Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR SINCLAIRRRRRRR, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!!"

The table of diners broke out into cheers and raucous laughter as Sinclair Bryant blew out the 43 candles that adorned the chocolate cake he had picked out for himself. It was large enough to share with the other four diners at the table and then take home for him to devour daily. Optimistically he hoped it would last him four days, realistically it would last him two.

Sinclair ran his hands through his dirty blonde hair, which over the past few years seemed to gain more and more unwanted greys. God, did he feel old sitting there by himself. Technically he wasn't by himself of course, but he was alone. His four guests were made up of two couples, which in hindsight was awful planning on Sinclair's part but he really didn't care at the time. Now he did. 6 months post-divorce felt very rough.

His friends had hoped bagging a table at the City's newest up-and-coming restaurant would be perfect for the food lovers' birthday and would hopefully bring back the smile and chatter that they missed. It was a very nice eatery, he thought, as he splayed his hands on the rich cotton of the table cloth. There were only about 20 tables in all, of varying sizes, and most of the clientele looked like Sinclair and his friends with a few older couples dining in the far corners, away from the livelier crowd in the middle of the dining room. There was a small mahogany topped bar through a set of double doors, where diners could relax both pre and post-meal as it was well furnished with cushy red stools. All in all, it was pleasing to Sinclair.

"Right, all hands on deck, there's a lot of candles to remove here before we can dig in," David Fife, joked as he nudged his wife's arm. Jessica Fife, having listened to her husband's awful jokes for the past 12 years, didn't even crack a smile. She did however shoot Sinclair a sympathetic look as she pulled back her auburn hair, then began picking the little blue candles out of the cake.

Sinclair hated people looking at him like that. Hated the pity. He did, however, remain his charming self and tried to entertain the table as best he could, even though he wasn't feeling quite up to scratch. It didn't matter much anyway at that point, the wine had flowed far too easily all night and his guests were all very merry. Sinclair was too but wasn't a heavy drinker, so it hadn't taken much.

The cake sliced beautifully. Sinclair licked his bottom lip, eager to try the ludicrously expensive sponge. It had better be worth it, he thought, as he handed the first slice to Jessica; her green eyes shone in delight. As a mother of two boys, and the wife of a stocky investment banker, who did nothing but pick at food all day, she often didn't get the first slice of anything.

David was next, followed by Sylvester and Jane, who were the power couple of the group. Sylvester worked in the same field as Sinclair while Jane was a solicitor for a well-known firm in the city. They were almost carbon copies of each other with their dark brown hair, whiskey eyes and tortured artist fashion sense. Sinclair was a bit freaked out by how much they had morphed into one but equally jealous of them, too. They loved each other fiercely, he could see that in everything they did together. The looks, the laughs, the touches. He wasn't sure he'd ever had that.

Often, Sinclair's birthdays would run into the early hours of the morning but with it being such a small affair, the evening wasn't heading that way. And besides, they were all hurtling into their mid-40s now. It was time to hang up those days.

"I think...I'd quite like to compliment the chef," Sinclair suddenly thought out loud as he poured himself the dregs of the last bottle of wine.

"God, are we that pretentious now, Sinc?" Sylvester asked.

"What's pretentious about it? I took a risk with my order, unlike you two," he pointed at Sylvester and Jane, "And you, David, don't even get me started. Fancy restaurant and you order your steak well done. You should be ashamed of yourself."

Jane grimaced, "He's got a point, Dave. I'm surprised you didn't ask for tomato ketchup with it."

"I'd have killed him," Sinclair warned, pointing the cake knife in David's direction.

"If only," Jessica sighed lying her tired head in her hand. Her response garnered laughs all around the table, except from her crimson-faced husband.

"I like what I like," David replied simply and scoffed the last of his cake.

"That's because you're a wanker! Oops, sorry, slip of the tongue. I meant a banker."

"Har har," David mocked back at Jane's joke. One that he had heard countless times in the last 20 years.

"Excuse me," Sinclair said, gaining the attention of the passing waitress, "the chef, the one who's in charge of the duck. I'd like to speak to him, give him my...gratitude for the excellent food."

The waitress smirked and told him she'd do her best to get the chef out of the kitchen for him before bouncing off to answer another patron.

Twenty minutes and another bottle of wine for the table later, said chef was wiping their hands on a cloth and preparing themselves to meet a table of drunken idiots.

Sinclair saw her first. Dark hair was hidden under a hairnet and hat and she wore black trousers, with a short-sleeved white chef's tunic. It was fitted to her curvature perfectly. She smiled kindly at the waitress he had spoken to earlier, her blue eyes tired but glowing. The waitress pointed her in the direction of the table and said something clearly amusing because she briefly laughed.

She meandered around the tables, smiling and greeting those who noticed her coming through the dining room. Sinclair sat upright and tried to look like he had been paying attention to the conversation going on and not ogling the very pretty woman walking straight at him.

"Good evening, ladies and gentleman," her soft voice began as she rested her hands together in front of her, "I hear a happy birthday is in order."

"Yeah, that old bugger there," David pointed at Sinclair.

She turned her attention fully to him then, ready to give him the usual chef politeness. "Happy Birthday from us all here at La Croix, we hope you've enjoyed your evening with us."

"Very much so," Sinclair replied, offering his hand to the mystery chef, "and please...accept my compliments, the B-braised Duck was superb."

She took his proffered hand and shook it enthusiastically. Her palm was hot in Sinclair's and he found himself enjoying the softness of her touch. It felt sobering even though it was quite clear that he was on his way to being pissed.

"Oh, thank you," she replied, a beaming smile erupting on her pale features, "That's actually one of my personal recipes here, I'm very glad you enjoyed it."

His friends all watched as he stared at her, passing awkward looks amongst themselves. David smirked at Sylvester but Jane noticed and kicked him under the table, mouthing 'shut up' at him.

"It was a pleasure meeting you all and I hope to see you all back here soon. Happy birthday again, Mr...sorry how rude, I didn't catch your name..." She said embarrassed, how had she forgotten something so basic, she thought, as her eyes lingered on the birthday boy.

"Bryant but Sinclair is preferable. I don't like being call Mr Bryant, makes me feel like my father, an old man," he confessed with a silly, drunken grin on his face.

David stifled a laugh into his fist and his wife abruptly kicked the foot Jane left unscathed earlier. He winced in pain and then shut up. Sinclair's friends wanted him to move on and this was the first time he'd smiled at anyone new since Natalie.

She laughed softly, "Well good night Sinclair...and Sinclair's friends! I won't intrude on any more of your time."

She turned and walked slowly back in the direction she came from and the red-headed waitress smirked at her as they crossed paths again, the chef just shook her head. Some personal joke, Sinclair imagined. He then realised that in his drunk state, he had forgotten to get her name, which irked him.

*

"Sian!!" Perry, the red-headed, feisty waitress shouted as she opened the walk-in freezer door. It was the end of another shift at La Croix and as acting Head Chef, Sian was taking stock.

"What now? Please don't say it's more customers. I've done all my 'smile and wave' for the night surely?" Sian moaned. She didn't mind it really but she had been summoned out there four times throughout the night, which doesn't sound like a lot, but when a kitchen needs to be kept running, it is.

"We have a straggler. He's three sheets to the wind and no way can he drive home."

The chef sighed, "Sometimes you'd think we work in the local pub. People should not be getting rat arsed on hundred quid bottles of wine. Psychos."

Perry just shrugged at the chef, "It's not my job, boss."

"I am not your boss, knobhead," Sian replied as she left the freezer and shrugged off her jacket.

"You are tonight," Perry retorted and slapped her bum as she walked off in search of Drunky-McDrunkface.

"Fine. You're sacked! Because that's sexual harassment!"

"Yeah, yeah. Fuck off," she huffed and plonked herself down on a stool, her feet were throbbing from a long, busy shift serving people their delicious looking meals. 

The kitchen was being broken down and cleaned for the night when Sian walked through. It smelt like disinfectant and herbs and lethargy seeped out of everyone. The dishwasher was on the fritz and poor Jimmy, the newest kitchen hand was living up to his name, and washing up without the help of the industrial beast. Ahh, the glamour of being a chef, she sighed.

When Sian entered the dining room, her eyes scanned each white-clothed table but the restaurant was empty, as was the bar area. She sucked in air through her teeth and prayed that whoever it was had decided to get a taxi home.

"They're gone," she declared to Perry when she found her munching on some leftover chicken in the staff room.

"It was that sexy birthday boy, you know," she said with a smirk on her freckled face.

"Since when do you like boys?" Sian poked.

"I said he was sexy, not that I wanted to have sex with him. Two very different things."

As Sian removed her hat and hairnet she nodded. "Ah, gotcha...do you really think he was sexy?"

"Yeah, why?" Perry asked.

"Just didn't want to be the only one. Think it clearly highlights our Daddy issues though."

"Shut! Up! You can't call people out like that."

Sian suddenly found chicken stuffed into her mouth as Perry laughed. She chewed it quickly and swallowed it down, licking her lips at the delicious flavours. She took her clothes from her bag and quickly started to change out of her work uniform.

"So, is Jen coming to meet you tonight?" She asked Perry as she threw a burgundy jumper over her head. Jen was her new beau but Perry was a bit of a player, so Sian wasn't quite sure who she was seeing. 

"Na, I don't think there will be any...cumming tonight...not unless you...you know?" Perry winked at Sian which earned her a slap.

"I'm not sleeping with you, pervert."

"Eh, even spaghetti is straight until it's wet," she countered, trying to mimic a serious face but Sian just stared at her, unimpressed. "Come on, that was a good one. Gay reference for me, foodie reference for big bad boss chef."

Sian rolled her eyes and stuffed her uniform into her purple backpack. "I'm not the boss, Per. Not yet."

"Eh, close enough," she shrugged.

*

Once everyone had gone home for the night, Sian locked up the restaurant and sighed into the cool midnight air. The city was still bustling with cars honking their horns, lights bouncing off glassed fronted shops, and of course, a token drunk singing somewhere in the distance. Couples and groups of friends walking down the street passed her, would soon be leaving the restaurant district and hitting the clubbing side of the city. Perry would likely be going but Sian was way too tired to indulge in anything like that. Plus, she was older than most of her colleagues that went clubbing after work. At 29, the wannabe Head Chef was starting to feel like her clubbing days were coming to an end.

She zipped up her coat once the restaurant was secure, the cold November bite was a horrid contrast to that of the kitchen. As Sian was so used to being amongst steam and heat, she had become acclimatised to it and therefore hated when winter blew in. Her brunette hair was now free to brush along a few inches past her shoulders, but not for long, as she placed a thick beanie over her head.

She began walking towards home, which thankfully was only twenty minutes away when she was bumped into by someone much taller than her, coming out of the late-night off-license. She wasn't too offended, it had happened before and would likely happen again. Anyone using a late-night off-license is probably already drunk and wobbly, she surmised.

"So..oorry," the deep voice rasped and she recognised it immediately. It was birthday boy.

"It's okay...are you okay...erm, Sinclair, was it?" She asked, steadying his slightly swaying body. The bicep muscles beneath her hands flexed and she was surprisingly impressed at their size.

"Chef!" he cried out happily, "Wo...man, your food was...urgh, to die for. I'm coming back. In fact...this might be my new regular."

Sian smiled and softly shushed the clearly intoxicated customer. "Okay, Sinclair, where do you live? Perry...the waitress from the restaurant, said you were going to drive. I can't let you do that, I'm afraid."

"I'm fiii...ne," he protested, "I bought...it's called Blast...gives you energy app..aarently."

"Mmm, more likely to give you heart palpitations, to be honest," she chuckled, trying to think what to do with him. She couldn't leave him like this. "Can I call you a taxi?"

"Too far out. They don't like taking me."

Well that buggered that idea. 

"Anyone who can come and get you?"

"No...there's my ex-wife?" He shrugged, a little too vigorously and he fell into her chest. He smelt like expensive cologne and even more expensive wine.

Sian closed her eyes for a minute, thinking she was going soft or mad, or both. She opened them and Sinclair was trying to read the ingredients on the back of the can of Blast.

"You know, these drinnkkks, they're very inter...inter...interesting!" He snapped his finger finally grasping the word that he had wanted. God, he was adorable, she thought. Like a bloody puppy.

"Right, come on. You're coming with me."

"Ooh, where to? I like going plaaces," Sinclair said excitedly, bobbing up and down.

"You're coming home with me."

Getting Sinclair back to Sian's flat had been amusing for her. He shuffled a lot and talked a hell of a lot more. About anything. A car he saw, an interesting street name, the price of diesel as they passed a petrol station.

Once inside Sian's flat, she made him kick off his suede shoes, take off his jacket and sit on her worn, slightly sun blemished, blue sofa. It had seen better days but she wasn't too fussed; she wasn't home enough to warrant a new, expensive one. His eyes almost immediately started drifting to sleep as he lay his head back on the comfortable seat.

She blew out a gust of air through her mouth and rubbed at her face. What am I doing? She thought. This is how people get chopped up and put in the freezer, she told herself as she readied two glasses of water and two paracetamol for Sinclair.

Back in the living room, Sian stood close to Sinclair and made sure he took the painkillers and then pushed the bottom of his glass just a tad to ensure he had drunk it all. He smiled a wide grin at her and then collapsed sideways into the sofa; she rolled her eyes at the state of him, but was kind and pushed a cushion under his head and grabbed the throw from off the back of the seat. Draping it over him, he bedded down into the cushion and sighed.

"Thank you," he hummed into the pillow. Sian stupidly smiled at how cute he was and then the smile was wiped from her face in shock. 

"You're very pretty aren't you?" He said as he finally stilled, lips pouting and brows furrowed. 

Sian blushed then poked his arm a few times to make sure he was asleep. She didn't think he was sinister in any way, but after a shower, she did prop a chair up the door, on the inside of her bedroom. Just in case.

Chapter Text

Sian woke earlier than she normally would, and far earlier than she would have liked but with a drunken stranger sleeping on her sofa in the next room, who had called her pretty, her sleep had been broken through the night.

Her stomach grumbled unceremoniously, signifying she needed to get out of bed and eat something. She pulled back the covers, revealing her red and black checked, fleecy pyjamas and knitted blue socks. The electric heaters in her flat weren't the best so she often bundled herself up in warm clothes if she was at home.

She shuffled the grey duvet and then lay it flat, folding over the top edge 6 inches, followed by a quick fluffing up of the pillows before throwing on her purple robe that hung on the back of her door. A one-bedroom flat in the city wasn't cheap and she didn't get a lot for the money, her bedroom was quite tight, so everything had to have its place.

Sian quickly and quietly used the bathroom and then padded into the living room. It was fairly dark in there, the curtains were fully drawn but a crack of sunlight had managed to push its way through the heavy material. Her guest was still sleeping soundly, the blanket pulled right up over his shoulders, and his hand propped under his cheek. Sinclair's floppy, dirty blonde hair fell in all directions and Sian had to bite back the urge to ruffle it. That would be cruel, she thought as she let out a sigh and walked into her tiny kitchen.

The units in there were something from the 70s, cheap and a murky, sage-y green in colour. They were hideous but they were serviceable, therefore her tight-fisted landlord wouldn't change them. The oven that came with the flat was at least newer, for which the avid chef was grateful.

Sian opened her little white fridge, that sat in the corner sadly and produced from it some eggs, cheese, cream, a handful of red peppers, mushrooms, spinach and finally, the remainder of a link of chorizo that she'd eaten earlier in the week.

"Sunday morning frittata it is."

She pulled out her trusty skillet from the cupboard next to the fridge and set it down on the old beech effect countertop. Hideous.

With expert hands she made short work of preparing the veg and chorizo and then mixed the eggs, cream, and cheese for the base of the frittata; adding salt, pepper, garlic, and paprika to it in healthy measures. She hummed quietly as she did so, not rushed by the need to get it served to a hungrily awaiting customer.

In no time at all, she was placing the skillet in the oven for it to bake to perfection. She was already starving looking at it through its glass prison.

To distract herself from watching it cook, she made herself a cup of tea, with a dash of milk. Sian liked a strong cup of tea. As she sipped the boiling liquid, she rested her shoulder and head on the doorframe and watched Sinclair sleep. She wasn't sure what to do. Should she wake him? Let him sleep it out? If she did that, what if he slept all day? She herself had been known not to wake until 2 or 3 in the afternoon after a heavy night out.

Relief washed over her as she began in the kitchen again, she him groan and stir from his sleep. The food needed a few more minutes, which gave her enough time to toast some sourdough. She cut two thick slices, one for her and one for her guest. She may as well feed him before he left; if he could stomach it that is.

A blob of butter hit the pan on the hob and immediately it began to melt. She swirled the frying pan to smooth out the yellow liquid evenly and then lay the bread down. Patting the top of it lovingly.

"Erm," Sinclair cleared his throat as he stood at the entrance to the kitchen, head in his hand and looking rather sheepish, "I seem to have passed out on your sofa. Sorry about that. I don't suppose you have any paracetamol, do you? My head feels a bit odd."

Even though she had been watching him earlier, she was a bit flustered to see him up, top few shirt buttons open and his hair so dishevelled. "It's okay...erm, good morning and yes I do."

Sian wiped her hands on the tea towel that was laced through the handle of the oven and then shuffled to the furthest cabinet on the left-hand side of the kitchen, where she kept all her medical stuff. It sounded posh saying it like that, really it only contained paracetamol, blue plasters that she constantly stole from work, and an old, half-used prescription of the pill she used to be on. Why they were still in there, she didn't know, but she never seemed to remember to throw them away.

Sinclair's head felt fuzzy and his brain dry; as if all the water from his head had seeped out in his sleep. It hadn't, of course, he'd just drank too much red wine. He thought the chef looked very cosy bundled in her layers and he was a tad jealous because he was a bit chilly. Not that he was going to moan about that, he'd slept on this woman's sofa last night, pissed out of his face; he felt an idiot enough.

Sian passed him the pills and a glass of water and then went back to the hob and turned the sourdough over in the pan. Sinclair headed back into the living room for his shoes.

Once retrieved, he cleared his throat again, this time his shoes dangling from his fingertips. "Again, very sorry about last night. I never usually do things like that...I'm apparently meant to be a mature adult by now but I think it missed me."

Sinclair rubbed his neck with his free hand and gave Sian a weak smile. In his overworking mind, he'd made a right tit of himself and probably would not be returning to La Croix and he certainly was never going to make headway with pretty women if he acted like this.

"Do you not want breakfast? It's done. I made enough," Sian offered kindly and Sinclair's smile grew. After last night's delights, he'd love to taste her cooking again and after last night's blunder, he was very grateful that she wasn't kicking him out yet.

"If...if you don't mind. I am quite peckish actually...anything I can help with?" He offered, feeling like a spare part as he watched her work seamlessly around her small kitchen.

"Nope," she replied simply as she took another cup from the cupboard above the kettle. "Tea or coffee? I've only got instant, I'm afraid."

"Tea, please," he replied; he was liking her more and more every moment.

"How do you take it?"

"Milk, two sugars," he answered as she plopped a tea bag into each cup.

Sian grimaced at his order, "Two sugars? That's grim."

"Oi. Leave me alone, I'm old. If we didn't have sugar in our tea when we were younger, we didn't get any sugar at all."

"Bloody hell, how old are you, Sinclair?" She asked laughing. She turned off the hob and then the oven and opened the door slightly to let out the heat, so the frittata didn't overcook.

The mention of his own name made Sinclair more aware of the fact that he still didn't know the pretty brunette chef's one and he couldn't call her pretty brunette chef all morning for goodness sake.

"Very old. So, in my terrible state last night, I forgot to ask your name," he drawled.

Sian couldn't deny that the timbre of his gruff, sleepy voice didn't do something strange to her stomach. Nope, nope, nope, can't fuck a complete stranger, she thought as she poured the boiling water over the teabags. Even though she would have years ago. She turned her back to the mugs, to face Sinclair, who was watching her intently.

"It's Sian," she informed him, as her arms crossed over her stomach, "Sian Baker."

"Head chef of La Croix," Sinclair uttered, impressed, his back now resting on the door frame, shoes discarded on the floor in the living room once more.

"No, sadly not. Our Head chef has been out with the flu for the past week, I'm the stand-in. Second in command usually, though Andre is a bit overbearing because I'm English in his French kitchen." She rolled her eyes and huffed, turning back to finish making the tea. She asked Sinclair to take the cups to the 2 person dining table she had in the living area and plated up the food.

When she brought through the two plates, Sinclair had opened the curtains, letting in beams of dull natural light into the room and was waiting quite eagerly with his back to the window.

Placing Sinclair's plate down first, his eyes lit up as they did yesterday and Sian loved that. She loved other people's appreciation of food, especially when she made it. He was biting into it before she'd even sat down and made an almost gratuitous sound of pleasure; she smirked as she sipped her fresh tea and then began on her own breakfast.

They ate quietly, except for Sinclair's appreciative grunts, followed by the smacking of his soft-looking lips against each of his fingers. Not that she'd been looking at his lips, of course.

"That was delicious. Can I have the recipe? I try to cook, when I can, when I find the time. I've been working a lot lately, keeping my mind busy."

Sinclair spoke carefully but his thoughts were frantic, Sian thought as she sat and listened to him. He glided into telling her about last night and why he was alone and drunk. Sinclair explained that it was his fault, telling his friends to carry on and that he was fine to get a taxi. Only the two taxis he had flagged down wouldn't drive that far, that late, even if it did mean a wad of cash in their wallets.

Sian surmised from the way he spoke and the fine grey suit he had been wearing last night that Sinclair had a very lucrative job. Probably the kind of job her parents wanted her to have. She was right, the minute he had finished talking about last night, he moved onto his job and then mentioned his ex-wife again. That seemed to stop his rambling. Not that Sian minded, she found it quite entertaining.

"So, do you always take strange customers home?" He asked, finishing his tea and sitting back in the chair satisfied.

She huffed, "No I do not. You are the first Mr. Bryant.."

"Sinclair," he corrected with a smile, his amber eyes now awake and with it. The painkillers had kicked in and with a full stomach of excellent food, Sinclair felt quite good, all things considered.

"Sinclair," Sian repeated, "Sorry, forgot I'm not in the presence of your father. But no, never."

Sinclair's hand lightly fell onto Sian's hand, on top of the small table and his knees brushed against hers. It was a bold move, he knew, but he was taken with her and wanted to know if that was reciprocated. When she didn't move her hand, he felt relief in his chest.

"Well, I am very glad that you were kind enough to take this old, drunken mess home."

Sian scoffed, "You're not even that old."

"Old enough."

"For what?"

"I don't know...to know better?" He shrugged and his expressive eyebrows raised high into his forehead. The movement had removed his hand from hers and they both missed the contact.

"Na. I think we've all been lied to, being an adult is a falsehood we were all sold as children."

Sinclair laughed, "I like the way you think."

He raised his left arm and looked at his watch, "I need to go. I need to go find my car...are we far from it? I don't remember much of the walk here...did I really debate the use of diesel over petrol, by the way?"

"Yes, yes you did," Sian laughed, "Riveting stuff."

"God, I'm not as smooth as I used to be," he admitted rubbing his face, and Sian blushed. Like he'd be interested enough in her to want to be smooth, she thought, her self confidence not being what it used to be.

"I'll walk you back to your car, it's only twenty minutes...I wouldn't want you wandering off and getting lost now I've kept you safe all night," she joked. Sinclair licked his bottom and stared at her, a soft amused look on his face.

Sian, feeling somewhat vulnerable under his gaze, looked away and then removed herself from the table altogether, to get ready.

45 minutes later, they were back at Sinclair's car. Sian was wrapped up tight in her navy winter coat, a knitted beige scarf, hat, and gloves set keeping all her other vulnerable areas warm. She'd had to lend Sinclair a scarf as it was that bitterly cold out.

The duos easy conversation turned to an awkward tension as Sinclair unlocked his very impressive car. Strangely, even though they had only just met, neither of them wanted to end the morning but Sinclair had some matters to attend to, that he'd already put off for far too long.

He moved to pull the scarf off but Sian stopped him with a gloved hand over his. Sinclair cursed the glove, he'd have quite liked to feel her softness once again.

"Keep it," Sian said slightly shakily, "bring it back another time...if you want or it can be a memento for a somewhat memorable birthday."

"Very memorable," Sinclair whispered and the softness of his eyes intensified.

Feeling unseasonably brave, Sian tiptoed to reach Sinclair's face and planted a brief kiss at the corner of his mouth. Her lips were gone before he could register what had happened, his hands holding on tightly to his car.

"Happy birthday, it was a pleasure to meet you, Sinclair, thank you for not murdering me in my sleep." She laughed at herself, then turned on her heels and began walking back to her flat.

