but… Charlie couldn’t be developing feelings, could he?

The possibility wasn’t something Alannah could acknowledge in any serious way.  When they finally separated, after a space of minutes (or hours?  It seemed impossible to know), she could do little more than smile, bright and glowing.  As her voice returned slowly, she whispered, “That was one hell of a kiss.”  Clearing her throat, she added lightly, “I should be thanking you.”  Uncharacteristically shy, Al averted her eyes from Charlie and tried to avoid meeting his gaze again.  She couldn't help thinking that this man was going to make a fool of her.  If Al were smart, she'd get home before things could get anymore...  Whatever this was.  She was no longer entirely worried about just getting carried away physically.  "We should probably -"  Looking around at where they were standing, Alannah laughed.  "- get off the road for starters."  She drew him along back to the sidewalk, feeling thankful that no vehicles had tried to use that particular street.  "My place is just up there..."  She gestured in the direction of a squat building at the end of the block.  Still she hesitated to take those last couple of steps.

He hadn’t kissed anyone like this in-- a while. It had been only a couple of weeks since his marriage had ended, but it had been longer still since he’d felt this way -- not in love (he wouldn’t admit to it, but he still very much was, he thought, distantly, perhaps that was why he was so eager to be distracted); unburdened. Alannah hardly knew him, but she knew what he was and she was still giving him the time of day. He wouldn’t say no judgement but he didn’t have to lie to her -- not properly -- or act like someone he wasn’t. There was no pretending the image of him in the papers was one of fiction; he’d practically admitted it was all some level of fact.

He was getting swept up in that -- in her decision to give him a chance. He’d done this before -- he knew, distantly, that this was how it had happened last time; a beautiful girl, too good for someone like him, willing to see past his flaws and focus on what he wanted her to see rather than what was really there. But as they made out, his fears of being found for some sort of fraud melted away.

All other thoughts were put on hold as he concentrated on the woman in his arms and everything good she’d made him feel tonight. He was grateful for how she’d allowed him to forget -- even if only temporarily. He had started the night intending to present to her the Charlie he thought the world liked best -- or at the very least, expected -- but she’d found the chinks in his armour and peeled it away from him, piece by piece until only he was left standing before her.

And beyond all of that, it felt good to kiss her, like this; not chastely, not passionately, no hunger, no restraint. They’d given into temptation, then to instinct, and now to something else entirely. To Charlie, there was no one else more important in this moment than Alannah and her touch and he intended to savour it in case it never came around again.

Then it was over. Charlie lingered in place for a moment before opening his eyes. When he did, Alannah was smiling up at him. He stared back, already mourning. One hell of a kiss. He wasn’t going to argue with that. His lips felt swollen from overuse, but still ached to press back to hers. Alannah looked away and Charlie kept his eyes on her. He wanted to tell her she was wrong -- that she shouldn’t thank him at all. She should get home, slam the door in his face and never come near him again. But he was too selfish to fall on his sword for her.

They were still close, no longer pressed together but neither had they moved to create space between their bodies. Charlie was still watching her, guilt rising in his gut and threatening to drown him if it reached his lungs. Alannah’s laugh brought him back from his wandering thoughts. “Right, yeah,” he grinned, letting go of her reluctantly and following her to the pavement.

They made it a few steps before she spoke again. He looked to where she had indicated and suddenly felt hollow. “Home straight,” he smirked weakly, taking her hand in his and linking their fingers together. There was no point in dragging their feet -- they’d delayed as long as was reasonable and to the point of being unreasonable. Almost at the door Charlie slowed them again to a stop. He wet his lips. “I meant it,” he said quietly, not looking her in the eyes. “Thanks for… this.” He flicked his gaze up to meet hers, glanced back down as he stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. “I-- it was…”

Alannah had never considered herself a sappy romantic type.  The love stories they always tried to sell in the movies seemed to her so often just foolish and dumb.  She was never impressed to see people letting their feelings get in the way of their good sense, overlooking issues to be with someone bad for them.  Yet after a night like this, she could almost understand it...  She certainly felt a little more sympathetic since experiencing how easy it was to get swept up in Charlie.  Knowing better – and even saying 'we shouldn't' – had done little to stop things proceeding.