Sinclair didn't move for a moment as he watched Sian fade into the busy crowd of people, too shocked and far too excited from the simple, chaste kiss it had been.

Fuck. 

Chapter Text

“It’s been a week, why don’t you just let me slip you his number out of the reservations book?" Perry asked with her arms crossed as she watched Sian set up for the lunch shift. She was vexed at her friend’s unwillingness to budge on the matter.

Sian was quickly beginning to regret telling her about the night she took Sinclair home because ever since, she hadn’t stopped asking about him or watching the door for any gorgeous, floppy-haired, puppy-dog-looking man in his 40s.

“Because it's not a big deal,” Sian replied, partly lying.

She had thought about him, not obsessively but she’d found him amusing and undeniably attractive. The kiss, though ridiculously brief, had felt good and she had shocked herself with her boldness; it had been a long time she had acted on any kind of attraction.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Perry informed her as she lifted a large tray of clean cutlery. She was a little over 5 foot but hunkered around heavy items all day, much to the shock of the male folk in the kitchen. Being the only 2 females was sometimes a bloody nightmare.

“Though she be little she is fierce,” Sian mused and winked at her friend. She expertly sharpened her knives, filling the kitchen with the repetitive scraping sound.

“Don’t think you can distract me from getting Birthday boy back into your flat and maybe something else, with your fine words,” Perry chastised with a filthy grin on her face.

Sian was about to give her a scathing reply but Andre, the head chef at La Croix, burst into the kitchen; it was a good thing Sian was used to his turbulent arrivals otherwise she may have lost a finger to the now very sharp knife in her grasp.

“Gossiping women as usual?” the chef huffed in his diluted French accent. He was sounding a bit more English every year and hated when anyone mentioned it. Therefore, it was mentioned often. His greying hair looked a windswept mess, his face stubbled with the same shade, and his uniform trousers were creased. Another long night, Sian thought, as large dark circles framed his brown eyes.

Instead of engaging, Perry left the kitchen, giving Sian a sympathetic half-smile. The redhead had been in enough awkward and heated situations with Andre recently and wasn’t looking for another.

“What? No one replies to a question now?” Andre asked as he watched the door close.

“No, Andre, we weren’t gossiping,” she replied with a cold unenthusiasm. 

What she wanted to say was, ‘Don’t be such a miserable, stand-offish, misogynistic dick,” but she refrained, for the sake of her job. Andre could be volatile and did not like to be talked down to in ‘his kitchen’ and whilst he couldn’t actually sack her himself, he’d worked there far longer than she had and therefore the owner of the restaurant would likely pick him over her and he was definitely petty enough to threaten a choice.

The lunch shift was marred by his poor mood but it didn’t affect the quality of his craft. That was the main thing, in Sian’s eyes; a plate of food returning to the kitchen was always upsetting to her and always a headache. It, undoubtedly, wouldn’t be Andre’s fault and he’d rip all those in the kitchen to shreds for the rest of the shift.

It was a slower lunch than usual, so, as he often would, Andre left fifteen minutes before service was finished. Sian had learned to not get annoyed over this behaviour; in the beginning, she couldn’t believe his attitude but over time she accepted that it just made her life easier. Jimmy, who had been hiding from him most of the afternoon was overjoyed and flitted around the kitchen much happier from thereon.

Sian wiped the sweat from her brow as she plated what she hoped would be the last dish of the day but customers were notorious for coming in 10 minutes before closing and wanting a 3-course meal. Perry rushed into the kitchen, a devilish grin on her freckled face, and took the two fresh plates from underneath the heater.

“Eh, what’s with the face?” Sian asked whilst she washed her hands for what could have been the fiftieth time that lunchtime.

“Nothing,” the younger woman replied and backed into the swinging door, Sian’s perfectly plated food looking dubious in her grasp as she continued to smirk to herself.

“Don’t drop my food,” she yelled after her.

Sian turned just in time to catch the tail end of baby blue-eyed Jimmy staring at the door. Jimmy was about 6 years her junior; he was fairly good-looking but far too boyish for her. He seemed to be following the ‘in style’ when it came to his mousy brown hair; it was parted down the middle, with floppy curtains coming down either side of his face. She whistled for his attention as she passed him and he looked away, a little pinker than he was before.

“Jimmy, really? Still? It’s been months, it’s not happening, my friend. She’s still a lesbian.” Sian whispered as she removed her apron and changed it for a cleaning one, not wanting the chemicals on the other.

“I can’t help it. She’s so nice to me,” he said softly, his Geordie accent quite the pleasure on her ear after listening to Andre’s harsh French tone whining at her all afternoon.

“What have I told you? Have a bit more self-respect, man. Just because a pretty girl is nice to you, it doesn’t mean you have to fall in love with her.”

“You’re just cold,” he joked and crossed his arms, ready to question his colleague, “when was the last time you went out with someone? Had a boyfriend?”

Sian snorted, “Why, are you offering? You know I'd ruin you, Jimmy."

Jimmy blushed terribly at the insinuation, he quickly regretted starting the conversation, knowing she always ended up embarrassing him.

"Anyway" Sian continued, sparing him of any more harassment, "I spend the majority of my time here or out with you infants, so it’s not like I have a lot of time to go searching, do I?”

It was the truth, her job had taken up the largest seat in her life. After years of practice, she was comfortable and knew how to be on her own. So, even if she found the time, she wasn’t sure she’d have the inclination to go out and find someone to share her life with. Not yet anyway. She had healing of her own to do before she burdened herself upon anyone else.

Luck in the love department seemed to skip her anyway, she had decided. Sinclair being her last failure. Why she had kissed him, she would never know, but she had and it felt nice, even if it was just a split second. He hadn’t got in touch anyway, even just to return the scarf, so she was convinced that both the item of clothing and herself had been forgotten about. It is, what it is, she thought. As much as Sian tried not to, whilst quickly cleaning up after herself, the thoughts Jimmy planted in her head leeched onto her. 

Once she had cleared the dining room, Perry walked into the kitchen to see Sian meticulously cleaning one spot of the stainless steel counter and rolled her eyes. She was lost in her head, as usual.

“Oi, weirdo. Everyone’s gone,” Perry informed her. The rest of the small kitchen staff had already left for their 2-hour downtime between lunch and dinner but Sian had barely noticed them leave, concentrating on the work and the restlessness of her thoughts. “Are you going to go get changed? Maybe sort your hair?”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Sian asked, offended, as she ran her hand over the top of her silky brunette locks.

“Nothing is wrong with it...it just might look nicer down,” she shrugged, trying to hide the mischievousness from her face.

Sian noticed her suspicious behaviour immediately and narrowed her eyes at her friend whilst resting a hand on her hip. “I have literally left this restaurant looking homeless after a busy shift and you’ve never once told me to put my hair down. What’s going on?”

“Nothing!" she replied, holding her hands up, "Can’t a friend lookout for another friend?”

“I thought you wanted to be an actress?” Sian asked as she wiped her damp hands on her work apron.

“I do,” Perry replied, slightly defensively, her short frame trying it’s best to lengthen.

“Well, better getting working harder at it,” she teased as she tapped her friends shoulder.

The cloth that was in Sian's hand was quickly discarded into the washing pile. She changed back into her normal clothes, retrieved her black, puffy winter coat and bag from the staff room, and purposefully did nothing to her hair, for which Perry made known her disapproval. The younger woman had a wickedly, aggressive bitch face and a tut to match but Sian was more than used to it and mostly ignored her, which usually made her even more irate. Perry was leaning against the counter when Sian passed her, she watched her head for the exit, excited but slightly annoyed that Sian had ignored her advice.

“See you in a bit, Per, and cheer up!” Sian smiled as she pushed the swinging door lightly, when her head turned to the dining room, she abruptly stopped. She heard the door open again, and the light footsteps of Perry follow.

Sinclair’s attention was finally roused from one of the menus at the table he had resided himself at. He stood, picking up the scarf as he did. Sinclair smiled, not a confident full smile for he felt a bit of a fool; it had taken a phone call from Perry to get him to come back to La Croix. Not that he didn’t want to, far from it in fact, but once out of Sian’s presence his feelings faltered, unsure if he was ready to have his heart broken all over again.

“Told you to do your hair,” Perry whispered quickly and brushed past Sian’s shoulder, “I’ll leave you to lock up. Byyyee Sinclair, glad you're not drunk this time."

"Perry!" Sian moaned but it fell on deaf ears. 

Sinclair chuckled and then dipped his eye line from Sian to his very polished shoes. He’d come straight from the office, on his lunch break, which was likely to turn into more than his usual hour now. Why do you feel so nervous? He asked himself. Nerves weren’t usually Sinclair’s pitfall, everyone told him so. Overly confident and outspoken was more his MO.

Perry left before Sinclair had a chance to reply, leaving him alone with Sian, who had yet to greet him or even move from the spot she had halted on. The dining room soaked up the awkward silence and Sian broke herself out of the shocked state she had found herself in. She was going to kill Perry.

“I brought your scarf back,” Sinclair declared quietly as he held the warming item up a little higher from his hip, showing the brunette. The scarf had travelled to and from work with him for a week, in hopes that he would build up the courage to deliver it to her.

Sian smiled, wary of his presence in the restaurant as she had convinced herself that she'd never see him again. “Thank you. You didn’t have to, I have plenty of them. Sorry, you’ve had to come back out here.”

“I work not too far away, it was no trouble at all.” He stepped forward from the table and Sian finally unglued her feet from the wooden floor beneath her.

They met halfway, the scarf remaining in Sinclair’s hand. He couldn’t help but enjoy her slightly dishevelled, worked state. A wisp of brunette hair had fallen and rested bouncily on her forehead; it gave Sinclair an urge to move it behind her ear but he squeezed the garment in his hand to stop himself from doing so. He did not miss how she looked at him though, her eyes scanning his dark pinstripe suit and then his face. She found herself very fond of his soft-looking hair once more.

“Do you get food privileges?” he blurted out, not able to handle the silence that Sian seemed too comfortable in.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her eyes dropping to the scarf he had still not handed over.

“I mean, do you eat here...when working? If not, I’m starving, you should join me for a late lunch,” he nudged her arm with his elbow, “I’ll even trust the chef to suggest somewhere good.”

“I can’t tell if that was actually a question or you telling me we’re going,” she joked and fiddled with the strap of her backpack that lay lazily over her shoulder.

Sinclair’s meagre smile from earlier grew exponentially. “I have a feeling that if I tried to tell you anything, I’d end up very disappointed.”

“Perceptive,” she replied with a smirk.

“Have to be.”

“Well...to answer your question, I haven’t eaten and I also, am starving. I know a great little tapas restaurant not too far from here, it’s a bit of an unknown, hole in the wall type place, but it’s so good. I know the owner.”

“Sounds right up my street.” The smile that Sinclair had found moments ago now seemed to be permanently fixed on his features, with the crinkle at the side of his eyes deepening. Sian smiled back instinctively. How could she not?

Once the restaurant was locked up for the afternoon, the pair walked side by side down the busy street. A healthy mix of suits and shoppers passed them by as Sinclair tried to keep a steady conversation going. Sian was much more at home with silence than he was, clearly.

“My friends were quite amused with the tale of my night,” he admitted, stuffing his free hand into his pocket. The other still clasping onto the soft material of the scarf.

“I’m surprised you told them.”

“I talk too much,” he winked and continued his story, “the two women who were there that night haven’t stopped calling me, telling me that I needed to return and thank you...and well.”

His ability to talk seemed to stumble at admitting that his friends had told him to go back and ask Sian out, almost daily. Sinclair’s expensive shoes clicked heavily along the concrete slabbed floor as he thought back to telling Jessica that Sian was too young and good-looking for him. He’d not faired too well with younger women in his life, so far.

“Perry hasn’t shut up about you either,” Sian replied, seeing his hesitation.

“What do you think that means?” He tilted his head inquisitively at her, his hair cascading down in front of his eyes. It didn’t obscure his view of her soft, pale features too much but he quickly flipped it out of his way.

“That our friends are nosy and like to interfere?” She shrugged, trying to keep the conversation as light-hearted as possible.

A hearty laughed escaped Sinclair’s chest, it was so abrupt that the people a few paces ahead turned and looked. Sinclair just shot them a charming grin, laced his arm through Sian’s and pulled her along faster. She stumbled slightly at the sudden new pace.

“She’s very funny,” he declared to them as they passed by rapidly. The two, uppity businessmen looked bemused.

Sinclair looked the part; like he belonged amongst them but he wasn’t anything like them. Sian could see that already. She’d dealt with her fair share of yuppies, who thought that their fancy title in a soul-crushing corporation meant something. It meant nothing to her.

Sinclair didn’t remove his arm from Sian’s and neither did she. The warmth of his body next to hers was more than welcomed by the chef who hated the cold. They didn’t mention it, just carried on with their small talk until they arrived at the tapas restaurant.

“Unlike La Croix, this is open all day,” she said cheerily.

“I did notice that you seem to run very traditionally for such a modern establishment,” Sinclair added, as he opened the light blue painted door. He was saddened that he finally had to let go of her arm so she could get through it. Both smiled shyly at each other but still made no mention of the physical attachment that had seemed to come so naturally to the pair. Just like the kiss had.

Sian was slightly worried as Sinclair looked over the restaurant. Whilst she thought he was different, she couldn’t be sure yet and therefore bringing a very well dressed businessman to a very low-key, low end tapas restaurant on a slightly dodgier road was somewhat nerve wracking. Especially as she loved the place.

He finally turned to her, his pleased face easy to read. “It smells divine in here.”

“Does, doesn’t it? Wait until you try it,” she replied, relieved and excited.

“Sian!” the waiter shouted in his warm Spanish accent; it made the two tables' worth of guests look up from their food. 

“Gael!” she returned in much the same fervour.

They immediately hugged and kissed from one cheek to another. Sinclair looked on, a small smile on his face as his eyes shifted from the waiter to Sian. As much of a talker as Sinclair was, he was also a watcher, interested in the uniqueness of people.

Gael had beautiful olive skin, which he kept clean-shaven and his thick, black hair was pushed over to one side. Some form of product keeping it mostly in place. He was dressed head to toe in black, including a tie that seemed to blend in too well with his shirt.

“Who’s your friend?” Gael asked. There was no standing on ceremony in front of Gael. The awkwardness of the Brits not something he had ever become accustomed to.

“Oh, this is Sinclair,” Sian replied happily and then turned to her sandy-haired companion, “Sinclair, this is my friend Gael. It’s his family's restaurant, so only the best.”

“Good to meet you,” Sinclair greeted, holding out his hand to shake Gael’s. It was received happily by the other man who looked him up and down quickly, noting his very expensive suit. 

“You too. Window seat, dear?” He aimed at Sian.

“Of course.”

“Okay. Take what you want...as you can see we’re quite quiet at the moment. You’re late.”

"Impromptu visit," she replied quietly. 

Sinclair followed them both to the round table in the middle of the wide window, half-listening as they continued their chatter while he took in the restaurant further. It could do with some refurbishments, he thought, but it didn’t put him off. He’d travelled enough to know that the best food could always be found in the most unassuming of places. The white walls looked fairly recently repainted, the light blue tiles of the floor were in good shape and serviceable. Not up to date but it wasn’t broken so didn’t need to be fixed. There were about 10 mahogany tables, darted around where they seemed to fit best, accompanied by matching chairs with dark green cushions.

“Do you need a few minutes?” Gael asked as he helped Sian slide out of her coat, Sinclair kicked himself for not doing it first. “Let’s get some drinks to start, eh? The usual red?”

“No, no, Gael, I’m working tonight and I think Sinclair will be heading back to work after, too. Just a water, please,” she said graciously.

“How boring,” he mused, “and for you, Sinclair?”

Sinclair already had his head buried in the small red leather-bound menu. One veiny hand pushed through the front of his sandy hair, making it stand in different directions between his thick fingers. Sian had to look away, in case Gael noticed her gawping. She couldn’t believe she was quite so taken with him. She’d seen plenty of good-looking men, and yet had found herself having little interest in them; certainly not enough to make an effort anyway. Until now.

“Water is fine, thanks” he replied, quickly looking back up to Gael.

“Sparkling?”

Sinclair frowned. “No. Just plain old water, thank you.”

Gael nodded then rushed off out of view.

“Do I look like a sparkling water kind of man?” Sinclair immediately asked once Gael was out of earshot.

Sian snorted and brought her hand up to her face, making a gap between her thumb and index finger. She squinted dramatically before answering. “A smidge.”

Sinclair huffed and set his sights back on the menu. Sian, rather amused at his affronted look, left him to it while they waited for Gael to come back with their waters. He did so within a minute, it not being busy so late into the afternoon.

“Are you ready to order?” The dark-haired waiter asked as he placed the glasses down.

Sinclair snapped shut the menu and locked his hazel eyes with Sian’s sapphire irises. “Over to you, maestro.”

“You want me to order for you?” She asked with a raised eyebrow. That had never happened before. 

Sinclair nodded enthusiastically, his hair flopping beautifully with the motion as he rested his hands over the menu.

“Okay, any allergies?”

“None.”

“Excellent. Okay, two potatas bravas…” she looked back to Sinclair, “I don’t share potatoes, sorry...erm, Gambas al Ajillo, Albondigas en salsa, mussels, olives. Nana been baking?”

“Isn’t she always?” Gael replied sarcastically.

“Perfect. Enough for the two of us, your usual cold meat selection and I suppose we should throw in some greenery for health. I’ll leave that up to, Gael.”

Sinclair watched on in delighted amusement as she ordered. Enjoying her confidence and etiquette.

“Very good. Give me 20 minutes.”

Sian nodded and smiled at her friend and then he was rushing off again to the back of the restaurant with their order memorised.

“Who’s Nana?” Sinclair enquired.

“Gael’s Grandmother, she insists I call her that. She bakes it and it’s absolutely to die for…” she leaned forward, lowering her voice, Sinclair couldn’t stop himself from doing the same, their faces now closer than they had been since she kissed him, “no matter how close I’ve got to the family she refuses to show me how to do it.”

Sinclair noted there was no real air of malice in Sian’s voice but could see the disappointment in her face. “You don’t bake?”

Sian scoffed, “I can throw together a Victoria sponge or a brownie but don’t ask me about bread. That’s a whole different world...if you want it good that is.”

“Ironic,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah my name’s baker. I’m a chef. I get it all the time,” she waved it off and picked up her glass of ice water.

“Sorry.” Sinclair followed suit and drank too. It would at least shut him up for a second, he thought. Why are you so nervous around her?

“No need. I’m not offended.” A droplet of condensation had hit Sian’s index finger, she softly sucked it off, leaving Sinclair even more flustered. His attraction towards her was growing far too rapidly considering he was worried about being hurt.

“Any big deals today?” Sian asked when Sinclair, uncharacteristically, didn’t speak.

“No,” he began, wiping the corner of his mouth, “It’s been a rather boring day...up until now that is.”

Sian’s white teeth beamed in the natural light that was let in through the large windowed frontage, Sinclair noticed for the first time that they were near perfect except for one of her bottom teeth, which sat back a tad from the others.

“Do you like what you do?”

“It has its excitement, it’s perks and I am rather good at it…”

“Modest, I see,” Sian interrupted, an eyebrow raised and a contagious giggle escaping her mouth.

Sinclair wasn't often keen on being interrupted but didn't seem to mind it this time. He bit his bottom lip, his eyebrows creasing together, forming a line in the middle of his forehead. His hands began to slowly meander up and down the slick glass, his fingers gathering the glistening moisture. Sian could have sworn he was doing it on purpose but of course he wasn’t. He had no idea the effect his hands had been having on her the whole time.

“I know what you’re getting at," he finally said, "I’m not like those two blokes we passed you know? A boring suit...pen pusher...well, maybe I am from the hours of 8 til 6,” he leaned forward even further, his hand tightening around the glass, “but outside of those, I am anything but. I have interests...passions. Don’t judge the suit.”

Sian was embarrassed, he’d read her so well. “I was just curious. I certainly didn’t mean to offend you Sinclair. I’m not judging the suit...or you. At all.”

An eye-creasing smile broke out on his serious face, “Good. That’s that out of the way then.”

Neither moved back from their closer proximity, as Sinclair began to share some of those interests he assured her he had. He was pleasantly surprised to learn she also liked classic cars when he mentioned it. That was one thing he could impress her with in the future, maybe. Sian told him from time to time she would still go to a nightclub with some of the younger staff from the restaurant, it briefly reminded him that he was 13 years her senior, though it didn’t seem to bother her. Sinclair had not been to a nightclub in near 10 years and he assumed they were much different a decade on. But, it turned out that she much preferred her quieter nights, when she could read or on the odd occasion, watch the television. She was so busy she didn’t often keep up with any particular programme though, preferring a film. Something she could enjoy in a 2 hour window and move on from.

“Your food,” Gael interrupted, the pair not noticing as he approached

“That was a very quick 20 minutes” Sinclair declared as he eyed the various dishes Sian had ordered.

"I imagine it's due to the company you keep, sir," Gael offered, as he placed the small bowls all around the table until it was practically full. He didn't miss how Sian tutted at his compliment.

Sian had never brought a man in before, not one that wasn’t from work anyway and she certainly didn’t look at any of those like she looked at Sinclair, Gael thought, with a smirk forming at the corner of his mouth. 

“Enjoy. Give me a shout if you need anything else, okay?” He gave the couple another quick once over, noting Sinclair was looking at Sian in much the same way as she had been.

“Ladies first,” Sinclair offered, holding back his excitement. Sian began plating bits of food from the individual bowls and within minutes they were eating, Sinclair audibly appreciating his food once again.

Sian chuckled, “Do you always make such filthy noises when you eat? I think I’ve seen a blue movie that you dubbed.”

Sinclair almost choked on the olive he'd just began to swallow. His eyes watered and his cheeks reddened. Gulping down some of the cold water helped ease the tense feeling in his throat but didn’t subside the shock. It was like she’d swept his feet from underneath him. Not expecting such a response, Sian felt guilty and quickly apologized, whilst handing him a paper napkin. For the second time in less than half an hour, all eyes were on her and Sinclair. 

“Yes, I think I do, by the way” he finally answered, “Is it that bothersome?”

“Oh no, just asking. At least you don’t eat with your mouth open,” she offered with a cheeky grin that he caught himself staring at.

Sinclair smirked, his eyes dragging from her lips to her eyes. Payback time, he thought. “Not always anyway.”

Sian had left herself open for that joke but she had realised it too late. She felt heat pool in her cheeks and she averted her gaze from him, concentrating deeply on one of the crispy potatoes in front of her. It wasn’t that she was embarrassed by the sentiment, no, she was embarrassed because she’d not had sex in so long that when she pictured Sinclair with his mouth on something other than his lunch, a very familiar sensation washed over her.

Sinclair ducked, he couldn’t quite believe that someone was bringing out the flirtatious side in him again, and quite so soon after his divorce. He thought it would take years, if it happened at all but there he was, enjoying lunch with an attractive, intelligent woman. The feeling of inadequacy that had plagued him for the last year and a half seemed to diminish with each smile Sian bestowed his way.

When the bill came, both Sinclair and Sian reached for it. Sinclair raised a thick brow as his tanned hand encompassed her paler one.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” he asked, noticing that she didn’t remove her hand from his, like she hadn’t at her flat.

“What does it look like, Sherlock? I’m trying to see how much our lunch was.”

“I’m paying…”

Sian was about to begin to protest, Sinclair could see it but he wasn’t going to hear any of it. He prided himself on being a gentleman, after all.

“No arguments. It was my idea to have lunch so I will pay.”

He stopped himself there, nearing on telling Sian that money wasn’t an issue and he could more than afford a lunch but his ex-wife's voice echoed in his mind; she had once shrieked that he was pigheaded about his wealth and that it was unattractive and crass. It was at the height of one of their many heated evenings. He splayed his fingers out slightly wider until his fingertips brushed at the sleeve of her green jumper bringing him back to the small restaurant and the woman in front of him. Sian did all she could not to shiver at the light touch of his soft skin on hers.

“Okay, but the next one is on me, because I’m suggesting it.”

“Next one?” Sinclair smiled, he was sure that he was going to have to suggest another occasion, especially how long he had taken to seek her out.

“I have some more places to show you,” she said with a restrained excitement and slowly removed her hand from underneath his, “if you want to, that is.”

Sian didn’t have an abundance of friends or family, so she saw no harm in sharing her passion with someone like-minded. She also could see that he looked like he needed something too; sadness recognised sadness.

Sinclair knew his long, late lunch would now require his presence at the office later than he liked but it was worth it, in his opinion. It also meant Sian had little time to do much, so she had decided to go straight back to La Croix. Sinclair took the opportunity to walk her back, the sky, thick with clouds was greying into an early evening already.

Although he was delaying his chances of getting home at a decent hour even further, he followed Sian into the empty restaurant as she threw the dark dining room into strobe light with the flick of 3 switches.

“You do a lot of the work around here, don’t you?” Sinclair said, as Sian immediately began straightening the place up before even taking her coat off.

She laughed sadly, “Is it that obvious?”

“Very. Seems they’re lucky to have you.” His eyes followed her as she snaked through the tables, clearly knowing the floor plan by heart. The sway of her hips quite mesmerising to him. 

She chuckled, “Can you tell my manager that, please?”

“Of course. Where are they?” Sian didn’t answer him as she finally began peeling off her black coat, “Maybe you should ditch management. Start your own restaurant.”

Sian scoffed. If only, she thought.

"What?” Sinclair asked with all sincerity. He was naive to very little but when it came to money, he was. He was old stock, from a wealthy family, with wealthy friends. He simply believed that if you could, you should.

“Nothing,” she replied, heading into the bar area and Sinclair followed. He had carried the scarf back all the way from the restaurant and was still holding it, like it had simply become an extension of himself at this point.

Sian was collecting a glass to pour herself some water once he had caught up, he placed the scarf on one of the red adorned stools and then rested against the bar.

“Hadn’t you better be getting back to work?” Sian asked with a raised eyebrow. She didn’t seem quite so cheery anymore though, which Sinclair didn’t understand.

“I’ll get there,” he replied, worried that now their afternoon had come to an end, she was retracting from him. “Were you serious about doing this again?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.” She put down the glass and ducked under the bar, Sinclair peered over the top and jumped back when she quickly reappeared with a used envelope and pen. Without a word, she pushed it over the wooden counter towards Sinclair.

“Your number, please,” she quietly asked then pressed her lips together. The plumpness of them springing out as she released them. Sinclair wanted to kiss her. Properly this time. Picking up the pen, Sinclair wrote down both his office and home telephone number, just in case, and then passed it back over the bar with a more relaxed air. His sudden worrying felt very stupid to him.

“I’m usually in the office between 8 and 6 and then home from 7 but I might be out some evenings. There’s an answer machine though, so feel free to leave a message, please.”

Sian giggled. “Got it.”

They stared at each other for a beat, the bar top separating them as Sian’s giggle turned a meek smile. Sinclair, no longer able to quell his curiosity, let out the question he had been eager to ask since seeing her again.

“Why’d you kiss me?”

Sian’s smiled faltered. She thought she had managed to avoid mention of that. In a flash of deflection, she knew what to ask.

“Why’d you call me pretty?” she countered, licking her bottom lip.

Sinclair followed it across her plump bottom lip and then met her eyes once more. Confidence, Sinclair, come on, he willed.

“I may have been drunk but it’s the truth. Funny and smart, too.”

Sinclair revelled in the bashful look that overcame Sian. It was subtle, she didn’t crumble into some embarrassed mess, nowhere near it, but the breaking of eye contact, the smirk, and the small breathy huff confirmed enough for him. 

“Your turn,” he said, raising his chin and tightening his jaw a tad. He was nervous for her reply.

Sian admired Sinclair’s unbridled honesty and thought he at least deserved the same.

“Because I wanted to kiss you. I know that may have seemed very forward and...it’s not something I would normally do but…” she shrugged, unsure how to continue. There wasn’t much more to it. He was handsome, he was nice, she had wanted to kiss him. It was all very simple when she put it together.

Sinclair walked to the hatch of the bar and lifted it, “And if I wanted to kiss you, would that be okay?”

He walked the few steps to close the gap between the two but waited for an answer to actually touch her. Sian could have melted at his softness, not remembering a time when someone actually asked if they could kiss her.

“That would be more than okay,” she replied, her voice sounding breathier from anticipation.

Sinclair’s wide thumb brushed along her jaw and despite both of their eyes closing at that moment, their noses brushed softly together before Sinclair pressed his supple lips to Sian’s equally delicate ones. Sian lifted herself up onto her toes and Sinclair’s hands laced around the curve of her waist, as hers found a home in the back of his hair.

He didn’t even question what was happening, too lost in the feel of her mouth and then her tongue as it flicked against his lips. When the wetness of her sweet tongue met his, his Adam’s apple quivered with a deep moan and his fingertips pushed into the softness of her body.

Sian breathed in sharply through her nose at his touch. She slowed down, ending the kiss with a light brush of her lips against his. The tightening in her stomach was enough to tell her to stop because she had to start work again in half an hour and more importantly, she barely knew the man who probably had just given her the best first kiss of her life. Last week didn’t count, she told herself, it was barely a peck.

“You’ll call me?” Sinclair whispered, wanting so desperately to kiss her again.

“I will,” she replied, distracted by his breath tickling her lips still. 

Sinclair let go of her waist and licked his bottom lip, taking with him the last remnant of her. Sian leaned her side onto the bar, not quite believing she had just allowed that to happen at work. Empty or not, her manager would have her arse for it.

“I should get back to work,” Sinclair sighed and made his way back around the bar.  

“I’ll speak to you soon.” Sian smiled.

“How soon?” he asked eagerly.

“Soon enough,” was all she replied.

Sinclair didn’t ask her further, not wanting to push his luck.

“I look forward to it. I hope you have a good night at work."

“You too. Sorry, I...held you up.” She smirked again and the sight of it made Sinclair even more reluctant to go back to work. “Good night.”

“Good night,” he mirrored softly and then eyed the scarf that lay bundled on the bar stool. He picked it up subtly, out of view. Just in case, he thought.

Chapter Text

 Sian stared at the phone attached to her living room wall, the envelope firmly clutched in her hand. She punched in the numbers that Sinclair had scrawled in his small, flicked handwriting.

Nervously twirling the cord between her fingers as she listened to the monotonous ring tone, Sian found her nerves growing. She didn’t even know what she was going to say, not for the lack of thought, but simply because she was awkward and very out of practice. All she knew was she wanted to see him.

The evening shift after her afternoon with Sinclair had consisted of Perry trying to find out any details she could and being distracted at the thought of his soft lips and strong hands. Sian ended up nursing a small burn because of it but it was nothing she wasn’t used to. Just another little mark to go with the many others she had acquired during her many years in a kitchen.

The ringing finally ceased and Sinclair’s deep croaky voice answered on the other end. “Hello?”

“Hi, Sinclair...it’s..”

“Sian,” Sinclair cleared his throat and sat up, rubbing his eyes as he rested his head against the velvety headboard of his bed.

“Did I wake you?” Sian asked, the scratchier voice and the yawn that she heard erupt through the receiver giving it away.

Sinclair chuckled, shy that she had caught him out in bed at 10.14 am. “I like to lie in at the weekend, especially during winter.”

“Ohh, so you’re a hibernator?” Sian joked, still twiddling the cord nervously.

“Definitely a hibernator. I prefer to do my outdoor exploring in the warmer months. Winter is for good eating and watching television in bed, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I don’t know, I don’t have a television in my bedroom,” Sian responded.

“Well, I highly suggest moving the one you have in your living to the bedroom. It’ll change your life,” Sinclair assured her, imagining what it might be like to watch a film in bed next to her.

“Ha, you’ve clearly not seen my bedroom,” she mused without a second thought. Knowing there was very little spare room to put a television in there.

“No, sadly not,” Sinclair joked, then pushed his head back into the headboard. Did you really just say that? He thought.

Sian’s heart perked up at his unexpected response and she pressed her lips together to stop the escape of some weird awkward laugh that she knew would come. Sinclair in my bedroom? She thought. Down girl.

“Sorry,” he whispered when she didn’t answer.

Sinclair had nothing to be sorry for in Sian’s mind, she was just trying to think of a good enough come back but it seemed she couldn’t find it.

“Don’t be.” Sian coughed then leaned up against the wall. “Anyway, as promised I have called and...well I have a very rare weekend off. It’s my only now until after Christmas. Maybe you’d like to do something tomorrow?” Sian asked as her foot began to shuffle along the carpet, it was late notice but she thought it was worth the ask.

“Why tomorrow when we have today?” Sinclair replied, pushing the duvet from around his waist and throwing his bare legs over the side of his bed.

His reply caught Sian off guard, she hadn’t expected that offer.

“I have nothing planned. I can be with you in an hour and a half or so.” Sinclair informed her, rather eagerly. He had thought about her all evening, wondered when she’d call, he even worried she wouldn’t call at all, which might have been ludicrous to most, considering how well the afternoon had gone and how much both seemed to enjoy that kiss.

Sian didn’t know what to say, she’d have liked to but there was something important she had to do. Something she secretly worried Sinclair might not agree with; others hadn’t.

“I...er…”

“It’s okay to say no, Sian,” Sinclair interrupted her mumbling. His toes began to wriggle against carpeted flooring and he gripped the mattress with his free hand.

“I’d like to say yes but I’m busy today...well I’m busy until this evening anyway,” she replied nervously. She hadn’t prepared herself to see him today.

Sinclair thought for a moment as he listened to Sian’s quiet breathing, then had an idea. An idea to get around her trying to buy him their next meal together. “How about I cook for you? It only seems fair, I’m 2 meals down on you and that just won’t do, I’m afraid…and I’ve seen your place, it’s only fair that...you see mine. Don’t you think?” Sinclair asked confidently, feeling anything but that. He’d just offered to cook for a chef, an extremely good chef.

“I suppose you’re right but…”

“I can pick you up if you’re worried about getting here. What time are you free from? I’ll be ready,” Sinclair offered without hesitation.

Sian smiled to herself. She knew Sinclair lived out of the city but he was willing to drive back in just to pick her up and take her back to his house. That had to be one of the kindest gestures she had had from someone so new in her life.

“I suppose I can’t say no to an offer like that,” she said back coolly, not wanting to appear desperate. “I’ll be ready for 7, is that okay?”

“That’s perfect. Right, I better get planning what I’m going to cook and get to the supermarket.” He tried to sound relaxed about it but now that she had accepted, he started to overthink.

Sian laughed, “You don’t have to be flashy, Sinclair. Beans on toast will do.”

“Oh be quiet, that is absolutely not what will be served tonight. I look forward to seeing you later, have a great day.”

“Have fun at the supermarket,” she replied, a stupid smile still plastered on her face.

“I’ll do my best. Bye.”

“Bye, Sinclair.”

Sian placed the phone back in its cradle and checked her watch. 5 minutes to finish getting ready.

She finished the cup of tea which had gone tepid during her conversation with Sinclair, then left the cup in the sink, ready to wash it later.

She retrieved her Dr. Martens from the bottom of her wardrobe, cuffed her light blue jeans, and pushed her feet into each boot before tying them firmly. She finished it with a sheep-lined denim jacket, beanie hat, and gloves. Ready for the miserable winter outside.

The buzzer for her flat sounded and she bounded into her living room to retrieve the sign she had created late last night, once her shift had finished. The remains of red paint in the bottom of the small plastic dish had dried up as she was too tired to clean up after herself. It didn’t matter, more paint could be bought. She looked at the sign and her eyes almost teared up but the buzzer broke her emotions before they could surface entirely.

AIDS ISN’T DIRTY

BUT THE TORIES ARE

Immediately after hanging up Sinclair phoned Jessica. His leg bounced up and down as he waited for an answer.

“Hellllo?” The small voice of Gregory, Jessica’s youngest son answered.

Sinclair laughed, knowing very well Gregory wasn’t meant to answer the phone. “Gregory, hi, can I speak to your mummy please?”

“Errrr, okay…”

Sinclair heard the phone being abandoned. It hit something hard in the process before muffled voices could be heard.

“What have I told you about answering the phone, Greg?” Jessica huffed and Sinclair chuckled to himself some more.

“Hello” Jessica's soft voice greeted, “...sorry about that.”

Sinclair shook his head, “Jess, it’s fine. Gregory sounds...well.”

“He’s feral. Everything okay?”

“I’ve invited Sian around for dinner tonight. I’m going to cook. Have I just completely balls’d it up?” He asked whilst picking nervously at his duvet cover.

“Why on earth would you have balls’d it up?” Jessica asked, shooing Gregory away from her ankles. “Greg...no, stop, don’t lick mummy’s foot!”

The conversation continued, with momentary interruptions from Gregory. Jessica reassured him that it was a good move, talked through with him what he might cook, and wished him the very best of luck. Even though he didn’t need it. He was a good cook and they both seemed very interested.

Sian could no longer feel her toes as she looked down at her watch. The day was drawing to an end, she and her friends weary and ready to move onto somewhere warm and where they served beer.

They began walking away from the dwindling crowd towards their usual spot but Perry stopped when she noticed Sian dawdling awkwardly behind.

“Sian, come on, it’s dark, we all need a drink,” Perry sighed, shaking and rubbing her arms up and down.

“I can’t tonight, Per, I need to go…”

“Go where?” She asked before her friend even finished, raising her eyebrows up and down.

“I’m seeing Sinclair,” she admitted quietly. Not ready for more questioning.

“Yes!” Perry exclaimed excitedly, “Okay, I’ll allow it. Go have fun.”

“COME ON YOU TWO!” Matt shouted from further up the road.

Perry kissed Sian’s cheek, turned her around, and smacked her bum, which earned her a small yelp and a mean stink eye from Sian.

“Just me, fellas, Sian’s got a date!” Perry loudly declared to the group.

The admission was met with a chant of “Ooohs,” and wolf whistles.

Sian flipped them off whilst turning red; she quickly turned to hide her embarrassment. Her face now out of sight of her friends, she smiled widely, excited for her evening.

She arrived home just over half an hour later and went straight into the bathroom for a warm shower. She spent 20 minutes warming herself up and removing the city grime.

With less than an hour until Sinclair would arrive, she realised she hadn’t given him the actual address. Had he remembered? She thought as she began to blow dry her long hair. Once that was tamed she stood in front of her opened wardrobe door, trying to decide what to wear. She wanted to be comfortable but also look like she had made some effort.

She paired a few items together until eventually choosing another pair of light jeans and a tight white t-shirt that she tucked in, before tightening up the jeans with a belt at her waist. It showed off her curves nicely but wasn’t over the top and the low-cut t-shirt showed off a decent amount of cleavage. Though, the baggy, heavy, tartan shirt she put on to keep herself warm did cover the cleavage a little.

Sian added a very light layer of makeup to her face, made up a small bag to take with her, and then nervously waited. She did attempt to sit down but instead, she paced slowly and moved items around her flat that had become slightly out of place.

At 6.55 pm the buzzer travelled through her small flat. She ran to the living room window and looked down to the street, seeing Sinclair standing casually with his hands shoved into his pockets.

Sian swiped her readied bag from the sofa, put on her coat, and then locked up her flat.

Sinclair smiled a wide, toothy grin the instant he saw her. She looked beautiful, he thought and was very glad she had dressed casually. He wanted her to be able to relax in his home tonight.

He pushed his hand out towards her and rested it on her jean-clad waist before kissing her blanched cheek. Sinclair felt her smile as his lips met her cheek so he continued and placed a chaste kiss on her lips.

“Hi, you look lovely,” he finally said. She thanked him and returned his greeting with that smile still planted on her face.

“I hope the heating in your car is good,” Sian whispered as she shivered and then began to bob slightly to keep herself warm.

“It is. Come on, before you freeze,” he replied, moving his hand to her lower back and leading the way to his green Jaguar XJS. It was practically brand new. Something Sinclair had bought to cheer himself up after the divorce. It was a dream to drive, but it didn’t bring him the joy he thought it might.

Sinclair opened the passenger door for Sian; having been single for so long and classing herself as a feminist, she didn’t often buy into the gentlemanly gestures, but now that she was experiencing it, she really did enjoy it.

Sinclair practically skipped around to the driver's side. Once fastened in and with the engine on, he turned up the heating and directed the blowers in Sian’s direction.

Sinclair filled the drive back to his home with conversation, which Sian engaged enthusiastically in. Though she was a bit vague on the activities of her day, still unsure how Sinclair would feel. She needed to know him before disclosing certain information.

When Sinclair parked up outside his estate, Sian had to stop herself from gasping or foolishly dropping her jaw. He’d mentioned his home in conversation but never had he spoke about the sheer size or impressiveness of the place. It was so far removed from what Sian lived in, had ever lived in, that she found herself feeling a tad uncomfortable before she even entered.

Again, he escorted her in with a hand on her back. Switching on the light and shutting off the beeping of the house alarm. Sinclair turned back to Sian, his smile meeker than before as his amber eyes watched her begin taking in the large, open entrance hall. It was nearly as big as her living room.

“Welcome to my home,” Sinclair began, “if...if I seem like I’m showing off, I assure you I’m not.”

“Don’t worry about it, Sinclair,” she said as they both took off their shoes and jackets. Sinclair then led her into the living room. It was beautiful. The cream curtains were closed, blocking the large windows Sian had seen from outside. The hardwood floors were well polished and with a large green baroque rug in the centre of the room. Large, cushy, deep green sofas framed the rug on two sides, with a matching armchair on the third. Sinclair lit the lamp that sat in the corner of the room, behind the largest of the sofas.

“Shall I light the fire?” Sinclair asked, noticing she was still looking around, standing awkwardly with her arms wrapped around her stomach.

“Maybe after dinner?” Sian replied, eyeing the grand fireplace that centred the entire room. There were various ornaments along the mahogany surround, as well as a few small picture frames. Sian didn’t take too long on those, not wanting to seem too nosey.

Sinclair came up behind her and cupped her elbows before running them down her arms until he hit where they joined. He parted them slowly with no resistance from Sian. In fact, she subtly leaned back until her back hit his chest.

“You can relax. It’s only my home and I’m very glad you’re here,” he whispered near her ear and then let go, removing himself from touching her before he got too excited and completely scared her off. He didn’t want it to seem like he’d brought her out to his house to get her into bed. “Come, sit. I’ll get you a drink.

“I’d rather come with you if you don’t mind?” Sian asked, “That’s not rude is it?”

Sinclair’s face broke out into an eye-crinkling smile before encompassing the top of her hand with his. He led her into the dining room, flicking on the switch as he did. The two of them travelled straight through as he opened up one-half of the double doors, into a smaller room with a few armchairs and a modest, modern-looking bar.

“Wow, that’s quite the collection,” Sian mused as her eyes ran over the array of alcohol bottles.

“I don’t often come in here by myself, honest.” He let go of Sian’s hand and placed himself behind the bar. “Now, what will it be?”

Sinclair leaned his elbows on the bar top and rested his chin on his fist, his gaze incapable of looking away from her.

“Hmm,” Sian hummed and looked over the drinks, “Tell you what. I’ll let the barman decide. As long as it doesn’t have vodka in it.”

“Bad experience?” Sinclair questioned, smirking with amusement.

Sian leaned her arms in the same manner as Sinclair did, which left their arms touching and their faces mere inches from each other.

“A very bad experience. It was NOT pretty.” She grimaced recalling the mess she made of the pavement that night. “Haven’t touched the stuff since.”

“Understood,” he whispered, looking down at Sian’s lips as she watched him intently, “no vodka.”

Sian’s own eyes drifted down over Sinclair’s unique nose to his soft, plump lips. He was clean-shaven and smelt like his usual expensive cologne.

Sinclair pushed himself back and tapped the top of the bar then turned around and made them both the same drinks. Sian couldn’t see what he was adding to the shaker, but she could happily see how his muscles tensed under in his shirt as he shook the alcohol with great vigour.

“Gin Martinis,” Sinclair exclaimed as he turned back to her, “Olives and all.”

“Well thank you, Mr. Almost James Bond.”

“Almost?” Sinclair questioned with fake outrage as he made his way back around the bar to Sian’s side “Don’t think I’m spy material?”

Sian bit the inside of her cheek, then reached up and moved his floppy hair from in front of his eye. “I think you’re far too kind and honest to be a spy.”

He felt his heart stutter at her kindness.

“Has anyone ever told you how lovely you are?” The question came out before he had time to hold it back but he didn’t care. How had he happened upon her? More to the point, how the hell did she like him?

Sian’s heart beat at a pace that was unfamiliar to it. She let her instinct guide her as she tiptoed and pressed her lips to Sinclair’s. He was immediately receptive, adding delicate pressure to her slow exploration.

Sinclair pulled her closer until her chest was completely flush with his and then enveloped her back with strong arms. His hand meandered up into her soft clean hair which smelt like coconut and something else, something exotic that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Sian’s hands delved into the hair she was slowly becoming quite obsessed with as their tongues began a teasing dance around and over each other. When she bit Sinclair’s bottom lip, he had no control of the deep rumbled groan that overpowered her softer appreciation.

Dinner. Don’t forget you invited her for dinner. Sinclair reminded himself as his hungry hands started wandering lower towards her bum. He sucked her bottom lip gently and then pulled back, holding on to it for a second. The hands firmly in his hair kept him in place, so he rested his forehead to hers as his heart pounded in his chest.

“You’re very good at that,” he admitted and her hot breath tickled along his lips, enticing him to one more taste.

Sian chuckled shyly, her pale cheeks blushed pink but inside she was burning red hot. Sinclair couldn’t take his eyes off her. Didn’t want to.

“I promised you dinner. Can’t disappoint my guest now, can I?” Sinclair squeezed her waist gently but still didn’t let go.

Sian shook her head softly and breathed a sigh of contentment, “Very little chance of that happening. Can I help?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Can I at least watch?” Sian countered with a sly smirk. She had to face it, she wanted to watch him, not the cooking. “I won’t judge or get involved at all. Chefs honour.” She held her hand up in a mock scout sign and stood proudly.

Sinclair laughed at her playfulness. Enjoying every moment.

“Okay, you can watch...me cook,” he shot back just as sly. He picked up both drinks and Sian followed him out, back through the dining room and across the hall to the kitchen. For such a grand house, it was quite a modest kitchen but the cabinets were nice and it was fitted out with the latest mod cons.

“It won’t take long. I prepared everything earlier,” Sinclair proudly informed her.

“I’m starving. What are we having?” Sian asked as she leaned against the far wall, away from the work surfaces and the oven, giving Sinclair free reign over his domain.

“Pasta. I can’t mess it up too much,” he answered as he winked and then opened the fridge door. He placed all his plastic tubs of prepared ingredients and then rolled up his sleeves, revealing his tanned forearms.

“Pasta is the way to a girl's heart, to be honest. Good choice,” she praised and sipped at her Martini; it was strong but smooth. It must have been an expensive gin, she surmised.

Sinclair noticed that Sian hadn’t moved from her spot, which was practically the farthest she could be from him. “Why don’t you come over here? Get a bit closer to the action.”

“I don’t want to get in your way,” she answered, shaking off his offered hand.

“Come on,” he said softly and opened and closed his hand a few times.

Sian caved instantly at his soothing tone and placed her hand in his. She was quickly beginning to enjoy doing that.

“Here...sit here,” he said patting the top of the work surface.

“What?” Sian replied rather incredulously. She was taken aback by how familiar Sinclair was letting her be considering she was a first-time guest.

“Sit,” he said again, his voice growing huskier as he slowed his excited speech, “Here.”

Sian averted her eyes from his, feeling more ridiculous blushing making its way up her cheeks. She felt like she was with her first boyfriend again; giggly and foolish. Sinclair’s very nature brought out a fun and carefree feel in her though.

She hoisted herself up in the spot Sinclair had highlighted and he watched as she did so. Little did she know that she had given quite a show of her cleavage.

He quickly turned back towards his prepared food, a slight tightening discomfort in his boxer shorts. Sinclair inwardly chastised himself. It’s just breasts, man. You’ve seen them before. But obviously not ones quite so enticing, he admitted to himself, as that sort of immediate response had never happened before.

Sian watched him put the food together. However, she didn’t pay much attention to the food itself, more to the man who breezed around his kitchen with ease. She discovered that his concentration face was ridiculously sexy, as he furrowed his brow and clenched his jaw lightly. The tension accentuated his jawline and the muscles in his neck. She was particularly drawn to his hands and the road map of veins that began popping up as he worked. His strong grip contrasted with the delicacy of his fingers perfectly. She finished her drink as she watched and added to the conversation where she needed to.

Sinclair was quieter, his concentration mainly on the task in front of him, though he did allow himself the luxury of a glance in Sian’s direction when the occasion arose.

He put the lid over the large pan he tossed the pasta in, took a quick gulp of his Martini, and then shot out the room without a word. Sian waited patiently for him to come back as she eyed the food on the hob. It smelt delicious and her stomach had started rumbling halfway through the process.

A few minutes later, Sinclair whizzed back into the kitchen and planted his hands on Sian’s waist. The contact sped up her heart once again; if he kept doing that he was going to give her a lifelong condition.