As they approached the door, he was thanking her again.  Charlie’s insistence on being grateful left her bemused.  Although their time together had been great, Alannah didn't feel like she could be credited for doing anything special.  They'd just talked, right?  And kissed (but Al was less inclined to believe that was rare for him).  The two of them had connected certainly, on some level.  Still, she hadn’t been trying, it had just happened.  What did that leave Charlie to thank her for, other than just being herself?  It was a beautiful thought, and all she’d ever wanted – to be appreciated for who she was. 

On impulse Alannah raised a hand to his face, gently tracing the line of his cheek, his jawline.  Finally daring herself to meet his eyes once more, she attempted to find the words to respond.  "I..."  She faltered, uncertainty causing her to hesitate.  What could she say?  If they were in a movie, this would be the time for some heartfelt confession or declaration about how he'd made her feel and everything she'd enjoyed about their time together…  But they weren’t part of some perfectly scripted world with happily-ever-afters.  This was the real world with real consequences and risks.  It had been wonderful experience, she wasn't likely to forget anytime soon, but it had been one night and Alannah couldn't give her heart away so cheaply.  "Yeah, it was," she replied simply, mirroring his undeclared sentiment. 

To think they'd started off the night as strangers and now...

Will I see you again? The question hovered unspoken on her lips.  She held back, not really wanting an answer.  Alannah didn't want to know with certainty that she wouldn't, nor set herself up to hope and be disappointed.  She decided to just let things be as they were.  There was no need to spoil something good with expectations and hope, nor pessimism and doubts.  The questions of 'will we? won't we?' would only let in all of the complications.  She'd rather remember this night for the light and easy fun they’d shared.  “I'm glad I met you Charlie,” was all she said, yet with complete sincerity. 

Alannah knew she could draw this out longer, let him follow her all the way up to her apartment door, maybe even invite him inside…  but the excuses not to end things would likely only snowball out of control.  It seemed that there was only one place that could lead and that wasn’t what Al wanted, not in such a way at least.  It would be a shame to cheapen their night to some drunken hook up.  She was grateful that Charlie didn’t try to press his advantage in that regard. 

Knowing that the longer they lingered on the threshold, the harder it would be to make the right choice, Alannah took a deep breath.  "Goodnight," she said simply - not goodbye, not see you later.  She pressed her lips to his one last time in a feather light kiss, before slipping away.  The door closed behind her with a gentle click.  She walked up the stairs to her apartment in a fog and was barely aware of letting herself in.  After kicking off her shoes by the door, Alannah padded across the room towards her media shelves.  Selecting a slightly battered VHS, she put it into the player and grabbed a remote off the coffee table.  While she curled up on the couch, the movie began to roll.  Eyes feeling heavy, Al began to drift off to sleep even before the opening was complete. 

A long time ago in a galaxy far far away...

[out]

Charlie leaned into her touch as Alannah raised her hand to his face; he hadn’t slept with anyone since-- hadn’t touched or been touched, not in this way. This was hardly anything sexual but it was something and he could feel himself craving more. Their eyes met and Charlie thought they might fall together again, let their good sense be ignored -- or hers, at least. He had already given up on his. She spoke softly and the past tense -- which he’d used himself only a moment before -- hit him like a brick.

He thought they might be thinking the same thing: would this be it? Charlie didn’t know what he wanted from her anymore -- at the beginning of the night it had been purely physical, had shifted into some odd hint at friendship, then back again, and again. It was a shame she didn’t seem the friends with benefits type because he could have happily slipped into that sort of role with her -- he wasn’t ready for anything more. Shouldn’t be.

I’m glad I met you Charlie. He blinked, nodded. “Me too. You, I mean,” he stumbled over his words, a telltale sign that he was overthinking.

Neither of them were making any effort to move and he wondered if they might just stay out here all night until the sun came up-- Goodnight. The petite witch leant up to kiss him and Charlie almost pushed for more, but his hands stayed by his side, the fingers entwined with hers slipping reluctantly as she turned away. “‘Night,” he said quietly with a small smile as she opened the door to her building.

The moment she’d gone he regretted not asking for more -- but, he reminded himself, she hadn’t seemed the type to give in to him, if he hadn’t already. If he had pushed, she would have pushed back and the night would have left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, rather than… whatever this was. He’d blame the nauseous feeling in his stomach on the beer.

Charlie lingered for another moment, just in case, before beginning the walk back to the station, hands in pockets. He got halfway before remembering that had been the last train out, so there definitely wouldn’t be one back into the city. He inhaled slowly, took a good look around and then disappeared with a faint pop, back to London and his empty hotel room.


END