Sinclair helped Sian down, she didn’t need it but she wasn’t going to protest the closeness to him. They walked back to the dining room, where he had managed to lay the table, light a candle, and uncork a bottle of wine in the short time he was gone.

Pulling out a chair, he gestured for Sian to sit and then left her again to plate up the food.

Sinclair lifted the lid of the pan and inhaled, it smelt great, in his opinion. Taking a fork he taste-tested it and was happy with the results. Not a patch on what Sian could create, he was sure but more than edible.

He watched her reaction carefully as he lay the plated food in front of her, relieved to see no signs of judgement, instead she just looked happy. Sinclair loved that.

She looked even happier upon her first bite.

“Wine?” He offered, picking up the bottle of white he had chosen out of his collection especially.

“Yes please,” she replied, partnered with a little nod of her head. Sinclair obligingly filled her tall stemmed glass three-quarters of the way up and then rested the bottle back down on the table.

Sian glanced at him curiously, “Not having some?”

He shook his head as his mouth was filled with pasta. Once he had swallowed it down he answered her properly. “If I have wine after that Martini, I’ll be over the limit and I don’t want to risk anything.”

What he truly meant was, risk her. He had, unwisely, driven with 2 or 3 drinks in his system before but he wasn’t prepared to chance that with Sian in the car.

Sian pondered for a second. Am I really about to do this?

“Do you have a spare bedroom?” She asked, hoping to God she wasn’t crossing a line. He had, after all, already slept at her flat. If they were trying to even the playing field, this was another thing they could check off, she reasoned.

Sinclair rested his fork on his plate, half-filled with readily twirled pasta. His elbows rested on the table as he laced his fingers together in front of him. “I do...what are you proposing?”

Sian shrugged her shoulders, desperate to keep a nonchalant demeanour. Desperate not to show the nerves that were running amok inside her head at that precise moment. “I could stay...if you would be comfortable with that.”

Sinclair’s inner thoughts stumbled over themselves. Is she...what does...no...separate rooms. You can do that. “Of course I’d be comfortable with that. After falling to sleep blind drunk on your sofa, I don’t know how I wouldn’t be.”

Sian smiled, at least he was on the same wavelength, she thought. She picked up the bottle and filled his glass to the same level as her own. “Then you can have a glass of wine with me now.”

He let out a short, appreciative laugh from his chest and picked up the glass, taking the smallest of sips as he savoured the flavour. Good choice, he thought and then took a long draw of the drink.

As Sian began enjoying her own glass, Sinclair rested his sock-laden foot against hers. Their feet remained like that for the duration of the meal and conversation flowed on long after the food had been consumed.

The last drops of wine fell into Sian's glass as she laughed along with Sinclair. He was concluding a funny story from his private school days.

Even though they were born and raised on far ends of the class spectrum they talked as if they were long-standing friends. Friends who slipped a lot of flirtation into the conversation and who slipped their feet up and down each other's legs.

Sinclair had an affluent childhood, though Sian wouldn’t say it had been easy for him, as she listened. He was an only child and therefore all expectations were on him in every stage and aspect of his life. He had to excel at school, at university, in work. Be the kind of man his parents could brag about amongst their other rich friends.

As a pleaser of people, Sinclair filled all his parent's desires. He had the job, the car and as his walls came down further, from both the feeling of trust and the courage of the wine, he said he had the wife. Until he didn’t. An affair he said, though he didn’t elaborate further than that.

Sian’s first thought was that his ex-wife, Natalie, must be an absolute idiot for cheating on him. Her second thought was that she’d quite like to slap her, for she saw the pain behind his eyes and heard in his voice when he spoke about it.

The divorce had left his parents less than impressed with the whole situation but his parents were elderly and he knew that there was not an infinite amount of years left with them, so he argued with them as little as he could.

Sian had played with the top of his hand the entire time, running her fingers over his knuckles softly before finally stilling her movements. Sinclair was more than grateful for the contact, the connection, the spark that ran through his body when he was with her like that.

He looked down at her hand and her bare arm. The heat of the house had meant Sian had removed her shirt early on in the meal.

Sinclair gently pulled his hand from underneath her and then traced hers. Paying particular attention to the small scars that were darted around her lower arm and hand.

“Hazards of the job,” she informed as he seemed mesmerised.

“God, sorry,” he sighed as he pulled his hand away, “I didn’t mean to...well I didn’t mean to seem like they were really obvious.”

“Sinclair, it’s fine,” she reassured as she joined their hands together again, “I’m more than used to them.”

“Now it’s your turn to reveal all,” Sinclair said, squeezing her hand lightly.

Sian stiffened and looked away from him for the first time in the last hour. He noticed but didn’t say anything or push further.

“Not much to tell. I come from a very working-class background, when I was born, Mom and Dad still had their council house. I think they bought their own when I was about 5. My dad was a vehicle mechanic his entire career, which is where I get my appreciation for cars from and my mother was a housewife until I was older, then she worked as a receptionist until she joined dad in retirement. She died 18 months ago...a bad heart,” she finished quietly. Her throat drying as she thought about her.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he soothed and stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.

“My dad and I don’t get on so well but, we see each other when we have to now, but it’s okay, I have a few close-knit friends that are more like family.”

“Perry?” Sinclair asked. So far, that was the only friend she had mentioned.

“Yeah, Perry, she’s a pain in the bum but I love her, and I wouldn’t change her for the world.” Sinclair watched the change in her face and listened to the nuance in her voice as she changed from speaking about her dad to Perry.

“Did you always want to be a chef?” He asked, trying not to bring her back to the harder topics.

Sian laughed and covered her mouth, ready to admit something embarrassing. “Chef...or Popstar. Quite contrasting careers, I know.”

“So why am I not seeing you on billboards and hearing you on the radio?”

“Oh, well that’s an easy one. I can’t bloody sing, Sinclair.”

The pair began to laugh then Sinclair suggested they move to the living room, to sit more comfortably. He intended on asking her more.

Once they were both settled into the cushiness of the sofa, Sinclair on one side, and Sian on the other their easy chatter seemed to disperse. Missing their connection, Sinclair reached for her hand which she willingly gave.

Something that had niggled at Sinclair when she talked about her parents was the lack of siblings. She hadn’t said she was an only child, like him but she also hadn’t mentioned anyone else. The paranoia was too much and it was the first question he asked.

“Do you have any siblings, a sister…” Sinclair paused slightly and as much as he tried he couldn’t hold back the disdain, “a brother, perhaps?”

Sian noticed the weird shift in him. The question itself made her feel anxious.

“Just, just a brother,” she stammered, “Older.”

Sinclair’s stomach felt odd at that. In fact, he didn’t want to hear any more about the brother.

“Are you okay?” Sian asked as she edged closer to Sinclair. “You seem quiet now…”

She started playing with the collar of his crisp white shirt which distracted him away from the irrational thoughts of her brother.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he replied. He wasn’t sure if he was but he pulled himself out of it.

Sinclair edged closer as Sian had and put his arm around the back of the sofa, creating a space for only them.

“Dinner was delicious. Thank you for your company and your hospitality. It’s not something I’m all that used to if I’m honest,” she admitted, feeling stupidly inexperienced. Long-lasting relationships had never been her thing but looking at Sinclair, she was now thinking about it. And seriously, too.

Sinclair cupped her cheek with his free hand and drew her blue eyes to his amber ones, “I’d like you to get used to it,” he whispered, “I feel like you deserve it.”

“So do you,” she mirrored and then flicked her tongue over his top lip for the briefest of moments.

Sinclair sighed and then covered Sian’s lips roughly before his tongue hungrily met hers. Sian whimpered into his mouth as his hand skimmed down her throat, over her breast, and to her waist, where Sinclair squeezed the plumpness of her curves.

In return, her eager hands in his hair grasped slightly, sending waves of pleasure through his entire body. Sian was reassured by the groan that rumbled through his throat.

With little effort, Sinclair pulled her on top of him, her legs falling either side of his.

“Is this okay?” He whispered into her lips, realising he had just pushed past another level of intimacy.

“Yeah,” she responded quickly, kissing him again.

Sinclair deviated his lips from her mouth, over her jaw and down her neck. When his teeth connected with the sensitive skin there, she gripped tighter in his hair. Sinclair’s arousal was now beyond the point of being able to hide it, as Sian brought herself closer to him.

She moaned beautifully into his hair as she bumped against his very noticeable excitement. Sinclair was sucking gently on her neck as she did so, the delicious contact made him bite down and push into her further. Their vocal appreciation met in the middle as Sinclair dropped a hand to her thigh and squeezed.

“Sin...Sinclair,” Sian breathed out, “I have to...we have to stop.”

At hearing the word stop Sinclair pulled himself away and moved his hands to a more respectable place.

“Are you okay?” He asked, searching her face. Whilst he saw no signs of distress, he had to check, “Did I go too far?”

Sian bit her swollen bottom lip and shook her head. The bulge that she could still feel in Sinclair’s trousers was horribly distracting and undeniably tempting, but she couldn’t. “We were both participants in that and no it wasn’t too much...but,” Sian stumbled on her words then, knowing the explanation was far too painful and complicated. If this had been 4 years ago, she’d have had no hesitation in going to bed with him then and there.

“But what?” He asked, soothing her by rubbing his hands up and down her back.

“I ca...don’t do casual sex,” she admitted and removed herself from Sinclair’s lap. She remained pressed into his side as she settled back into the sofa. 

“I didn’t expect anything, Sian,” he assured her and then kissed her lightly.

“I didn’t mean...I didn’t think you did,” she whispered back and turned away from him as she began to nervously play with her fingers.

Sinclair took her chin gently, with two fingers underneath it, and guided her back to him. “I’m having a lot of fun and...I really like you. I’m happy to follow your pace when it comes to intimacy.”

Sian felt herself getting emotional at his genuine care. He wasn’t pushy and demanding like she was used to with younger men, who usually were only interested in one thing. “I really like you, too, Sinclair.”

That admission was music to Sinclair’s ears. Is this really happening? He asked himself as he stood up.

“I have an idea,” he said and left the room. He bounded up the stairs after readjusting his boxer shorts and headed to his bedroom.

Sian sat back into the corner of the sofa, she felt a bit guilty for letting it go so far and then stopping him. She ran a finger over her bottom lip, feeling the hot swelling that Sinclair’s lips had created before tucking her t-shirt back into her jeans fully.

When Sinclair came back he had changed into a pair of sage green, cotton, jogging bottoms, a grey sweatshirt, and was sporting a boyish grin. He had a large, fluffy blue blanket in his arms and what looked like more jogging bottoms and another sweatshirt.

Sinclair lightly dropped the items in the seat next to Sian. “Those are for you if you’d like to get more comfortable. Thought we could watch something on the tele.”

Sian took the clothes from on top of the blanket and thanked him. He directed her to the downstairs shower room which was bigger than her only bathroom. She used the facilities and washed her hands then looked herself over in the mirror. Smoothing her hands over her head, she sighed with both tiredness and contentment.

Whatever she thought Sinclair might do after ending their fumble on the sofa, it was not to give her comfortable clothes. She’d be concerned about how perfect he seemed to be but he gave her no cause to be suspicious or worried. He really was just a lovely man.

When she returned to the living room, wearing Sinclair’s burgundy sweatshirt and navy blue jogging bottoms Sinclair greeted her with a smile. She had to roll the bottoms up at the waist and the cuff of the legs because they were far too big but she left the sweatshirt baggy. Sinclair had turned off the main light, leaving on the lamp in the corner, and got himself comfortable under the blanket. There was a pot of tea and two pastries on the table that he’d moved to in front of the sofa. For the second time that night, she couldn’t believe how quickly he had put it all together.

“Those suit you,” he complimented and stared at her bum as she sat down. Sinclair moved the blanket over the top of her lap and pecked her lips.

“It’s the hibernator in me, sorry,” he said with a shy embarrassment as he finished settling the blanket, “Still want to watch something? Or are you tired?” He asked, noticing her looking weary.

“I am but let’s watch something, just poke me if I fall to sleep,” she instructed, a small yawn parting her lips. Sinclair got the smallest glimpse before she covered her mouth.

Sinclair eventually stopped on an old detective programme and made sure she was happy with the choice. Sian didn’t mind, she wasn’t going to be able to concentrate too much; not with the sleepiness and the distraction of Sinclair’s side pressed up next to her.

After their tea was gone and their pastries were eaten, Sian yawned again. Sinclair side-eyed her and could see her eyes drifting slowly. He moved his arm over her shoulders and he gently nudged for her to move closer to him.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite,” he mused.

Sian hummed, thinking about his teeth on her neck, “Now I know that’s a lie.”

Sinclair’s chest rumbled with laughter underneath her as she rested her head near his collarbone and ran her hand over his stomach so she was cuddling him. Sinclair held her firmly and let his head rest near hers.

“What shampoo do you use?” He asked, not being able to pick out the particular scent paired with the coconut he smelt earlier.

“Coconut and Papaya.”

“It smells divine,” he sighed.

“It’s my favourite,” she replied sleepily and let her eyes finally close.

Whilst semi concentrating on the programme, Sinclair noticed Sian’s body felt heavier against him and her breathing had become deeper. She was asleep.

He turned off the television and sat listening to Sian’s steady breathing. In his opinion, the night couldn’t have gone better. Closing his eyes, he snuggled into her more and realised that he’d not once thought of Natalie, except when he mentioned her at the dinner table earlier. He smiled at the realisation.

Hours later, Sian woke up pressed into Sinclair’s chest. They had drifted into a semi lying position in their sleep and Sinclair was softly snoring. Sian stretched out her neck then lightly shook the man beneath her.

“Sinclair….Sinclair,” she repeated, gently trying to rouse him

He woke up slowly and blinked away the groggy feeling of sleep.

“I can’t sleep like this all night,” she yawned and pushed her hair out of her face.

“Mmm, yeah...okay, okay, let’s go upstairs,” Sinclair mumbled and began to shuffle underneath her.

They both dragged their tired bodies up the polished wooden stairs until they hit the large landing, where there were a number of closed doors to choose from. Sian just followed slowly after Sinclair.

“I just need to make the bed,” he yawned and stretched his back. It popped in a few places, which he groaned at. A nice reminder of the aging of his body.

Sian shook her head, too tired to care about the idea of separate beds. She grabbed his hand firmly and stopped, “Which one’s your bedroom?”

Sinclair perked up at her question.

“I can’t wait for you to make the bed, we can just share,” she admitted unashamedly then realised it may be too much, “If that’s okay with you?”

Sinclair’s hair swayed as he nodded his head and he then led her to his bedroom door.

“Wait there,” he whispered as he stopped her near the door. Turning on the bedside lamp illuminated the room dimly enough for Sian to see where the bed was.

The master bedroom was huge but she was too tired to pay attention to the decoration or anything else. She’d nose in the morning.

Sinclair pulled back the cover and removed his socks and sweater then got in. Sian, in uncoordinated tiredness, did the same, only getting slightly stuck in his sweater. He looked on in amused adoration. God, she’s lovely, he mused.

Once they were both under the covers, Sinclair shut off the lamp and then lay on his back, his hands resting awkwardly on his chest. Sian shuffled next to him then moved his arm away from his chest so she could lie on it.

“You’re very warm. I like it,” she mumbled as she felt herself falling back to sleep.

Sinclair pressed his lips together to control his body. The beating of his heart and the thrumming in his boxer shorts. Control yourself.

When she rested her leg over his in her sleep Sinclair near audibly moaned into the atmosphere of his silent bedroom.

Eventually, he fell to sleep with the smell of coconut and Papaya filling his senses.  

Chapter Text

Sian began to rouse as the bright morning sun shone through the large bay window in Sinclair’s bedroom. In their sleepy state last night, Sinclair had not drawn the curtains, not that it was hindering him. Sinclair had his head buried firmly into the back of Sian’s neck, whilst his arm draped over her waist.

It took Sian a brief second to remember where she was as her eyes blinked themselves awake, squinting at the harshness of the winter beams. She looked around the bedroom briefly before her eyes shut again. She’d forgotten how comforting it was to sleep next to someone as she pressed herself into Sinclair’s embrace, enjoying the weight and warmth of his body. Sinclair really was a hibernator, Sian thought, as he didn’t even flinch when she moved. Nor did the small intermittent snores stifle at all.

Sian felt contentment like she had not experienced in a long, maybe ever, she couldn’t quite remember. Not that it mattered, she knew she shouldn’t compare Sinclair to anyone in her past. It was no comparison anyway; he was kind, fun, clever and could cook. The fact that he was so pretty was the icing on the cake. Last night had been close to perfect, too. Usually, men didn’t like cooking for her, too concerned that they’d make themselves look silly.

When she opened her eyes again, now more accustomed to the light, she was smiling to herself. She scanned her eyes over the parts of the bedroom she could. It was lightly decorated, the slightly patterned wallpaper being a very light cream with a light green and cream border running through the middle. The curtains were of a similar shade and heavily patterned. The bedside table on the side she was sleeping was completely bare except for a cream lamp, she shuffled slightly more uncomfortably this time, realising she was probably sleeping on Natalie’s side of the bed. It shouldn’t have bothered her, she didn’t want it to bother her but there was definitely a hint of jealousy pulling gently in her mind. She didn’t like it, mostly because she had always prided herself on not being the jealous type.

She was drawn to his tanned arm over her body as she stopped looking around the room; the light brown hairs that covered it tickled her fingertips as she ran her hand over it. She wasn’t trying to wake him up, knowing now that he liked to lie in on the weekends but she couldn’t help herself as she traversed the muscles down to his wrist then his hand, where again, his veins were slightly protruding. As if already knowing her jealous thoughts, her fingers stopped on his wedding finger. She had never really inspected it thoroughly before but there was a light ring mark around it, where a band once sat. The sun hadn’t quite done its job evening out his skin yet. Sian rubbed her finger over it lightly, feeling nothing but empathy for the man lying asleep behind her.

The constant idle stroking of his fingers as Sian zoned out stirred him. She didn’t realise at first, as Sinclair lay still and enjoyed the feel of her soft affections and the scent of his new favourite shampoo. He’d have happily lulled there for the rest of the morning if not for the slight problem he faced; that slight problem being the sometimes awkward affliction that men often woke up with.

When Sian laced her fingers gently through his, Sinclair melted even further. He knew he was getting ahead of himself, they barely knew each other but everything felt good to him. And little had felt good to him in quite a while, so why shouldn’t he enjoy her so much? Because a normal time frame would dictate that he shouldn’t? If Sian was happy with the situation, then Sinclair was, and that’s all that mattered.

As much as he wanted to be, Sinclair knew he wasn’t confident in that thinking; Natalie had been fast and impulsive and that had turned out terribly. He quickly admonished himself as he began to show signs of being awake, he shouldn’t compare Sian to her. They were chalk and cheese as far as he was concerned.

“Good morning,” he rumbled into her t-shirt covered shoulder before gently kissing it.

“Morning,” she sighed back and nestled herself further into the pillow. His sheets were far more expensive than her own and they felt like heaven to lie on.

“Sleep okay?” He asked as he rubbed his hand up and down her arm soothingly. Sian thought if he did that for too long, he’d send her back to sleep.

“Perfectly. Wine always knocks me out,” she said with a yawn, “Probably should have warned you before I drank half a bottle.”

Sinclair chuckled as he settled back down beside Sian, accidentally bumping harshly into her backside again. He felt her freeze and highly disliked himself at that moment.

“Sorry. I’ll get up, I could do with a cup of tea. How about you?” he rambled quickly as he rolled over, planting his feet on the peach carpeted floor.

Sian sat up and placed her hand in the middle of his back to gain his attention. He was already leaning down reaching for the jumper he had abandoned last night.

“Are you hungry?” he continued to question. Sinclair wasn’t a man who often freaked out but he didn’t want to push her away, especially because his body reacted like that of a 15-year-old boy around her. No, he had control and decorum and he’d bloody well show her that. “What do you fancy?”

Sian bit her bottom lip as her fingers stroked gently on his back. She could try to make him stay or she could just let him carry on, he was obviously uncomfortable.

“Anything. Toast will do,” she answered, a little glum. “I should start getting ready to go as well. I don’t want to take up your whole Sunday.” Sometimes you can have too much of a good thing, she thought.

Sinclair looked over his shoulder, his hair ruffled from sleep and the putting on of his jumper. “I thought you were free today?” he asked, the disappointment heavy in his deep voice. Maybe he had acted a little rash.

“Oh,” Sian exclaimed softly, looking down at the duvet, “I thought maybe because we were together last night, you’d want today for...other things.” She wasn’t quite sure what he got up to in the little spare time he had.

Sinclair shook his head and smiled. “I was hoping your offer was still on the cards.”

She hadn’t planned anything. Whilst she didn’t plan to stop over, she also didn’t plan anything for her Sunday, on the off chance that he might like to take her up on her original offer. Not that she had any ideas, or particularly any idea where she was.

“I’m free as a bird,” she replied, “but...I have no clean clothes.”

“Well, if you don’t mind staying in again, I’m sure you’d find some more of my clothes comfortable,” he joked, placing his hand over hers. “Stay there, I’ll make breakfast, we’ll eat and then I will...find you more clothes.”

“I can’t come with this time?” she asked with a smirk on her face. As much as she would like to, breakfast in bed also sounded amazing.

“No. Not this time,” he tapped her hand twice, “right, off I go.”

But he didn’t go, he lingered and traced the end of his index finger along her hand and instinctively began leaning in. He kissed her forehead, letting his lips languish on her warm skin for a few moments more than was normally customary, but she didn’t mind. It was sweet, and the anxious side of her was relieved as she’d not brushed her teeth yet.

When he was gone Sian gave it a couple of minutes then pulled back the duvet and padded over to the door. She quietly searched for the bathroom, finding it on her second attempt. The clawfoot bath under the window was the focal point and it drew her eye immediately; she could quite happily soak in that for hours. But she didn’t have time for that. She washed her face and found a bottle of mouthwash in the cabinets underneath the sink. She transferred a good amount into the lid and shot it, before rinsing it through her teeth and then gargling. It would have to suffice for now, she thought.

Sinclair had been kind, it seemed, as it looked like a bird had nested in her head, and he had not said a word. She hadn’t even noticed him look. She tamed it as best as she could and then went back to the bedroom and waited for Sinclair.

He, of course, did not disappoint. With a smile on his face, he was already chewing on something as he brought in the tray of food.

“Sorry,” he garbled as he swallowed, “I couldn’t help myself.”

“I hope you saved me some,” she replied and pulled back the duvet for him.

“Just a little.” With his earlier predicament now gone, Sinclair felt his confidence reappear. It helped that Sian looked so pleased to see him back. It could have been the breakfast in bed, he mused, but he’d take that it was at least, in part, down to his presence.

Placing the tray in the middle of the king-sized bed, Sinclair arranged things back into their position then joined Sian. As requested there was toast, butter, and jam. A few of the same pastries from last night, yogurt and the obligatory fruit. The pot of tea was steaming and Sinclair did the honours of pouring it into mugs. Sian was glad he hadn’t used teacups, she was in need of every drop of that large mug of tea.

“I didn’t mean to gatecrash your bed last night,” Sian admitted as she bit into a slice of toast, “my intentions were...mostly admirable, I assure you,” she said in jest, like some 18th-century beau.

“Mmm...I’m sure they were.” He smirked and watched her eat the breakfast he had made.

“What would you normally do on your weekends?” Sian inquired, curious as to what he was giving up to be stuck in with her.

Sinclair used to be quite the social butterfly. Parties, meals out, picnics, but the last year had seen a lot of that fall to the wayside. Whilst the offers had come in from his friends, Sinclair had been less and less inclined to gather with large groups of couples and families, for it made him realise he was quite alone in the world, yet again.

“Work, reading, a few social things...the usual. In the warmer months…” he paused, realising he was about to sound awfully pretentious. He didn’t mean to. It was his lifestyle and when he told people about it, he didn’t do so to brag, just to inform.

“In the warmer months?” Sian pressed.

“Boat rides along the river are very nice and I like to take the other car out. The estate is much prettier in the summer, there are usually a lot of people around.”

“So it was a busy summer?”

“Not so much this year,” he replied, the cheeriness falling from his features as he sipped at his tea.

“If I stole some extra layers, how about showing me around outside?” she asked, trying to distract whatever was on his mind. He was peering into his mug, looking a little lost for a man who seemingly had everything he could ever want at his fingertips.

“You don’t like the cold,” he replied, still looking into his near-depleted tea. Sian was pleasantly surprised that he had been paying attention to her likes and dislikes.

“I make exceptions from time to time,” she took his hand and kissed the back of it, which seemed to grab his attention.

“Okay. I think I might just have enough clothes to keep you warm,” he said sarcastically.

He finished his breakfast in a jollier mood from thereon. The tray was practically empty when they were both done, Sinclair having a hearty appetite that cold morning.

“I think I may have overindulged,” he admitted as he patted his stomach and rested back into his pillow. He had moved the tray onto the floor and swept off the few crumbs that had been made. “One day I will start the diet.”

Sian scoffed.

“Please, you don’t need a diet Sinclair,” she reassured as her hand came to rest on his chest.

“Not what I’ve been told,” he replied, automatically bringing his hand to hers.

“Well, I’m telling you,” she said quieter, “a bit of what you like is good for you. Trust the chef.”

He chuckled in his usual deep way, sending vibrations to the palm of her hand.

“Well in that case,” he smirked and then kissed the same palm. Sian watched him, her mouth parting a tad as her pupils dilated. His lips pressed softly against her hand until he reached her wrist where his tongue fluttered gently along her pulse.

The heat seemed to rise up from her neck and pool in her cheeks. Sinclair gauged her every reaction; the hitching of her breath, the shuffling of her body closer to his as she began to play with the ends of his hair. Something he had noticed she enjoyed and that he enjoyed back in equal measures. When his teeth grazed her skin, Sian could take the torment no longer.

She lightly pulled her arm out of his grasp and rested it back on his chest as her lips met his. Sinclair hissed with delight as she bit down on his bottom lip, and when she slipped her tongue into his mouth, his guttural appreciations only grew louder. It seemed it wasn’t just food he enjoyed vocally.

Sinclair, without breaking the kiss rolled them onto their sides, so they were lying facing each other, like a couple of teenagers, and indulged himself in every sweet stroke of her tongue on his and every nip from her teeth. When her lips drifted down his chin to his neck, she felt him swallow as his Adam's apple bobbed and then hummed against her lips. She loved how receptive he was.

Sinclair’s hand wandered over the swell of her hip and skirted round to her bum. As much as he wanted to squeeze it, he stopped himself; instead, he flexed his fingers outwards and then placed his hand on her lower back. Where temptation could not easily get him. Sian noticed.

“You can touch me, Sinclair,” she whispered between kisses before pulling back to look at him. His pupils were blown and his usual full lips were swollen further. She couldn’t help but run her thumb over the bottom one.

“What about last night?” he asked and then nipped playfully at the thumb tickling his bottom lip.

“I think touching my bum is very different from sex. It was just something I needed you to be aware of before anything else happened. Now that you know, I trust that you respect that.” Sian couldn’t take her eyes of Sinclair as she pulled on his bottom lip, revealing his slightly crooked teeth. “We can stop though.”

She removed her thumb, ready to extricate her body from his but he grabbed her wrist.

“I know what I can handle,” he rumbled, his throat gruff, his eyes lustful, “like I said last night, I’ll follow your lead.”

Sian bit her bottom lip, drawing Sinclair’s eyes to the way the fullness of them dipped under the pressure. She ran her hand down his side, to the hem of his jumper, and then delved underneath it. She closed her eyes, revelling in the heat of his skin. There was a smattering of hair along his waistband and further up over his belly button. Sinclair had been holding his breath until she ran her hand near his side, which is when he released it as he squirmed and stifled his laughter.

“Ticklish?” Sian asked with a sly grin on her face. This was excellent news, she thought.

“You’ll have to stop that if you tickle me again,” Sinclair warned.

“Well that would be no fun,” she mused as their lips began to lightly brush together, not quite connecting in a kiss. This time Sinclair’s composure broke far quicker as the large span of his hand grasped the fullness of her hips and then kneaded down to his original destination. Sian breathed heavily against his lips before he made them his.

There was a mess of limbs alongside a melody of hums, and moans and audible shudders as each began to explore where the other liked to be touched. Sinclair did his best to remember them and be attentive but was getting more and more distracted by Sian’s leg pushing against his erection. Little did he know, she was just as distracted and telling herself she was going to have to stop soon before she lost herself in the moment with him. There were explanations she was not ready to explain.

To even out the playing field, Sinclair pushed Sian onto her back, purposefully positioning his leg between hers. Sian gasped as his leg pressed into her firmly and as she pushed her head back into the pillow, Sinclair took advantage of her exposed neck and latched onto it. He was careful not to suck too hard, as leaving marks was not for the neck. No, that would be another time, he thought, as he thoroughly enjoyed listening to the moans that his work was eliciting.

The harsh ringing of the telephone on Sinclair’s bedside table pulled him away from her, he briefly looked at the phone and then looked back at Sian. The way she looked up at him at that moment, he’d probably give her anything she wanted. The feeling terrified him.

Sian scratched his chest with her filed-down nails making his eyes shut and his teeth grit together. The groan briefly drowned out the ringing before he decided to completely ignore it. They had been able to kiss again, briefly, before it stopped and then started to immediately ring again. With that, Sinclair knew who it was going to be without even having to answer it.

“Excuse me,” he said quietly, though Sian noticed he had an annoyed edge to his tone. He reached over, turned the phone around, and then harshly pulled the cord from the back of it. The ringing ceased for good. Sian laughed at the impulsiveness of it and grabbed his head forcefully and crashed her lips back into his.

They eventually slowed themselves down, breathless and euphoric. Both felt somewhere between satisfied and not. Satisfied because it had been amazing and not because they wanted more.

“Mind if I take a shower?” Sian asked as she looped her fingers through his hair idly.

“Of course not,” he replied and kissed her one last time before getting up. He sat on the edge of the bed and had to slightly adjust his boxer shorts as they were constricting him very uncomfortably.

Sian watched his movements from behind, smirking to herself; she couldn’t say she was disappointed at what she could feel through his jogging bottoms. She sat up and watched him move around his room, retrieving more clothes and placing them on the small seat in the corner of the room. He then went to the top drawer of the large chest opposite the bed and pulled out two pairs of identical boxer shorts.

“Hope you won’t mind,” he said with an embarrassed smile on his face, “I can put your clothes from last night in the washing machine, so you can wear them home later. Gone are the days that I flood the kitchen with these appliances,” he said quietly, but Sian did just about catch what he said.

“What?” she said with a laugh.

“Nothing. Kitchen mishap...almost a lifetime ago.” He fibbed, not wanting to spoil his mood again.

Sinclair showed her into the bathroom and found her out two towels, which he left on the radiator, so they’d be warm for when she got out. He took himself off to the guest bathroom and showered there. It was a miracle he didn’t need a cold one after the last hour but it was marred by Natalie. Only she phoned so incessantly. He wondered what she wanted this time and what possessed her to continue to bother him after all the time that had passed.

It niggled at him as he dried and dressed. Sian wasn’t downstairs yet when he was done, he decided to make a flask of tea so they could keep themselves warm outside. The sound of the hairdryer could be heard as he pottered around the house, cleaning up a little more after last night.

When she came down she has bundled up in his clothes again, the cuffs of his grey jumper overlapping her hands. Sian was considering wearing men's clothes more often now. She found his large jumpers far more comfortable than her robe.

“I think the large white socks really set off the ensemble,” she joked as she flicked her foot up behind her, like a 50s movie star.

“Beautiful,” he replied with sincerity.

She beamed but then slapped his arm playfully. "Enough of that Romeo."

Sinclair first showed her the conservatory, which at that time of year was unusable then they braved it outside. Whilst a lot of the shrubbery and plants were dead for the winter, it was still beautiful and she could understand why it was the perfect location for summer events. The ice that layered the lake was melting as the day was inching closer to midday but it was too cold for Sian’s comfort. As they wandered around and chatted, Sinclair noticed the little shivers that ran through her. He put his arm around her as they watched the almost still waters.

“Pour the tea,” he encouraged, “It’ll stop you from turning blue.”

So far, Sian had just hugged it, hoping to retain the minuscule amount of heat it released. She did as she was asked and then sipped the steaming liquid before passing it to Sinclair. He grimaced slightly at the un-sugared tea, he had left it that way, knowing she hated sugar in hers.

He kissed the top of her head as she took the cup back from him.

“I’m going to sell the place,” he admitted quietly into the top of her head. She smelt like the shampoo in his bathroom and whilst it smelt nice, it wasn’t her.

“Why?” She looked up at him, his gaze now off into the distance.

“I once loved it but most of the joy has been sucked out of it for me.”

“Because this is where…” she thought back to sleeping on Natalie’s side of the bed and how that must be so hard for him, too. She didn’t quite know how to articulate it though. “Well, because of Natalie?”

Sinclair’s face twitched at the sound of her name on Sian’s tongue but he knew it would come up. She was after all his ex-wife, she'd been one of the biggest parts of his life for some years. If he could, he would never speak of her with Sian but, sadly, things weren’t that simple.

“I caught them here…” he admitted, remembering the gut-wrenching sight.

“Jesus,” Sian gasped in a small whisper.

“In our bed. It’s not like I didn’t know before but I thought it had stopped after confronting th...her,” Sinclair corrected, he didn’t want to divulge what made it even more sickening, “that was it. Last straw.”

“I’m sorry, Sinclair,” she cooed, as she soothed his back with the palm of her hand.

“I got rid of the bed, changed bedrooms, changed the decoration to try to fall in love with it again but I just can’t.” She had tainted it beyond repair for him. “I didn’t much paint myself as the emotional attachment type but it turns out I am.”

Sian continued to comfort him but she couldn’t help but feel like Sinclair wasn’t quite over Natalie. It left an odd, tight feeling in her chest for a moment before he suggested going back in. He was cold so he knew Sian would be freezing.

The atmosphere was tense on their walk back. Sinclair worried he’d said too much, too soon. Maybe Sian didn’t want someone so mopey and sensitive, he thought as he led her back to the house.

Sinclair locked the conservatory door as Sian made her way back into the main part of the house. He took the moment to shake off his depressive mood, not wanting to ruin what had been, so far, one of the best weekends he had had in over a year.

When he followed the same path as Sian had taken, he found her stood still in the hallway. Then quickly noticed why. He stood behind her, though a few paces away as he narrowed his eyes.

“Natalie.”  

Chapter Text

 When Sian laid eyes on the blonde woman roaming around the house, she panicked and stood still like an idiot. Apparently, she’d be useless in a break-in. Sinclair was behind her before she even had a chance to talk to the woman who had finally noticed her.

“Natalie,” Sinclair said with a rigid coldness.

As if she wasn’t there, Natalie talked straight through Sian and to Sinclair.

“What’s going on? You didn’t answer the phone, I tried a few times.” Natalie’s nasally voice rose.

So that’s who was calling earlier, Sian realised. She wondered if he knew it was her, wondered if that’s why he pulled the line out.

“Sorry...I was busy,” he replied. His eyes flicked to the back of Sian’s head, who was standing awkwardly between him and Natalie. He felt nothing but guilt that they’d run into each other like that. Natalie had a tendency to do this when she was in an utter state of depression or when she wasn’t getting what she wanted. Sinclair had been entertaining it for too long.

Sian turned and met Sinclair’s hazel eyes, “I’ll give you some space.”

He wanted to say he didn’t need space but he could feel Natalie boring holes into him without even having to look at her.

“Excuse me,” Sian directed at Natalie but the blonde woman, who was suspicious of her presence and had no issue showing it on her sharply defined face, ignored her.

Sian really had no means of actually leaving, which is all she wanted to do at that moment, but she was fairly sure Sinclair wouldn’t be impressed with her stealing his Jag. Outside wasn’t an option because who knows how long Natalie would be there and frostbite in her fingers would not be conducive to her job. So, she panicked and fled quickly up the stairs. It probably was the wrong move but she didn’t exactly have much time to work with.

Sinclair watched, torn at what to do. He didn’t want her to go hide but, honestly, he also didn’t want her to have to deal with Natalie either.

“Sinclair,” Natalie snipped, bringing the attention of her ex-husband back to her. “Is that who you were busy with?”

He couldn’t believe her sometimes. Sinclair shook his head and rested his hands on his hips. “I’m not even going to entertain that question with an answer.”

Sian, not able to resist the temptation, was half in Sinclair’s bedroom and half out on the landing, listening. Natalie was apparently a nosy cow, she thought as she tried her best to stop herself from marching straight back down there. As if the woman had the audacity to sleep with another man in their marital bed and then have a problem with Sinclair having a woman there post-divorce. And to just let herself in? More to the point, why did she even still have a key? Sian’s mind was running faster than she could keep up with, especially as she was still trying to listen.

“Can we have a cup of tea or something?” Natalie asked him, her voice suddenly sweeter than before.

“No, I’m busy Nat. What’s so urgent that you decided to let yourself in again?” he asked, hiding his growing impatience.

“Nothing Sinclair...it’s just Sunday and I missed you,” she couldn’t see but Sian could make out the clicking of her heels against the hardwood floor “Don’t you remember Sundays? Long lie-ins, breakfast in bed...a lot of other things in bed.”

“I really can’t do this today, Natalie” he interrupted before she went down memory lane any further, “I have company, remember?” he sighed.

Sinclair just wanted her to leave, every time he started to feel better, she turned up, like she could sense that he was forgetting about her. Natalie shook her head softly and let out a small, breathy laugh.

“Don’t you think she’s a bit young?” she asked as her eyes gazed up the stairs. Natalie couldn’t quite pinpoint her age but she could she was younger than herself.

“Again, I’m not going to answer that and it’s really not your concern is it?”

“It is when she’s in my house,” she replied and rested her hand on Sinclair’s chest. He immediately moved it off and stepped back. The contact set about an unease like never before.

Sian rested her head against the door, wishing she could see what was going on but knowing she should probably stop listening. Natalie’s memories had been the morning they had just shared.

“It’s my house., we both know that and I am well within my rights to have a…” Sinclair panicked, he didn’t need Natalie freaking out while Sian was there, “She’s a friend, I am allowed those. If it was Jess, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Natalie raised her eyebrow at him.

“I seem to remember you had no problem having...people over,” he finished. They both knew who Sinclair was talking about.

Natalie ignored his harshness, even during their whole divorce proceedings, he had remained calm and soft. She was quite shocked at how short he was being with her, she surmised it was down to the brunette upstairs.

“Do you allow all your friends to wear your clothes?” Natalie asked softer as she tried to touch him again. He stopped her before she even managed it. She lightly pulled her hand out of his grasp and smoothed down the thick red cardigan she was wearing. “Well I’ve driven 40 minutes to be here, Sinclair and it’s freezing outside. I’m putting the kettle on.”

“Nat..” Sinclair began to protest but she was turning around heading for the kitchen. He’d made a rod for his own back being emotional support for her and up until now it had never really mattered, other than it hurting him. It didn’t hurt as much as before, now it mainly irritated him that she was swanning around like she still belonged there.

Sian had closed the door quietly on hearing him refer to her as a friend. She supposed she was, technically, but she didn’t often let her friends kiss her, or any of the other things they had got up to less that morning. 

So, this was the disappointment. She felt a little bit stupid and far too dejected over someone she’d known for such a short period of time. She’d let her guard down and stopped waiting for the let down with Sinclair because he just seemed everything she could ask for. But apparently, he was still ruled by his ex-wife and that was messy and complicated. Sian didn’t need messy and complicated. She sat on the bed legs crossed and allowed herself a few quick tears before she quickly wiped them away, reminding herself that she was nearly 30 and crying over men had been done enough in her late teens and early 20s.

She flopped back on the soft sheets, they smelt like Sinclair. Sian was now trapped in the bedroom until Natalie left. Even if Sinclair wanted her down there, which she quickly convinced herself that he didn’t, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to see Natalie without either crying or slapping her. It was likely to be the latter of the two, so she was probably better off upstairs. 

Sinclair didn’t touch the tea that Natalie made for him and did his best to rush her through her own one. He was sure she was drinking it far slower than she normally would as she regaled her usual tale of loneliness and regret. Like Sinclair needed to hear that after she ripped his heart out and then stamped on it for good measure.

At the 45 minute mark, his legged starting to bob anxiously. Natalie noticed and went to sit with him, stilling his movements with her hand. Once, he thought her touch was everything, but he knew he had been wrong. He stood, having had enough of the games for today.

“I really must get on with things now. It was...good to see you.” He lied.

Natalie tapped her manicured nail on the side of the cup and then reluctantly gave in. He saw her out to the door where she kissed his cheek and then emphasised the wiggle in her walk but Sinclair was paying no attention. As soon as he got the door shut, he wiped his cheek along his shoulder, ridding himself of the feel of her lips on him.

He was at his bedroom door in a shot, if only he’d just answered the phone earlier she’d not have come over, he kicked himself at the thought as he knocked on the door gently.

Sian opened it a few moments later, “You don’t need to knock on doors in your own house, Sinclair.”

“I didn’t want to intrude,” he said sheepishly, his throat feeling uncharacteristically strangled for words.

Sinclair noticed Sian’s eyes were a little bloodshot as she did her best not to meet his lingering gaze. He couldn’t quite comprehend making her cry.

“I’m so sorry about that,” he said shuffling uncomfortably.

“It’s obviously still complicated between the two of you,” Sian replied, hearing the jealousy in her own voice. She stood from the bed, no longer wanting to feel the uncomfortable feeling that being in Sinclair’s house was bringing her. “I think we should call it a day, I’m back at work tomorrow...I’ve got washing and tidying to do.”

It wasn’t a lie, she really did have things to do, but she was in no rush to get back to those before now. Nearly an hour sitting upstairs while the man she was quickly gaining real feelings for was downstairs with his very flirty ex-wife was quite enough embarrassment for the day.

“Sian…I’m really sorry,” he apologised again.

“I know Sinclair but I really should be getting home. You don’t have to take me..”

“Of course I’ll take you,” he interrupted. It was the least he could do after that.

Sinclair wanted to persuade her to stay but he really didn’t have a leg to stand on. He had messed that whole situation up, and why? Because he couldn’t be forceful enough with Natalie. Idiot, he silently called himself and turned away from Sian. He couldn’t face the upset he had caused.

“I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready to go,” he mumbled, admitting defeat.

Seeing Sian back in her own clothes just hurt Sinclair further, but for once, he said nothing. He opened the car door for her, took his own seat, and then began the journey back to Sian’s flat.

It was torture. Sinclair enjoyed driving, it gave him a good space to clear his mind but today he hated it. Wanted to do it no further. And as for his mind? He didn’t think there was a space not taken up by all the words that were flying around as he continued to keep his mouth shut. He’d only make it worse.

Sian watched the countryside pass her by until the suburbs transformed into the concrete jungle she was more accustomed to. From the corner of her eye, she could see that every few minutes Sinclair would look over to her. She didn’t know what to say. Of course, she didn’t want to act so emotionally but emotions were hard to control. She did have questions, she was curious and she’d like to understand but she needed the embarrassment to subside first. 

When the car pulled up outside her flat, Sinclair turned the key and shut off the ignition with a sigh. Sian reached for the small bag that she had brought with her the night before and then unbuckled her seatbelt.

“Thanks for bringing me back.”

“No need for thanks,” Sinclair replied as he rested his hand on top of the leather steering wheel.

They sat in awkward silence for a moment before Sinclair unbuckled himself and turned to Sian. “I hope…” he was going to say that he hoped she could see past Natalie but changed his mind, “you get everything you need to get done. When are you off this week?”

“Tuesday and Thursday,” she answered.

“I’ll call you...can we arrange something?” Sinclair asked, apprehensively, his heart feeling heavy.

Sian nodded her head and then pulled the handle to open the door. Sinclair went to do the same but she stopped him.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” she assured him and then said goodbye.

It wasn’t until she was out of the car and about to close the door that Sinclair called her name. She ducked her head back into view and met his soft eyes for the first time since she took herself off upstairs. Sinclair suddenly didn’t know what to say as he lost himself in the blue of her gaze.

“Bye,” was all he managed before furrowing his brows.

“Goodbye, Sinclair.”

Sian closed the door and hurried to the slightly battered door to the front entrance of her building. It took all of her willpower not to look back.

It was nearly midnight when Perry turned up at her door with a bottle of wine and an uncustomary hug. They didn’t often hug.

“Okay, spill the beans. The way you sounded on the phone earlier, I feel like I need to go over to his mansion and beat him up,” she started before she had even closed the front door. 

Sian chuckled sadly, “No you don’t need to do that. It’s not that bad I suppose...I don’t know.”

“Okay, you don’t know, so tell Per Bear, and I will tell you what I think.”

The redhead went straight to the kitchen and fished out two glasses from the cupboards and opened the wine, pouring two very healthy measures into both.

“You okay there? Sian asked, eyeing the amount of alcohol in each glass. Perry drank when she was stressed.  

“It was a tough night. Fifty quid was missing out of the till. Marcus went mad" she saw the look of worry on Sian's face and waved her off "I’m not bothered. I know it wasn’t my mistake so they can figure it out.”

Sian frowned at how calm Perry was about that but Perry didn’t want to talk about it further, far more interested in her night with 'Birthday boy,' as she continued to call him.

So, without going into too much detail about the physical acts she recalled how well it had all gone and how Sinclair had been a gentleman from start to finish. She did accidentally, on purpose, slip in how good of a kisser he was which piqued Perry’s interest far too much, but she did her best to carry on.

The glass of wine in both their hands was finished as she got up to the point just before Natalie arrived. The story would have flowed much quicker if Perry didn't keep interrupting with questions, sarcasm, or innuendos.

“I need more wine for this bit,” Sian admitted, “And food. I’ve not eaten yet.”

Perry knew that was unusual for Sian. Her friend rarely missed a meal.

Sian grabbed a few things out of the fridge while Perry filled up their glasses. She left it next to the chopping board Sian had readied and watched as she began finely chopping up something green. Perry wasn’t a chef and barely knew anything about cooking; the actress in her had blagged her the job at the restaurant. She didn’t feel bad, after all, she was only serving it.

“Where was I?” Sian asked as she concentrated on the food. 

“You’d just finished your walk around Wayne Manor,” she replied sardonically with a smirk on her freckled face.

Sian was so distracted that she didn't realise the joke, “Yeah, okay, so I go in while Sinclair locks up and she’s just there…

“Who’s there?” Perry asked confused, hoping to god this wasn’t going to turn into some weird threesome story.

“His wife... ex-wife. Though she may as well have been his wife the way she was speaking to him,” Sian moaned as grabbed the spring onion from the side.

“I’m sensing some animosity…”

“I take myself off upstairs because I’m standing in-between them like a moron and I…” she sucked in air and pulled back her lips until her teeth were visible, “I listened.”

Perry was surprised. Her friend was the most sensible out of them all (not that that was hard), she usually avoided drama wherever she could and this sounded like drama to Perry. 

“She speaks to him like they’re still together or like they might get back together at least, I couldn’t see them but I guarantee she tried to touch him.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Perry asked, the wine having gone to her head.

“Not helpful,” Sian sighed, pointing her sharpest knife at her, “anyway…he called me his friend. Like I let my friends dr…” she stopped herself short.

Perry laughed. “Okay, bad move on Birthday boy’s part there.”

Sian took a large gulp of the wine before taking her knife back in her hand again.

“I was up there for nearly an hour Perry, when they were downstairs doing God knows what.” Sian let her insecurities take over. She’d found that not many men weren't patient enough to wait for sex...maybe she’d been duped, she thought, as her knife sliced over and over. She shook off the thought, Sinclair was better than that, she truly believed that.

“An hour? Jesus.”

“Honestly, Natalie sounds kind of unhinged but...I get the feeling he panders to it. She let herself into his house and he was the one who apologised to her," she huffed, still not quite believing it. 

Perry frowned, having never seen Sian so emotional over a man. “Did you let him explain?”

Sian chopped more viciously, losing her rhythm slightly, “No. He brought me home and we said an awkward goodbye and that was that. I don’t know why I’m so upset...I feel like a child.” She scowled and shook her head again. 

The brief moment of distraction was enough.

“Ah fuck!” She yelped, dropping the knife, immediately bringing her hand to squeeze below the cut. She didn’t often cut herself anymore but she knew the drill still.

“Oh shit,” Perry exclaimed as she almost choked on her wine. Without thinking she rushed to Sian’s side and grabbed her hand, covering her own in her blood.

Sian leapt back into the cabinet behind her, banging her lower back.

“Perry what the hell.” She held her hand above her head to stem the bleeding and to keep it far away from the redhead.

“Sorry...sorry. I forgot…” Perry stuttered over her words, in her split-second reaction she hadn’t thought, “I thought it was okay.”

“Wash your hands, please,” she asked, feeling sick.

Perry nodded and washed off her hands in warm, soapy water. She showed Sian her hands afterward, “See, all fine. Now, see to yours.”

Sian nodded, her brow feeling damp and her usually pale complexion, even paler. She took herself off to the bathroom, put her hand under the tap, and watched the thick, red liquid be washed away by the warm water.

Perry stood by the door and watched her friend. She was a joker at heart but she knew when to be serious and now was one of those times. She hadn’t seen a reaction like that out of Sian for over a year but then she hadn’t been in a position like that in an age. Sian was overly careful.

“You really like him, don’t you?” Perry asked as she watched Sian reach above her and open the mirrored cabinet. She dropped two pills out of the prescription bottle and threw them into her mouth. She scooped some water into her hand to drink and then threw her head back slightly to swallow them down.

She washed off the fresh blood that had formulated then answered Perry. “I do but it feels...I don’t know, his situation seems complex and I…”

“You’re scared,” Perry finished for her, though that’s not what Sian was going to say, “and it’s okay to be scared but you can’t keep letting it take over. What happened today was complete shit and I’d have been upset too, and I’d have probably gone home too but don’t write off one of the nicest people you've ever met because you’re scared. Talk to him about it.”

“I’m not ready for that,” she admitted as she dropped her head and held one to the side of the sink.

“Maybe you should go see your Dr.”

“Yeah. Yeah maybe, Per,” she sighed.

Opening the cabinet again, Sian picked out a large plaster and put it over the cut.

“I should go clean up the kitchen," she mumbled. Knowing she was going to bleach it to within an inch of her life now. 

Perry grabbed her as she tried to get past and hugged her tightly.

“It’s going to be okay,” she reassured before letting her go.

Chapter Text

Sinclair had the least productive day he could remember as he sat back in his black leather office chair; Mandy, his receptionist, was on her break and his lunch was sitting untouched in front of him. He didn’t often eat his lunch at his desk, much preferring to escape the office and the same four walls but after Natalie’s intrusion yesterday, the sleepless night that fiasco resulted in and a wretched commute, for once, he didn’t want to go anywhere.

The phone that sat on his desk had been watched like a hawk and answered faster than Mandy could. Every call had been a disappointment because it wasn’t her. Sinclair had never been “the ladies man” people often crassly spoke of. He’d had a few girlfriends, of course, and a wife, but he wouldn’t exactly call himself knowledgable when it came to relationships. It was partly why he had blamed himself for Natalie’s infidelity – the first time anyway. As such, he wracked his brain, over and over on how to make it up to Sian and worried if she’d even want him to.

By the time Mandy came back half an hour later, he’d not figured out what to do and only managed to force down half of his lunch, the other half was wrapped back up and pushed to the side.

“Brought you a coffee back,” Mandy began as she kicked the heavy door shut with her heeled foot, “Forgive me for saying, but you look like you’ve had a heavy weekend.”

“You are an angel,” Sinclair replied with a half-smile and took the polystyrene takeaway cup from her.

“Did you finish with that report?” She asked as she placed her own drink down on the desk that was on the other side of the office.

“Yes...all done,” he sighed and pulled the green folder from his top drawer.

“Three copies?” She asked in clarification.

“Please,” he replied and then began nursing the warm cup between his hands.

Mandy set about her tasks for the afternoon, organised and efficient as ever. However, she wasn’t so busy that she didn’t have time to glance at him every now and then, worried about the distant look on his face.

*

“Sian!” Andre bellowed across the kitchen, so loud the other kitchen staff looked up from their own tasks. “How long? I’ve asked twice now, if you can’t get it together in time, get out of my fucking kitchen!”

The other staff ducked their heads before Andre honed in on them. Sian, admittedly distracted, was working at her usual pace. It just so happened that Andre was in a horrifically hostile mood that dinner shift. Needless to say, lunch had been far more pleasant because he wasn’t scheduled in.

“2 minutes, Andre,” she replied.

“Hurry up,” he yelled back.

“Yes, I’ll just speed up time shall I?” she muttered under her breath as she grabbed the finishing garnish she needed. When she passed it over to Andre, she could smell alcohol on him. He’d had his break an hour before and whilst she thought she could smell something earlier, it was hard to detect as there was always alcohol in the kitchen, for cooking with, but this was definitely emanating from him.

Sian shook her head as she went back to her station and began working on the next dish. This wasn’t the first time Andre had drank on the job. Perry flew into the kitchen moments later, distracting her from her rage-fuelled thoughts about Andre; both gave each other a sympathetic smile and continued on. She had stayed with Sian last night and although she wanted her to be happy, which Sinclair seemed to be doing well (up until yesterday) she had told her to take the time she needed. Sian had taken over as comforter, or referee might be the better term, when they both arrived at work.

The debacle of the missing £50 had not been solved and therefore the three wait staff that worked last night would all be docked an even amount out of their wage. Perry, knowing full well it wasn’t her mistake, was therefore not on her finest form. Her face saying everything she couldn’t get away with; not without losing her job anyway. Jimmy tried his best to cheer her up but his efforts fell flat every time, therefore he looked like a kicked puppy moping around the kitchen.

All in all, it was a shit day and as if it couldn’t get any worse, it was pouring down with rain outside. Sian jumped in the first black cab she could flag down, which cut her 20-minute walk down to a 7-minute drive and saved her from getting completely soaked.

The cabbie talked, asked the usual questions which Sian tried her best to answer but she couldn’t shake her melancholy. She picked at a piece of lint as she thought about Sinclair; she was going to have to tell him that she eavesdropped on his private conversation. Otherwise, he might think she was completely overreacting. She knew there was some overreaction on her part but she didn’t think she was solely to blame. Her thoughts were cut off as the taxi pulled up, the driver turning and asking for his money.

She paid then ran to the door of her building, opening it with the key fob as quickly as she could. Once inside she shook off the drops of rain that had landed on her and took off her hat. When she’d climbed the stairs and got through her front door her phone was ringing. It was so late, it could only be a handful of people she thought, as she made her way into the living room and picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

The familiar voice on the other end reminded her of something she had been ignoring all day.

*

With a whiskey in hand, Sinclair meandered around his large and lonely home. He had tried to read and failed, tried to watch the television but zoned out of what was on the screen. If anyone were to ask, he wouldn’t even be able to tell them what channel he had decided upon, let alone the programme that he had ignored. The realisation that he was in deep when it came to Sian weighed heavy on him.

As he headed upstairs to his home office, he passed the bedroom he once shared with Natalie, brushing his fingertips over solid oak. The ghosts that lay in wait behind that door would suffer another solitary night as he breezed past and into the bedroom he now used. Opening the wardrobe in the corner of the room, he ran his hand to where he knew he had left the item.

Sian’s scarf was draped over the clothing rail in there. He shot back the last of his whiskey and huffed, feeling ridiculous and a bit of a creep for keeping it now but it didn’t stop him from taking it out and wrapping it around his neck. It was nearly December and the weather was making that fact very well known. The scarf brought a strange comfort and warmth. Shuffling backwards, his legs eventually hit the bed and he collapsed down into it.

Sinclair hadn’t meant to get so attached, so quickly. He never did. But he always did. A therapist would probably tell him that it stemmed from his parents. From being sent to boarding school and the unconscious abandonment issues that bred. Every holiday home he would talk his Mother’s ear off about everything he had learnt that term, always clinging onto information that might impress both her and his Father. Not that he found a lot of time to tell his father, who was either at work, locked away in his office or off playing golf.

Alas, Sinclair had never seen a therapist and the feelings that he never quite understood, still remained a hindrance to him in his adult life. He tapped his feet on the floor as he stared at the ceiling. The house was deathly quiet. His mind was painfully loud.

“Fuck it,” he said, a sudden burst of energy overtaking him as he pushed himself up and looked at his watch. Thinking she’d be home by that point, he dialled the number he had quickly memorised without a clue in the world what he was going to say, other than ‘sorry’ again. The line didn’t connect, instead, he was met with the monotonous engaged tone, meaning she was already on the phone.

After his third try and third failure, he clicked the receiver back into place and lay the phone back down on the bedside table. He looked at it with a frown on his face before pinching the top of his nose with his thumb and index finger. Unlike the night before, Sinclair didn’t find it hard to get to sleep, as he lay back down on the bed in defeat, the last shot of whiskey finally hit him. He faded into sleep, fully clothed, on top of the sheets with Sian's scarf still around his neck. 

Chapter Text

The end of Sinclair’s expensive fountain pen tapped lightly on the top of his desk. He was impatiently waiting for Mandy to leave the office so he could try to call Sian again. Knowing she’d have been at work late last night, he didn’t want to ring too early and disturb her sleep, so he waited.

10 seemed like a reasonable time to call, he thought, but then thought again. It was her day off, maybe she would sleep longer. It didn’t matter anyway, Mandy had her head buried in her typewriter until lunchtime.

By that time the painkillers he had taken had fully kicked in and the headache he woke up with had subsided. However, his embarrassment that he’d fallen to sleep wrapped in Sian’s scarf had not. He couldn’t quite believe he did that; he tried to tell himself it was the whiskey but he knew it wasn’t just that.

The moment Mandy left, Sinclair had his phone pinned between his ear and shoulder. His fingers tapped at the buttons but before the first ring finished he hung up. A phone call wasn’t good enough, he should go see her. He checked his watch, he didn’t have anything pressing for the rest of the day and if need be he’d stay back later tomorrow. Sinclair reasoned that he’d barely taken any holidays, therefore the loss of half a day wouldn’t kill him.

He was packing up as Mandy came back, a wedge of papers stacked in her arms.

“Here, let me help,” he offered and took them from her.

“Thanks. You off for lunch?” She asked as she watched him lay the pile down on her desk.

“I’m going to...I have an appointment, I won’t be back” he lied, not wanting to share anything with her prematurely.

“Oh,” she replied, the confusion clear on her face, “There’s nothing in your diary.”

“Yes, sorry, last minute.”

“But everything is okay?”

“Perfectly,” he reassured her with a smile.

Mandy was unconvinced but left it at that. They were fairly close but not so much that she liked to pry beyond his comfort level.

Sinclair hit the cold street, having passed by the Christmas tree that had been erected last night once the building had been shut down. The first of December and Sinclair did not expect to be ditching work to surprise the woman who seemed to be taking up most of his mind and scarily, his heart.

He wrapped his coat around him and made his way to a very fine and fairly local shop he needed supplies from. Going empty-handed wasn’t an option. It took about half an hour to go over things with the shop assistant but once he was done, and everything was stuffed into his arms, he flagged down a taxi and was on his way to Sian’s flat, hoping to God she was actually in.

The cabbie kept his mind fairly occupied as they talked about the streets and landmarks they passed. Sinclair sharing in his vast knowledge of the area. It was just past one when the taxi parked up outside the flat. The car behind honked aggressively but the cabbie just waved his hand out of the window, signaling for the other driver to go around him.

“Here,” Sinclair said handing him a £20 note, “I’ll let you get out of the traffic. Thank you for the entertaining chat. Have a good day.”

“Cheers mate, you too,” the cabbie replied, rather happy with the handsome tip that left him.

Sinclair bundled out of the car, the sizeable hamper and flowers difficult to handle but he managed it. He just about pressed the buzzer to Sian’s flat with his elbow and then waited until he heard the window two floors above him open. He stepped back from the sheltered entrance to look up, squinting into the winter sun.

“Sinclair? What are you doing?” she shouted down, shocked to see him on her doorstep with no warning, in the middle of a workday.

“I thought that might be obvious,” he replied. People were looking at him as they passed him. A well-dressed man, with a wicker hamper propped in one arm and a bouquet of expensive flowers in the other, shouting up to a slightly dingy-looking set of flats was apparently a head-turner. Sinclair was too fixated on Sian to notice them.

“Give me a sec,” she said closing the window. Sian ran into her bedroom, hung her robe back up, and pulled her hair out of the shoddy ponytail she had put it in, to redo it, only neater. Her face would just have to do she thought. She’d showered when she woke but since then she had mainly just wallowed around her flat.

Sinclair was bouncing on his feet when she got downstairs a minute or so later. She opened the door and ushered him inside.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to leave you out there so long,” she said as she closed the entrance door behind him.

Sinclair stood waiting for her, his arms still full, his hair falling down in his eyes, and a nervous smile on his face.

“What’s all this?” she asked, eyeing the little contents of the basket she could see.

Sinclair tried to move the annoying pieces of hair out of his face with a whip of his head but they immediately fell back down. Sian released a small laugh, walked the few steps left to him, and moved it by running the ends of her fingers through it.

“Thank you. Do you...do you mind if we go upstairs?” he asked, preferring they do any further reconciliation in private.

She nodded and lead the way up the two flights of stairs, their footsteps echoing in the soulless stairwells and halls. It wasn’t until they were in her flat that Sinclair handed over the flowers to her.

“For you, a part of my continued apology for Sunday.”

She took them from his hand, instinctively putting them to her nose and inhaling deeply.

“Thank you...I’m sorry I didn’t get in touch. Yesterday was a bit of a stressful day,” she admitted, recalling work and her late-night phone call.

“I’m sorry to hear that…I hope I haven’t intruded too much on your day off, once I get an idea in my head, I like to run with it usually. Some people call me impulsive...but err, I don’t know. Aren’t we all a bit impulsive?” he asked, knowing he was rambling.

Sian nodded in agreement and then laughed again. She couldn’t not. Here he was in the middle of the day, freshly out of work judging by his suit, a basket of what looked like very expensive cheese and wine. With flowers, too. “Some more than others it seems.”

“Yes it does,” he agreed, smirking.

“Come into the kitchen, I want to get these flowers into some water and that cheese needs to breathe.”

Sinclair slumped his tense shoulders in relief once she had turned her back to him. At least she hadn’t sent him away immediately. Sian grabbed the very underused vase from the top of her fridge and washed off the dust that had gathered on it. It was clear she’d not had flowers in quite some time.

Sinclair took out the selection of wrapped cheeses and left them on the counter. Along with the 2 bottles of wine the shop assistant had suggested. He couldn’t choose between them so he took both. He then watched Sian take the flowers out of the wrapping and start placing them in there. She noticed him watching, after all, in a room so tiny it was hard not to.

“So is this your lunch break?” she asked to cut the tension.

“No. I’m not going back in today. Mandy’s covering my calls.”

“Oh.” Sian picked up the first stem, the blue of the plaster in stark contrast to the light green of it. It was the first time Sinclair had noticed it.

“What have you done to your finger?” Sinclair’s concern came out immediately in his question. He moved to her side and took her wrist in his hand.

“Nothing, I was just being clumsy.”

“Clumsy how?” he asked.

“It’s not a big deal,” she assured him and took her hand back and started to place the flowers in the vase. She didn’t want to tell Sinclair that she was so wound up about him that she’d stopped concentrating for a second too long.

“But how did you do it?” he pressed on, “At work? You need to be careful with yourself. I’ve seen the kind of knives in these big kitchens, you could have taken the end of your finger off.”

Sinclair’s worry was from a place of care but Sian almost felt like he was telling her off. It was mostly his fault, she thought, as she clenched her jaw. Well, not mostly, but at least half his fault.

“No, not at work,” she sighed, he wasn’t going to let it go, she knew that much, “If you must know I did it Sunday night...I was distracted...and maybe slightly tipsy. I was just being silly.”

“What do you mean?” His brow furrowed as he picked up a flower and joined Sian in the arrangements but she stopped and took a step back.

“I was upset still. Still am but it’s my own fault,” she claimed, not wanting to make him feel bad, and stepped further back until she was leaning against the wall. “I have a confession to make, Sinclair.”

That phrase alone sent Sinclair’s mind spiralling into all sorts of different scenarios.

“I’m not particularly proud of it and I can certainly say that I’ve never done something like it before, well...not since I was a teenager with friends anyway.”

Where the hell was she going with this, he asked himself, trying his best to ignore the dull ache that had started to radiate through his chest.

“I listened...to you and Natalie. Not the whole of it…”

Sinclair visibly relaxed in relief. That’s one thing that he hadn’t thought of and compared to some of his thoughts, a little listening in seemed like nothing.

“Natalie seems quite attached still…” Sian commented, keeping the jealous edge from her tone.

Sinclair nodded, he couldn’t deny that Sian’s observations were not true but no matter how much her weird attachment was to her, his had gone.

“I admit that I’ve not been firm enough, or set boundaries with her, so I only can apologise again.” He wanted to say more but he did not want to reveal the third that had joined their marriage and the time and trauma that had taken to get over. 

Sian began to kick her foot into the floor as she did her best not to look at Sinclair, “If there was...something, if you still had feelings for her then…”

“It’s not like that,” Sinclair interrupted as he rolled the stem under his hand, “I promise.”

“I was just going to say it would be understandable, she was your wife after all.” She had to be reasonable she told herself. Feelings don’t just turn off. She knew from her own experience that no matter what some people did, it was hard to cut them out completely.

“And after all, we are only friends.” Sian winced slightly at her own pettiness but she could only be so reasonable considering what happened.

Sinclair looked at her for a moment, trying to figure out what she meant and then the realisation dawned on him. She had heard him calling her a friend to Natalie, which means she’d heard the way Natalie had spoken about her. No wonder she was so bloody upset, he thought.

“I said that because I didn’t want Natalie blowing up at either of us. I wanted her gone as quickly as possible. I’m very sorry. I would very much like for us to remain friends,” he said with quiet intensity as he abandoned the flowers completely and walked over to her, never once dropping his eyes from hers. “But I thought this was beyond friendship, or am I mistaken? If I am, the kindest thing to do would be to let me down now before I…before this goes any further.”

Sian thought for a brief moment as she looked up at Sinclair, detecting his vulnerability and care. That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? For Sinclair to tell her that it was nothing, that it was a mistake and he no longer was interested in his ex-wife. And as ever, Sinclair had given her what she needed, without even knowing it. It was difficult to find any fault in his sincerity. Every word seemed like the truth. 

When she touched his cheek he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch further. She gently guided him closer to her own face, his eyes remaining closed but his heart remaining open and hopeful.

“You’re not mistaken,” she whispered before pressing her lips to his.

Sinclair sighed into the kiss. Relief and enjoyment. Whilst Sian enjoyed Sinclair’s enthusiastic reciprocation, she worried about everything she now had to tell him, but that could wait another day. They could have today.

Sinclair pulled back, a smile firmly cemented on his face. It made small crinkles at the side of his eyes which Sian loved.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Very,” she answered.

“Good, come see what I picked out,” he said excitedly as he took her hand and moved them both over to where he had taken the cheese out.

She found his flair for life, even the small things in it, exhilarating. Sinclair began to unwrap each cheese, the potency of each one reaching their noses as he told her what they were. She already knew, of course, but she didn’t want to burst his bubble. He looked too happy.

Once he’d walked her through his purchases, she looked into the basket again. There were two jars of chutney, some grapes, and bread.

“Those are cute,” she said eyeing the small thick sticks of bread he had picked.

“Didn’t really have any space left for one of the big baguettes, I’m afraid.”

“Let me get the Camembert in the oven, my cheeseboard is in the cupboard behind you, right at the back. It doesn’t get used much,” she admitted. She liked cheese but having spent time in France, it was something she had overindulged on, therefore didn’t often buy herself.

Sinclair, turned and fished it out of the cupboard, then wiped it down before placing the cheeses on it. Sian did as she said and dealt with the Camembert. They worked around each other in her small kitchen surprisingly well, for anyone watching, they might think they’d been doing so for years.

“Wine?” Sinclair inquired after he was done.

“Before we even start the cheese?” Sian asked in mock offense.

“Yes. I'm already skiving off work, why not break the rules a little more, eh?"

Sian nodded in agreement, “But first, let me go put some music on.”

She stepped out of the small kitchen and into her living room, straight to her stereo and the cassettes stacked up the side of it.

“What do you like?” she called over her shoulder, The Cure in one hand and the Dirty Dancing soundtrack in the other. Not really wine and cheese music she decided. 

“Surprise me,” he replied as he rifled through the cutlery drawer in search of a corkscrew. He was halfway through getting the cork out when the sounds of Nina Simone start filtering through to the kitchen.

She walked back in to join him, humming and retrieved two wine glasses. “Let’s go sit down, the Camembert needs about twenty minutes.”

Sinclair’s stomach rumbled but he ignored it as he followed her. 

Nestled on her old blue sofa, the first thing Sinclair did after pouring the wine was remove his shoes, suit jacket, and tie but Sian felt somewhat underdressed still in her baggy green t-shirt and leggings.

“I think I could find you something more comfortable to wear, you know?”

“Women’s clothes?” Sinclair asked as he settled back into cushions, an amused look on his face.

Sian laughed, “Yes, I have a lovely mini skirt you’d look divine in.”

“I bet you’d look better,” he replied before sipping his wine, “I don’t often shave my legs.”

“I have a spare razor, too.” She winked at him then stood and grabbed his hand. “Come on, let’s go see what we can find. If I’m going to sit here looking like this then you can’t be there looking all suave and sophisticated.”

Sinclair snorted and even though he told her she looked lovely and truly thought it, he went with her. If it made her feel more comfortable, he didn’t mind.

“Right, I have some more baggy t-shirts,” she thought out loud as she opened the top drawer of a thin chest of drawers that was pushed up against her wardrobe. They were mismatched, bought at separate times. On top of the drawers, lay all her make-up and different creams for different parts of her body. Sinclair briefly looked them over, trying to memorise the things she liked. She had to shuffle through all the tops to find the one she wanted.

“I think this is my biggest,” she said turning with the light purple t-shirt in hand. Sinclair had migrated to near her bed and was looking around the room. Unlike Sinclair’s large bedroom, hers could just about be classed as a “double bedroom”. Her bed was pushed against the wall, which as a single person had never mattered but it probably wasn’t ideal for a couple. Sinclair picked up the picture frame on her bedside drawers and examined it. The man in the picture looked a lot like her.

“Is this your brother?” he asked, trying to push down any panic. He had the same odd feeling that he did the other night when she spoke about him. Sinclair knew it was his own problem though, it wouldn’t happen more than once. The world isn’t that cruel of a place, he told himself.

“Yeah,” she answered, taking it from his hand and placing it back down.

“This is for you,” Sian handed him the t-shirt, “I have some more jogging bottoms but they might be a bit short on you.”

Sinclair smiled, “We’ll give it a go.”

She found those out too and then left him to change. Sinclair left his clothes his folded neatly on top of her drawers and as much as he tried to avoid it, he looked at the picture again. The two smiling faces, the arms wrapped around each other.

“Stop being ridiculous,” he whispered to himself and then left.

Sian was waiting in the living room, she’d put the cushions on the floor as well as the blanket and was sitting with her chin resting on her knee and her arm wrapped around her leg.

“What do you think?” Sinclair asked, breaking her sad trance. He spun on the spot with his arms held at his sides. “I’m beautiful aren’t I?”

“Gorgeous,” she replied chuckling.

The jogging bottoms, whilst baggy on Sian were quite fitted on Sinclair and about 2 inches too short, so they showed off his black socks.

“Will the cheese be done?” he asked, flicking his thumb over his shoulder towards the kitchen.

“Oh shit, yeah,” Sian panicked and was about to get before Sinclair told her to relax and went to sort it.

“It’s fine,” he reassured her as he took it out of the oven. Sian leaned back into the sofa and stretched out her legs. She was worried that Sinclair was going to ask more questions after seeing the picture. The last time she explained it to a possible boyfriend, he cut it off right there, and then. ‘Disgusting’ he had said.

Sinclair joined her a few minutes later, cheese board in hand and the baked Camembert on a separate plate.

“Madam Baker, here I have the finest cheese board I could procure in half an hour." He faked the poshest accent he could manage and bowed his head. His hair flopped in front of his eyes again.

“Now, now, we wouldn’t want hair in our food, would we?” Sian joked as she took the plate from him. He sat next to her, leaving space for the food in between them.

“God, this is very indulgent for a Tuesday afternoon,” Sian admitted as she started to cut into the blue cheese.

“It’s your day off, you deserve a treat.”

“And your excuse?”

“I’ve missed you…” he said without a hint of hesitation or jest, “and if you had told me to go home today, I could have at least consoled myself with cheese and wine.”

Sian didn’t know what to say. It hadn’t really crossed her mind that he would miss her.

“I said too much again, didn’t I?” he asked guiltily, his food halted halfway to his mouth. 

“No, not at all,” Sian quickly remedied, placing her hand on his and stroking it lightly with her thumb, “I missed you, too.”

Sinclair kissed her cheek, “You had me worried there.”

They continued through the board, talking, flirting, and touching. Nina still playing in the background. Both had been impatient and quickly went for the Camembert, dipping pieces of bread into it and laughing as cheese dripped onto their chins.

“I thought boarding school boys were taught manners?” she jokingly asked as she wiped some cheese off Sinclair’s chin. He eyed her as she did so, her thumb grazing his skin and her eyes looking more mischievous than he’d seen before. Sian sucked her thumb and Sinclair had to look away. He dipped his bread once more and then moved the plate so he could get closer to her. He caught Sian’s eye and then offered her the bread, she went to take it but he pulled back.

“Open up.”

Sian smirked and edged forward. She looked up at him through hooded eyes and Sinclair was about to backtrack on his plans but if he did that, they might get carried away. He was going for light and playful, even if she was looking at him like that. The bread barely touched her bottom lip before he dabbed it on her nose, covering it Camembert.

“Oops,” Sinclair laughed, “You should know that boarding school boys are the worst.”

“You arse,” she said and laughed. He popped the bread in his mouth with a very satisfied grin on his face. Off his guard as he laughed and chewed, Sian had him on his back fairly easily. He hit the floor with an “Oof” before his hands fell to the sides of her thighs.

“Oh hello,” he said flirtatiously but Sian wasn’t about to grant him anything that might be running through his mind. She leaned down, the wisps of hair escaping her pony tickled his cheek as he closed his eyes.

“Sharing is caring,” she whispered then rubbed the end of her nose on his before beginning to tickle the spot she knew was sensitive.

Sinclair wriggled underneath her, giggling breathlessly as he scrambled for her hands. Sinclair was strong but so was Sian; she was nimble too and managed to avoid his grasp for few more seconds. She was laughing so hard she was close to tears when he managed to stop her and roll her over.

Sinclair was out of breath but still laughing. “That was cheeky.” 

“You started it!” Sian reasoned.

“Shh, enough of your logic, woman.” He kissed her, the smiles on both of their lips making it more difficult than usual.

“Sinclair,” Sian whined as they took a breath between kisses, “we’re still covered in bloody cheese.”

The simple phrase made them both burst out into laughter again.

“Let’s...go...wash this...off,” Sian managed and Sinclair nodded before getting up. He offered his hand for her to take and helped her up. Sian’s hand remained in his until the reached the sink in her bathroom. She told him to sit on the side of the bath as she found a clean washcloth from her bedroom.

Once she was back, Sinclair watched her carefully as she wet the washcloth with warm water and then looked at herself in the mirror before wiping away the remnants of cheese. “I look a state.”

“Nonsense,” Sinclair shook his head, “You look wonderful.”

“Always the sweet talker,” she said as she swilled the cloth through with warm water again. She drained out the excess and then turned to him. He smiled up at her as she took his chin gently in her left hand and tilted his head up a tad before wiping the warm cloth over his nose. Sinclair’s eyes shut, enjoying the simple, caring attention. She didn’t miss the contented look on his face and it rubbed off onto her own. She wiped more than she needed to because of it.

The cloth slapped into the sink and Sian wiped the slight dampness from it on the side of her jogging bottoms. Sinclair awakened to Sian’s deep blue eyes looking down at him and in that moment, in the small bathroom, with Nina Simone crooning off somewhere down the hallway, Sinclair felt cherished.

He lifted his hands from where they had been gripping the side of the bath and planted them on her hips before he ran them over her lower back and hugged her. His head resting on her stomach. It felt natural for Sian to play with his hair in that position, and she did, enjoying the feel of its silkiness run through her fingers.

“Did you really miss me?” she asked. It was indulgent but she needed it. 

He nodded his head against her body, “Too much.”

Sian’s heart felt constricted. A good kind of painful feeling. She hated that she was becoming such a cliché but Sinclair made her feel like no other had before.

She held his head in her hands and pushed it back so he would look at her again, though this time no words were spoken as Sian sucked softly on his bottom lip. It took no time at all for their tongues to be colliding and the room to be filled with panting again. This time for entirely different reasons.

Sian’s fingernails itched at his chest as more and more of her worries faltered, “I want to touch you Sinclair but I don’t think we can...”

“Shhh, shh, shh,” he whispered between pecks of her lips, he wasn’t sure what spurred her hesitations, but he was sure she’d tell him eventually, until then he would do his best to remain patient. “Do want you want, touch me where you want.”

She wasn't entirely sure what she wanted but it was something more. 

Sian returned to his lips, running her tongue along his bottom one before biting on it. It produced the reaction she wanted as he grunted into her mouth. She hooked her thumbs under the borrowed purple t-shirt and ran her hands up his sides, taking the top along with the movements. He shivered as she approached his ribs, it tickling him, but he didn’t stop her and he didn't laugh. They only broke their kiss for her to take the top off completely. She dropped it by her side before as she took in his bare chest; he wasn’t gym goer toned but his body was lean and he had a slight t-shirt tan; his biceps paler than the rest of his arm. Must be from all his summer adventures, Sian mused as she began to touch him.

Sinclair had to stifle an embarrassing moan when she ran her fingernails through the light amount of chest hair he possessed. He was worried when she pulled her hand away but it was only to take his own and lead him to her bedroom. Both of them were as nervous as each which meant neither of them said a word.

Sinclair closed the door behind him before pressing his chest into Sian’s back and wrapping his arms around her waist. He kissed her exposed neck and listened carefully as her breathing changed. One hand reached around into his hair and the other clasped onto his forearm as he upped his efforts, licking and nipping behind her ear.

Sian’s mouth felt dry, maybe she should have had more than just wine with her lunch but it was too late now. She didn’t want to interrupt this moment. It felt too good. It felt even better when Sinclair’s hand wandered from her waist up to her breast, squeezing gently as he ran his teeth down the end of her earlobe.

When she hissed his name, Sinclair felt his semi-state of arousal burgeon to an almost painful level. Sian pressed into him purposefully, he bloody knew it, which made his knees weaken and his brain fog with desire as he continuously inhaled his new favourite scent. 

Sian found the will to turn, kissing him and leading him to her bed. She made it clear she wanted Sinclair to lie back and as much as he wanted to keep touching and kissing, he did as she wanted. She propped herself up with her arm, remaining mostly sitting as she looked him over again. Sinclair had never really felt self-conscious before, but it was her and it was different. Who knew what young, mostly likely fitter, men she had seen but as if she read his mind, she eased any worry that was forming.

“You’re very beautiful Sinclair.” She ran her hand down his chest to the waistband of the jogging bottoms and then back up. Her fingernail brushed against his nipple and he almost whimpered at the touch. “I know that might sound odd but you are.”

Sinclair breathed out a small laugh, “I definitely take it as a compliment from you.”

His eyes closed as she ran her hand up to his neck and then brushed her fingertips over his lips.

“I’ve never quite appreciated how soft your hands are before,” he admitted, letting the sensation take over his senses.

“I make sure I moisturise them often. Cleaning them all the time at work dries them out otherwise,” she replied, whispering softly, relaxing him. “Turn over.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her curiously but again did as he was told. The bulge in his trousers pressed uncomfortably into the mattress as Sian straddled his backside.

“What are you doing?” His question was slightly muffled by the pillow his face was pressed into.

She didn’t answer, she just began to rub his back, digging her thumbs into the muscles. Sinclair moaned appreciatively which made Sian smile without thought.

“I thought I came here to make it up to you,” Sinclair groaned, feeling guilty that she was giving him so much attention when she deserved it more.

“You said I could do what I want,” she answered, getting closer to his ear and then kissing his cheek.

“Mmm, I suppose I did,” he conceded and let her continue. Sian was enjoying the sight of the muscles in his back move under her hands and hearing the soft moans Sinclair was producing. When she leaned down and licked from the base of his neck to his ear, it was almost too much for him to take. He gripped the pillow underneath his head and grit his teeth, wanting nothing more than for her to touch him everywhere.

She lifted up slightly and let him turn over. When he had, she sat back down on top of him; it was even more uncomfortable for Sinclair than the mattress had been. Not because she was heavy but because he had to stop himself from seeking out the feel of her even further. He watched Sian cross her arms around herself and then tug her t-shirt off, revealing her soft pale skin and the olive bralette that did little to hide the protruding of her nipples.

“Jesus,” Sinclair sighed as he ran his eyes over Sian’s collarbone, to her toned upper arms, and all the way down to the soft rounding of her stomach, “you really are perfect, aren’t you?”

Sian didn’t often blush, but she did then as she looked away to the side. She both loved and loathed how Sinclair looked at her. It was intense and passionate and that was both the blessing and the curse.

“No, no, no,” Sinclair protested and cupped her face, “Don’t turn away.”

She sucked in her bottom lip and rested her hand on his firm stomach before her fingertips ran down to the top of the jogging bottoms he had borrowed. Sinclair stared at the path of her hand and then back to her.

“Can I take these off?” she asked as her fingers stilled.

Sinclair nodded, “If you want to. I said you can touch me however you like,” he reminded her.

She moved off him and ran her fingers into the waistband and began pulling, Sinclair aided by lifting up so it was would pass over his thighs easier and then rested back down when she was at his knees. His leg hair was the same colour as his chest and his thighs were toned. 

Sinclair watched and as she reached his feet, he could see perfectly down her bra; his mouth parted as he shamelessly enjoyed the view. Sian dropped the bottoms off the end of the bed and then thankfully took his socks off, he didn’t need to be lying there in those, he thought. 

She ran her fingers up the side of his leg. The tickling and the buzz it sent humming through Sinclair’s body had him closing his eyes tightly and breathing heavier. Never did he believe that on a Tuesday afternoon he would be having one of the most sensual experiences of his life as her hands continued to roam freely over his body. Soft with a hint of roughness every now and then to shock him. When her soft lips started making contact with his stomach, he thought he might combust.

However, the spell was broken when he turned his head to the side, and staring at him was the loving picture of brother and sister. His mind sent him back to places he hated revisiting. The writhing and the sounds. In his bed. Natalie’s face. The realisation that it was all happening again. 

“Sian...Sian…” he panted, it still felt good but he couldn’t have that on his mind when he was with her. It wasn’t fair.

“You okay?” she asked as she settled her hand on his chest. His heart raced against her touch and his eyes focussed on the off-white ceiling instead of her. 

Sinclair couldn’t understand why it was happening now. Why it was coming back now. He thought had rid himself of the feelings and the anxieties but it was clear that he hadn’t.

“Sinclair,” Sian whispered again, this time stroking his cheek with the pads of her fingers. His hazel eyes slowly met hers, his brows held tightly together with worry. Sian kissed him there, relaxing the tension, and then dropped her lips to the end of his nose, kissing him again. Now she had his attention, she asked again. “Are you okay?”

He nodded but Sian wasn’t particularly convinced. Had she gone too far? Was she expecting too much? Doing what she pleased but expecting Sinclair to hold back. She tried to move but he held her tighter to him.

“It’s not your fault,” he comforted quietly into her ear. The deep tones of his voice made the back of her neck tingle delightfully, “It’s been...some time, and that was very...stimulating, for lack of a better word.”

“So, I haven’t frightened you off?”

“God, no,” he said in a cheerier manner, "there's nothing wrong with a little anticipation."

Sian chuckled above him which pleased him; that could have been a very awkward situation if he had been able to alleviate her worry. He just hoped that Sian would really believe that it was nothing to do with her.

A chill hit Sinclair as they lay there still; the heat of the moment and the adrenaline must have kept him warm up until then. As he ran his hand down Sian’s unclothed back, he felt her skin was cool, too.

“You’re cold, let’s get you under the covers,” he directed, not wanting to dwell on what had stopped his blissful afternoon.

They both shuffled awkwardly until they’d made it under the duvet. Sian shivered but she was soon covered by Sinclair’s larger frame. He rested his head against her chest so that her chin leaned on the top of his head and over her lower body. She couldn't help play with his hair as she kissed the top of his head; it was a comfort to both of them. 

“That wine has made me tired,” Sian confessed as she talked sleepily above him.

She didn’t know it but her rambling calmed Sinclair enough that he could focus on her movements and her voice, drowning out the noise of the street outside of them now the music had ended. Eventually, the ache in his chest stopped.  

Chapter Text

“Sian,” Sinclair whispered as he sat next to her sleeping form. He was hoping to rouse her with the steaming mug of tea in his hand before he had to leave for work. She barely even shuffled.

Sinclair moved her dark hair away from her face gently and tucked it behind her ear. He wondered if he was overstaying his welcome as he watched her sleep. It had been two nights after all. Not that she had protested in any way, quite the opposite but he didn’t want to seem like he wanted more of her than she was willing to give. Maybe he was just overthinking it though. She had given him no reason to think like that. The small rise and fall of her almost bare shoulder, as she breathed softly, took the focus of his gaze and quieted his mind.

When Sian worked last night Sinclair waited for her in the flat. She was unsure at first, worried that he would feel awkward or bored but Sinclair did the washing up before watching television for most of the evening, before meeting her outside the restaurant to walk back to the flat with her. He knew she did every night by herself but he felt more comfortable knowing she wasn’t alone.

Sinclair touched the pale skin that peeked out from the duvet. She was so soft. Not only to touch but in herself. She was soft with him. Kind. Gentle. He didn’t want to go to work. He wanted to stay with her there.

“That tickles,” Sian groaned and stilled Sinclair’s hand clumsily with her own. Sinclair bit his bottom lip to stop the laugh that threatened to leave his mouth and leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“I have to go,” he said regretfully, “There’s tea on the side.”

She didn’t open her eyes but she gripped his hand tighter.

“Capitalism is bull…” a yawn erupted from between her soft, sleep-warmed lips before she could finish her sentence, “shit. Let’s be hippies.”

“Oh no, I tried flares in my teens, never again,” he replied with a soft chuckle.

“Nonsense,” she argued and slowly opened her eyes to Sinclair’s crisp tailored suit and clean-shaven face. His sandy hair was pushed back but she knew it wouldn’t stay there for long. “But you do look good in a suit.”

“Mm, thank you,” he leaned down and pecked her lips, then lingered there a moment. He really didn’t want to go to work. “Can I get you anything else before I go?”

“You don’t have to wait on me, Sinclair.”

“Shhh,” he kissed her again, “you had a long night at work. So, please answer the question.”

Sian rested her hand lazily on the back of his neck and kissed him this time.

“I’m good,” she finally answered, “I’ll probably drink that tea and then go back to sleep for an hour. It’s early.”

“You did tell me not to leave without saying goodbye,” he reminded her, now feeling guilty that he had woken her up.

“Oh, I did...I do.”

“I hope so,” he sighed and promised himself that he’d only kiss her one more time then get up. As his lips moved over her jaw and towards her neck, he didn’t care that he had failed. Especially when she sighed contentedly at the kiss he placed just below her ear, before whispering in it. “Have a great day.”

“You too,” she replied, now feeling like she may be too flustered to get back to sleep. His voice seemed to be even deeper in the morning and it made the back of her neck tingle.

Sinclair stood and brushed over his suit, looking down at Sian as he did so. He liked it there, at her flat. Maybe a little too much.

The extra time Sinclair took to leave meant he arrived through his office door with a minute to spare. But it was worth the rush in his opinion.

“Good morning,” he chimed at Mandy, who was already seated at her desk and typing away.

She looked up from her work to see the smile that was firmly set in Sinclair’s face as he undid the buttons on his suit jacket and sat down. He looked briefly at the agenda she had left on his desk and then reached for the coffee she had made him.

“Mmm,” he hummed, “thank you, Mandy.”

“You’re welcome.”

Although it was their usual routine, Sinclair was always polite and grateful, which Mandy appreciated. She’d worked for others who were the polar opposites of Sinclair and it was miserable.

“Do you want me to join you for the 11 o’clock meeting?” she asked, still watching him.

“Yes, that would be helpful actually,” he accepted, then started adding his signature at the ends of documents.

“There’s also one other thing,” Mandy broached tentatively. She wasn’t looking to upset him or spoil the good mood he was in but she did have to know.

“What’s that?” His pen scribbled again before he looked up.

“The Christmas party. They’ve asked for final numbers for the caterers,” she petered off. They hadn’t exactly discussed his divorce in-depth but as far as Mandy was aware, Sinclair hadn’t been seeing anyone since.

Sinclair sat back in his black leather desk chair and laced his fingers together over his stomach. An amused smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Are you trying to ask me if I have a date to bring? If so, just ask. No need to be so awkward about it, Mandy. It’s just me.”

“Sinclair!” she scalded with an embarrassed laugh.

He couldn’t help but laugh. Mandy wasn’t often perturbed by him.

“Tell you what,” he leaned forward, “leave me for 10 minutes and I’ll have an answer for you.”

Mandy raised her thick dark eyebrow in surprise, quickly finished the sentence she was writing, and then stood up to leave. She wondered what Sinclair was up to but didn’t question him. He often had random spurs of energy and ideas and she had learned to roll with them.

“I’ll see you in a bit then.”

Sinclair nodded and then turned back to his desk and the office phone that say upon it. Lifting the receiver to his ear, he quickly had Sian’s number punched in. He looked quickly at his watch, hoping he wasn’t about to disturb her from sleeping for the second time that morning. To his relief, she answered within 3 rings, which meant she was already up.

“Hello?” she inquired, her voice still sounding touched by sleep.

“Hi. It’s me. So you got up then?”

“Mmm, couldn’t really fall back to sleep,” she admitted then bit her bottom lip. Sian leaned her back against the wall. She hadn’t expected to hear from him so soon but he was very good at catching her off guard it seemed.

“And why is that?”

“Heh…” Sian laughed, “wouldn’t you like to know?”

She couldn’t very well say that he’d left her rather wanting after the kissing and the sweet-talking in her ear before he left. She wasn’t even sure that he knew what effect it had. What effect he always had.

“I would, that’s why I asked.”

“Oof, it’s too early for your sarcasm,” she replied quickly with a chuckle. “So, was there a reason, other than to flirt with me, for calling?”

“I think that’s a mighty fine reason, don’t you?” Sinclair questioned playfully.

“I suppose.”

“But yes there was,” he focussed himself or he’d still be flirting with her when Mandy came back in, “It’s our Christmas party here on the 23^rd December, they’re asking for numbers, so I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me. Feel free to say no but I’d really like you to. Not that that should sway your decision. It’s usually alright. Free food and drink, and if we’re lucky a little bit of drama. Someone always has a few too many.”

“Oh really? Has that ever been you?”

Sinclair laughed and sat back in his chair again, “No, I’m well behaved.”

“Mmm, sure. Stay there, let me go check my diary.” She was a little surprised that he was asking her to something so public and important (in Sian’s opinion) but she wouldn’t deny that it flattered her and gave her confidence in Sinclair’s seriousness about them. Them, she thought, and it was a thought she enjoyed very much.

Sian ran into the living and rifled through the backpack that she used for work. Delving inside she found out her burgundy diary and flicked through to December 23^rd. As luck would have it, it was her off day. Well, luck was a stretch, she was working Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, so how lucky was she really?

Sinclair waited, tapping his hands on the desk; hopeful that she was free. He quickly heard some shuffling on the other end and then Sian’s slightly heavier breathing.

“Hi...I’m back and I’m really sorry,” she began, doing her best to sound sincerely disappointed.

“Oh,” Sinclair’s excitement faded fast, “don’t worry. It’s not a big deal.”

He wanted to sound reassuring but he wasn’t sure if he had managed that as his disappointment grew rapidly.

“Oh no, I’m sorry that you’re going to have to take me because I’m not working.”

“You…” Sinclair shook his head softly, mostly amused “you nearly had me there.”

“I know,” she replied and he could hear the smile on her face.

“Okay, well I will tell the powers that be. No pressure on the caterers now that you’re coming,” he remarked sardonically.

“Oh stop.” Sian tutted.

“Okay, okay. I’ll speak to you later.”

“Bye Sinclair.”

“Buh-bye.”

Sinclair placed the phone back in its cradle and pushed his chair out from underneath his desk. He bounded out of the office, a noticeable skip in his step, and headed for the staff kitchen, where he found Mandy eating a piece of toast.

“So?” she inquired, wiping butter from the corner of her mouth with her thumb.

“Two,” he simply said and turned on his heel back in the direction of his office, greeting passers-by in the corridors as he did. It was shaping up to be a very good day, which filled him with all the confidence he needed for the upcoming meeting. Even he could admit that the edge he once held had dulled.

Sian put down the phone and immediately picked it back up, dialing Perry’s number. It took a while for her to answer, which didn’t surprise her.

“Hello, Perry’s Palace of Pu…”

“PERRY!” Sian cut her off, “What if I was your agent or someone important?”

“Then they’d know I excelled in comedy,” she quipped.

Sian snorted. To be honest, it was funny but Sian really did worry how many people had heard that particular greeting.

“What do you want at this ungodly hour?” Perry asked, rubbing her eyes and pushing her unruly ginger hair behind her ears.

“Per, it’s half-past nine,” Sian informed her with a chuckle.

“Exactly,” she yawned.

“Sinclair just asked me to his works Christmas party.”

“Oooh fancy. You said yes didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did. Ours is going to be so disappointing compared to his though, isn’t it?” She asked, remembering last year's where Andre drank too much and almost punched their old kitchen hand. Funnily enough, he left not too long after. It did amaze Sian that Andre was still there.

“Errr,” Perry yawned again, “probably but the after-party will be better. You should definitely bring him!”

Perry suddenly perked up at the prospect of meeting Sinclair, properly this time and hopefully as Sian’s boyfriend.

Sian pondered for a moment as she twiddled the cord between her fingers. She’d never really taken dates to events but she wanted to with Sinclair. She couldn’t help the weird anxious feeling that it produced though.

“Are you going to bring Jen?”

Perry licked her bottom lip and nodded against the red handset of her phone, “Yeah...yeah I think I will.”

“Wow.” Sian held her hand to her chest in fake shock, even though Perry couldn’t see it, she knew what her friend was doing on the other end.

“Shut up and you can talk.” Perry didn’t want to jinx how well things were going with her, “Can I go back to bed now?”

“Yes, sleeping beauty. I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye.”

After breakfast, Sian skipped downstairs to her locked post slot and opened up. A few early Christmas cards had arrived from distant relatives who only sent them out of obligation of her existence, not out of interest in her life. It had been that way for the past few years and it had stopped hurting so much now.

As she walked back up the stairs, she reached the final letter, stopped, and sighed. She recognised the handwriting a mile off. Did she really want to deal with this on her day off?

She kicked the door to her flat closed and quickly plonked herself down on the sofa, she felt like a popped balloon. The excited energy now dwindling into the air. Get it out of the way, she thought and ripped open the top of the white envelope.

Sian’s brow was tightly wound the whole read. Except for when she rolled her eyes or viciously huffed before throwing it down next to her. An invite to a Christmas party, with a room full of people she no longer talked to. No thanks, she thought, as she stood up and walked to the kitchen. She put the letter in the junk drawer and decided to forget about it.

To get her mind off it completely, she showered, dressed, and hit the streets just before lunchtime. For both the exercise and the window shopping, which would turn into actual shopping if she saw anything of interest. Christmas was coming up after all and she had yet to buy one gift.

When she arrived home, her neighbour, an elderly lady named Norma opened her door, like she had been waiting for her. And she had, apparently. She had her hair in rollers and was already in her nightdress and dressing gown. Sian was quite jealous.

“I’ve got something for you, dear,” she said, her voice quiet and weak before she disappeared off into her flat again. Sian quickly dumped the bags in her hallway and returned to the shared area before Norma was back. She heard shuffling coming from her neighbour’s flat and wondered if she should go help her. What if it was heavy? She wasn’t expecting anything though.

“Here we go,” she said as she appeared again. Not that she could see much of the small woman, as she was shielded by a very large bouquet of flowers. “Are these off that handsome man I’ve seen coming in and out of your flat?”

“Mrs. Pierce, are you spying on me?” she asked with an amused tone, knowing very well that she was the eyes of the building.

“I prefer looking out for you. Pretty young thing, living on your own, no one taking care of you. Ooh, what am I saying? You young women do it all yourself now don’tcha?” She passed the flowers over to Sian and watched as the young woman smiled. A genuine smile.

“You’re a fine one to talk Mrs. Pierce. Who’s looking after your pretty self? Hmmm?” Sian asked with a raised brow.

“Not your gentleman caller, sadly.”

Sian snorted out of surprise. Who knew she was such a dirty old woman. “I’ll be sure to get him to say hello.”

“So he’ll be back then?”

“Oh definitely.”

Once Sian managed to get back into her flat after talking with Norma for a further 10 minutes, she walked into the kitchen and fetched a large water jug. She only had the one vase and that was already filled with the flowers Sinclair had brought with him the other day, if he carried on like this, she was going to have to invest in another.

She opened the card that was attached.

Sian,

Celebrations are in order.

I have to work late but

I have made reservations

at somewhere you’ll love. Dress casually.

I’ll be in a taxi outside at 7.30.

Can’t wait to see you.

Sinclair

x

Sian checked her small wristwatch, it was just past 3, so she had plenty of time to get ready at least. She couldn’t knock Sinclair for his effort but she was kind of hoping to sit down and talk with him tonight but she didn’t feel right if he had a reason to celebrate. The meeting he had mentioned in bed last night must have gone very well. She couldn’t kill his joy.

It just so happened that his joy continued. As did his overnight stays and walking her home late from work. They reached a comfort in each other very quickly even though they were still holding themselves back in their own ways. Sinclair even dragged her out to get a Christmas tree, something she had not purchased in years and helped her decorate it with the new decorations he had bought alongside it. Sinclair, being the person he was, only ever purchased his Christmas trees from one place, which happened to be quite the drive. Sian was surprised he was going to let someone wrap Christmas trees to the top of his car, knowing how much he loved it, but he did. This specific place also served the most delicious mince pies and hot chocolate Sian had tasted, which is probably why Sinclair loved the place so much, though he refused to confirm that was the reason for the near 3-hour round trip. Sian had to admit that once it was up and lit, she loved it. Even more so, because they had done it together, with a bottle of wine and a tape of Christmas songs that Sinclair had purchased for her flat. He wouldn't let her pay for anything, which was the only thing that irritated Sian about the whole process, really. 

Sinclair loved Christmas. He had spent the last one with his parent's house feeling very sorry for himself whilst his parents made unnecessary and very unhelpful remarks. Natalie had rung and made a scene the night before which hadn't helped his state of mind. All in all, it was a disaster, which is why he was not looking to repeat it. His parents were going to be in France this year anyway and he had made plans to see friends throughout the day.

December was flying by, Sian thought, as she packed her purse and lip balm into her small leather backpack one very cold and grey morning. It almost looked like it was going to snow. She had taken to turning on the lights of the tree in the morning to cheer herself up, especially when Sinclair wasn't there, which inwardly she told herself off for because she couldn't believe she was so quickly used to him being there. But she was. It was alien to her, to have someone there with her after work, but after a few nights, that feeling had disappeared.

She put on her boots and breathed deeply, nervous to go but was doing what Perry suggested weeks before and getting the help she needed. If things were going to work with Sinclair, she had to do it, because even though she had never really experienced it in the romantic sense, she was fairly sure she was falling for him.

The taxi ride was a bit of a blur and before she knew it, she was clutching her bag on her lap as she waited in the waiting room. The magazines on the table in front of her had been useless to stop her mind from panicking, so she stared at the white walls of the reception area and bobbed her leg up and down rapidly. The man to her right kept looking at her, irritated at her nervous ticks but Sian was too distracted to notice.

The receptionist blurred her vision briefly as she stood in front of her. “Sian, Dr. Kennedy will see you now.”

Sian nodded and followed her into the room.

“Sian,” Dr. Kennedy greeted with a smile. She had a kind, round face, framed by blonde hair, and dark-rimmed glasses sat on her nose. She had always put Sian at ease. “So, what we spoke on the phone, let’s continue with that shall we?”

“Yeah,” Sian replied quietly.

The doctor nodded, “Okay, take off your coat and jumper, get comfortable and we’ll go from there.”

Chapter Text

The Christmas tape that Sinclair had purchased was playing Bing Crosby throughout the flat as he poured glasses of wine for the two of them. Sinclair hummed along, dressed in his grey suit and a black t-shirt. Sian had said nothing too fancy for her Christmas Party, so he had foregone a collared shirt.

Sian, was almost ready, she was just curling her hair in the bedroom before they needed to leave. She saw Sinclair enter the bedroom from the corner of her eye but she heard him softly singing as he came down the hallway beforehand. He had a lovely voice.

“There we go, madam,” he said as he placed the glass of wine down on the top of the drawers in front of her.

“Thank you,” he pecked her lips carefully, having already been warned not to smudge her lipstick. She didn’t often wear a full face of makeup, so she wasn’t the fastest at putting it on, so she didn’t need to have to reapply so soon.

“You look lovely.” He stepped back and admired her. Sipping the glass of white as he did. The dark blue material complemented her pale skin as her brunette ringlets fell and tickled her bare shoulders. The way the dress cinched in at her waist had Sinclair’s eyes wandering every few seconds. It then puffed out over her hips and ended just before the knee. It was an excellent pick Sinclair thought, and he had told her so at least three times since seeing it.

“You know you told me that 2 minutes ago.” She curled a piece of hair around the tongs and stretched her neck, she regretted starting the process.

“It was true then and it is true now, darling,” he stated confidently, unwilling to have his praise censored. Darling was something he had introduced slowly over the last few days, and although it had taken Sian aback the first few times, she quickly began to like the way it sounded.

The ringing of the phone lifted his eyes from his admiration and Sian looked directly at Sinclair in the reflection. He didn't realise the look she gave him was out of a slightly panicked feeling. 

“I’ll get it,” Sinclair was heading out of the bedroom before Sian could deter him. Her instructions to just let it ring out, not being followed.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” he called back before she heard the ringing end and his usual cheery “hello.”

“Who’s this? This is Sinclair,” he replied to whoever was on the other end of the phone. Sian quickly released the tongs and put them down carefully so as not to burn the top of her drawers.

“What do you mean am I one of her weird friends? What kind of question is that?” Sinclair’s usual calm manner started to crumble, not quite believing the rude question. He was frowning as Sian rushed into the hallway and grabbed the phone out of his hand.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered as she took up his place. Not used to rough behaviour from her.

“Hello?” There was a slight pause and Sinclair could hear mumbling on the other end, Sian looked over to him and then quickly looked down to her bare feet. “No. No.”

Another pause. Sinclair rested his hands on his hips and tilted his head to the side a tad. He didn’t want to eavesdrop but if someone could be that rude to a complete stranger, he didn’t want to leave Sian to have to deal with them by herself. Was this the brother? He briefly thought.

“Now is not a good time,” Sian sighed, “I’ve got to go out in 20 minutes….yes...yes I will call. Okay...okay...bye.”

Sian slowly replaced the receiver and paused for a second. That couldn’t have gone any worse, she thought.

“I’m sorry about that,” she whispered before she even turned to Sinclair. He could hear the wobble of her voice as she spoke, which dissolved his annoyance into concern.

Planting his hands on her waist he pulled her back into his chest before wrapping his arms around her properly.

“Who was that?” he asked quietly into her neck as his chin rested on her bare shoulder. The cheery Christmas music in the background wasn’t quite the right backdrop anymore.

“My dad,” she answered and swallowed back the upset and started picking at her freshly polished nails, “I’m sorry he said that to you. He can be abrupt...no, what am I saying? He can be horribly rude.”

“Don’t worry yourself with me but…what did he mean? Weird friends?” Out of the friends Sian had mentioned, he had had no reason to believe any were odd in any way.

Sian closed her blue, slightly tearing, eyes, glad that Sinclair was behind her so he could not try to read her face and see her obvious upset. “He’s...a homophobe, racist, you name it...deeply disapproves of my friendship with Perry and some of her friends that she’s introduced me to.”

“Oh.” It was an odd thing to have a grudge with your daughter on, but he knew all too well the nonsense old men took offense to. It wasn’t even just old men if he really thought about it, there were plenty of people that he passed every day that had a problem with the way other people lived their lives. “Well, I don’t want to speak poorly of your father because I don’t know him and I don’t want to disrespect him but…”

“But he’s an arsehole,” Sian finished and that was just the tame version of what she wanted to call him.

“Quite.”

Sian decided to tell Sinclair why he had called, he deserved to know what was going on in her life. “There’s a family party tomorrow and I didn’t reply to the letter he sent me about it, so he’s not very happy with me.”

“Not want to see them?” He started to stroke languid circles into her side.

Sian shook her head and looked down to her feet again. “We’re basically living in different worlds. We have nothing to talk about. Not without getting into an argument, anyway. It’s been worse since Mum died, she mellowed him a little bit.”

She leaned back into him thinking about the last time she had seen her father face to face, how he had stormed out of her flat and never returned. Sinclair pressed his lips to her neck distracting the memory.

“I’m nearly ready, I promise,” she assured him.

“No rush,” he murmured into her skin.

As much as he disliked being late, he didn’t rush her and he distracted her on their very short taxi journey with a ridiculous story about Jessica's youngest son. She had rung him yesterday but the call was short-lived as Jess had to run away from the phone due to the little one deciding to pull down his trousers to urinate on the hallway carpet. Apparently, he had seen his brothers do something similar in the garden.

“They are a handful,” he laughed but then his face fell, “and sadly she does most of it by herself. Dave isn’t the best. Not sure he ever wanted children, to be honest, I think it was just to keep Jessica happy. Id' take a guess and say that's a dire statistic, actually.”

“That’s sad,” Sian sighed and rested her hand on Sinclair’s thigh. He shuffled slightly in his seat and then placed his own hand over hers, subtly moving it closer to his knee. It was a little too high for his comfort before.

Sinclair agreed that it was sad. He had always wanted children but, obviously, things had never quite worked out for him. He was already 43, and whilst biologically, time wasn’t ticking, his moral compass was. Children needed active parents, if he had them too late, he wouldn’t be able to guarantee that.

Thankfully the taxi had pulled up seconds later. How could he be thinking about children? He didn’t even really know what was going on, other than he was enjoying himself. After paying, with a generous tip, Sinclair helped Sian out of the car and then opened the door into the restaurant where they had first met.

A lot of the tables had been pushed to the sides of the room, except for a long line that had been made to eat at later and the lights were dimmed more than usual. Christmas music topped off the atmosphere, with people talking over it. Most of the staff, their partners, and any other affiliates to the restaurant were already there, Sian informed him as he looked around with a smile on his face. Sian had explained to him earlier that the owners had made the decision a few years ago that they had worked out it was cheaper to close the restaurant early and have it there than it was to try and organise anything else. It was just past 9 pm, probably the latest start to a Christmas party Sinclair had ever attended, but he realised it made sense from a business point of view.

Everyone was polite and on their best behaviour as they gave their greetings to Sinclair; Sarah, one of their part-time waitresses whispered to Sian that Perry had threatened them all if they didn’t play nice. Sian enjoyed watching Sinclair meet them, whilst she reacquainted herself with some of the wives and husbands she only saw once a year. 

Sinclair was a charmer and Sian quickly noticed that while he talked, people were drawn in. Not that she was surprised, Sinclair could probably talk you through the process of paint drying and make it fairly interesting. Jimmy, who was dressed in his best black jeans, white shirt, and a red tie, did his best to look like he was listening to the conversation but he was staring off behind the group.

The bar doors were propped open for ease of access between the two rooms and various bottles were sitting on the bar top, for those to help themselves. Many of them already open. Sian soon noted he was looking at Perry and her heart hurt for him.

“Let’s go say hi to Perry,” Sian whispered as she tiptoed, “she’s in the bar.”

Sinclair nodded and Sian’s hand was in his before he even looked down at her. She was quickly leading him over to her friend and the blonde-haired woman she was very cosy with.

“Sinclair!” Perry exclaimed loudly, catching the attention of everyone around them. Sian looked back to see that Jimmy had taken himself off further towards the kitchen. She felt for him, she really did, but there was very little she could do. She couldn't remember how many times they had spoken about the situation. 

“Perry!” He matched her energy and hugged her. He could both sense and smell her intoxication, which is maybe why he was getting such an excited greeting.

“Don’t worry, Per, we’ve just been friends for 3 years but okay,” Sian joked as she hugged Jen. 

“She’s a little drunk,” Jen whispered, “she’s dreading Andre getting here. They had a fight at lunch and there was more money missing out of the till yesterday, so they’ve deducted the wait staff again. They said they’d get the police if it happens again.”

Sian nodded as she let go, trying to hide the worry from her face. She mouthed a thank you and looked at Perry, who was obviously drinking away her annoyance.

As if the devil had heard his name being summoned, Andre made his presence known throughout the entire restaurant, as he entered through the kitchen. Sinclair turned in the Head Chef’s direction, someone he had heard enough about to know he was not a likable person; he especially didn’t appreciate the way he talked to Sian. Sinclair couldn’t quite believe how scruffy he had turned up to the party in. Faded blue jeans, a slightly creased green shirt, and hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a brush in a while. The leather jacket screamed mid-life crisis.

“Hey,” Sian said, catching him staring at Andre.

Sinclair turned slowly to Sian, who in his opinion, was the loveliest woman in the room.

“Everything okay?”

“He’s something isn’t he?”

“Definitely,” she agreed and shot her superior a look.

For a good chunk of the night, the two couples stayed together. They got on very well and as the drinks flowed Sian relaxed more. Sinclair wrapped his arm around her and didn’t miss Andre staring in her direction, he may or may not have pulled her in closer to him as a result of the French chef’s drunken leer. It was even more disgusting when he considered he had brought someone with him. That poor woman.

When everyone was brought together to eat, most of the conversation was light. Work, kids, football, the usual but Andre did take a few snipes at Perry which both Sian and Sinclair grew increasingly irritated with. In Sinclair fashion, he didn’t get angry though, he simply just schooled him on every topic the chef brought up, with a lot of the other party-goers adding their opposing opinions, too. Eventually, Andre stopped talking and carried on drinking. Needless to say, Sinclair had made a few dull faces happier.

“You can take your eyes off him, you know?” Perry whispered into Sian’s ear.

“Why would I want to do that?” Sian shot back cheekily.

“You knowwwww,” she sang drunkenly, “you two look like you’ve finally…” she finished her sentence with a lovely hand gesture that consisted of her finger entering a circle she made with her other hand.

Sian quickly slapped her hands before anyone noticed, Jen had but she averted her eyes and Sinclair had been distracted from his own private conversation with Sarah by the slap.

“Everything okay?” he asked as he placed his hand on her thigh under the table.

Not when you do that, she thought but reassured him anyway then turned back to Perry, a clear glare in her eyes.

“We haven’t,” Sian quickly answered. “It’s not been that long and we’ve not made anything official, and…”

“I thought you saw your doctor?”

“I did,” Sian answered very clearly but stopped at that.

Perry, even though drunk, knew when to stop pushing, “you er...you guys have the patience of nuns, I swear.”

“And you have the libido of a 17-year-old boy,” Sian quipped, taking the seriousness back out of her tone.

“I take that as a compliment.” Perry’s freckled face suddenly had a massive grin on it.

“I know,” Sian laughed and finished her drink.

After his display at the table, Sinclair was quite popular amongst Sian’s work colleagues. So much so, that Sinclair was nabbed by their head barman after dessert was consumed. Sian wandered off, letting Sinclair flourish in the crowd, while she fetched them a fresh drink. Like a hawk, Andre was next to her before she’d even finished pouring the first one.

“Your boyfriend...he’s a bit of a...what do you English say? Smartarse?” He pushed his French accent along with his chest into her upper arm. “He’s rich, yes?”

Sian stepped to the side to cut their contact, “What does that have to do with anything, Andre? And he’s just smart. Don't be jealous now.”

He ignored her insult.

“I’ve been told that’s what all women are looking for. A rich husband to take care of them. Not really sure what my bitch of a wife wanted,” he slurred and leaned on the bar, stumbling into her side once again.

“You’ve been told wrong,” Sian turned and looked at Andre. The bags under his eyes were worse than ever and he absolutely reeked of alcohol; considering he was working at some point before the party, she couldn’t believe how drunk he was. “And your wife left because…”

Andre tutted and shook his finger, “Shush pretty girl, your lucky to have a job here at your age. Don’t push your luck with me or you’ll out before you know it. Don’t confuse yourself on who runs this place.”

It wasn’t the first time he had threatened her job and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last. She tensed her jaw and straightened up before leaving him at the bar.

He followed her legs all the way over to Sinclair, who she passed a glass to, and began engaging in the conversation, but she looked back. Andre winked at her and it made her feel disgusting.

The end of the night came quickly, gifts were passed out to the staff from the owners, and thanks were given. Their biggest one to Andre, of course. Another thing that irked Sinclair because he’d only heard a small number of his antics and that was enough. If he worked for him, he’d have been out on his arse years ago.

Sian edged closer to Perry, “you’ve been very quiet on the after-party this evening.”

“Oh yeah...I didn’t want to jinx it but I have an audition tomorrow,” she whispered back, not wanting anyone else to hear.

“Oh my god,” Sian mouthed.

“Yeah, so I can’t drink anymore,” she said shaking her hand in front of her glass and pushing it away. 

“You’ve drunk quite a lot already,” Sian chuckled, her own consumption making her giddier than usual.

“Na, I’m good. Plus it gives you and Bruce Wayne time to go home and…” Perry winked.

“Would you stop calling him that,” the brunette scolded. 

“It’s okay, darling,” Sinclair chimed in, “I don’t mind.”

“Oh my god,” Perry groaned and slapped her hand over her mouth.

“FYI, you two aren’t quiet when you’re drunk,” Sinclair winked and then turned away again with a very large smile on his face before downing the last of his whiskey.

“Is he always like that?” Perry asked.

“Pretty much.” Sian nodded and smiled as she watched him finish his mingling for the night.

On the taxi ride home, Sinclair had a tipsy smile on his face as Sian rested her slightly messy curls on his shoulder. She had to concentrate on the back of the passenger seat as she was beginning to feel a bit dizzy at the new sensation. Sinclair thought the evening was a success, Sian’s colleagues seemed to like him and he’d managed to give Andre a little bit of his own medicine. It was a job well done in Sinclair’s eyes.

“So, what would the after-party normally consist of?” Sinclair asked as he pushed his hair out of his face.

“A throbbing hangover,” Sian yawned and closed her eyes, still fighting the motion sickness. Sinclair laughed, hoping they weren’t going to have that anyway. “We have a bit of a regular spot.”

“Where’s that?” Sinclair looked in the rearview and copped the taxi driver looking back, even though Sian was wearing her own jacket, her legs were very exposed. He took off his grey suit jacket and draped it over her.

“Ooh that’s so warm,” she hummed, “and it’s err...it’s a little gay bar that Perry’s friend manages...that wouldn’t have been a problem, would it?” She bit her lip after asking.

Sinclair frowned, had he given off the idea that something like that would be bothersome to him? He liked to think he was quite liberal in his views and didn’t think he’d ever said anything to indicate any dislike towards the gay community.

“No, of course not. I admit I’ve never been to one but I don’t see why you’d think it would bother me.” Sinclair sounded hurt, or maybe it was the alcohol slightly clouding Sian’s judgment.

“I didn’t necessarily think it, I was just checking.” She lifted her head and took a deep breath, her eyes a little hazy. “Honest.”

She stroked his smooth cheek with her thumb and drew his face to hers and as he always did he melted at her touch. Taxi driver be damned, he thought as she kissed him. The taste of whiskey mingled with red wine as their tongues teased softly. It took all of his control not to moan when Sian’s hand slid down his chest towards his crotch. He quickly caught her hand and stopped her from moving any further. She must be more intoxicated than she seemed, he thought.

The taxi stopped quite abruptly, breaking their union. The taxi driver turned on his light and huffed that it would be £7.31. Sinclair gave him the exact change and escorted Sian out of the vehicle, eyeing the driver as he closed the door behind them.

As soon as Sian stepped through the door of her flat, she was taking off her heels and groaning in satisfaction.

“One more night,” she sighed.

“Hmm?" Sinclair hummed behind her, not quite understanding what she had said.

“Oh, one more night in heels. For your Christmas Party,” she informed him, “then they’re going away until next year.”

Sinclair laughed. “Such a shame.”

“You wear them...you would change your mind I can assure you.”

They both shed the layers they didn’t need and hung them on the small railing in the hallway. Sinclair was expecting they’d both down some water and then head to bed but apparently, Sian had different ideas as she pushed him against the front door and crashed her lips against his. She had no idea what was running through her mind, but it was running and she was following.

Sinclair quickly caught up and cupped her face before sucking on her bottom lip. Something he had learned that she loved. And Sinclair? He loved pleasing her in the little ways that he could. God knows he wanted to continue, wanted to give her more and he knew he wanted more too. And not just sex.

In moments, they were stepping towards the bedroom, Sinclair’s shirt was being flung on the floor, and Sian’s soft hands we running up through the smattering of hair on his bare chest. When they reached the bed, Sian’s legs hit the side of the mattress and she sat down but Sinclair didn’t follow.

The light from the hallway just lit her face and in a moment of clarity, un-driven by the rushing of blood below his waist, he remembered how much she had drunk. How much they had both consumed.

Sinclair’s look must have been sobering because the look of lust in Sian’s eyes dimmed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to jump you there.”

Sinclair shook his head and leaned down to her lips, softly suckling them. “Don’t be. I liked it but I want to do whatever you wanted to do then...when we’re both of sound mind.”

Sian nodded, feeling embarrassed that she had gone from zero to a hundred in seconds. “Me too.”

“I’ll fetch us some water, get comfy.”

He kissed her head and then left the bedroom, bare-chested with an obvious bulge in his trousers. Sian flopped down on the bed, her own frustration getting too much to deal with but her guilt overriding it at every turn.

Until now, anyway.  

Chapter Text

Sian had been around rich people, it came as part of the job but this, this was different. Now she needed to act and look like one of them.

Superficially she did because Sinclair had insisted they go shopping for a gown and while they were at it, he picked out a tie in the same colour. It had been a fun lunch break for him, even if Sian did moan at him for paying for the dress. It's not that he thought she couldn't pay, it's just he wanted to treat her. He explained that, but she still pouted to herself during their sharing of a sandwich as they walked back towards Sinclair's office.

Now they were so far away from a supermarket sandwich.

Sinclair had even hired a driver for the night. No wonder Perry called him Bruce Wayne and oh did he look the part in his black three-piece suit, crisp white shirt and burgundy tie. The burgundy matched Sian's dress to near perfection.

The moment Sinclair saw her in it, his eyes lit up. It was very different from the one she wore to La Croix. Very different indeed. It was full length, silk, felt light as a feather and left very little to the imagination. Honestly, underwear had been a nightmare to find for her. But she loved it to the point that she felt elegant and attractive in it. So it had been a win-win situation. Black strappy heels, a small clutch bag for her essentials and a shawl finished her look perfectly. She'd not even bothered with the curls this time, instead slicking it back into an elegant bun.

In the car on the way Sian's nervous ticks came out in full force, she picked at her nails, shook her leg, bit her bottom lip. Sinclair watched for a few moments but couldn't let her get into such a tizzy about it.

He stilled her hand with his and then her leg, before drawing her face to look at him.

"You...are going to be fantastic," he assured her, then pulled her bottom lip from her teeth before moving closer to her ear, "I could bite that lip for you."

With his hand still resting on her thigh, his deep, breathy timbre ran bolts of electricity through the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to ignore the inferno he was igniting inside her again.

"That's not going to help my nerves, Sinclair..."

Sinclair chuckled, still close to her ear. Their schedules between the two parties had been hectic, so much so that they'd only spent one night together, so there was some simmering tension between the couple. A feeling of want and need between them. Sinclair told himself to behave though.

"I'll be with you all night. You really have nothing to worry about. Half of them are idiots in Italian suits, don't worry."

He patted her leg and then kissed her cheek, lingering for a moment.

"I have a question that...well we probably should have discussed before now but now is a good a time as any." Why was she so nervous? It was fairly clear what was going on between the two of them, it was just a label.

"Okayyyy," Sinclair sang, intrigued. He began stroking the smooth silk of her dress which didn't help Sian's concentration one bit.

"If someone asks who I am and you're not around, what would you prefer I say? I know you're quite private so I wouldn't want to overstep and..."

Sinclair broke her rambling with a soft kiss. The plumpness of his lips resting perfectly on her own.

"I think my ability to ramble has worn off on you," he joked as he fixed her lipstick with his thumb. "As far as I'm concerned and this has been set pretty solidly in my head since I pleaded against my own stupidity in the kitchen of your flat...we are together. Exclusively. Is that how you feel, too?"

Sian nodded subtly, "Well, yes but I was checking. We'd never really talked about it. I suppose that seems very juvenile now."

Sinclair simply shook his head, he did not think it was juvenile. "So, if anyone asks you, say that you're my girlfriend or partner, or whatever you would like to refer to yourself as," he looked at her for a moment, her face illuminated by the passing headlights of other cars, "I'm very lucky."

Not knowing how to respond, Sian kissed him again and smiled before settling back next to him. She'd have relaxed if her heart wasn't racing like a prize horse at the Grand National.

Finally there, Sinclair helped her and her dress out of the car. As they walked up to the grand stately home, Sian felt like bolting straight back to the car; it was a good job Sinclair had her hand or she very well may have.

The annual company Christmas party was held at the owner's mansion. She did not know that when she had agreed to accompany her very own Batman. It was the usual rich man fair, perfectly trimmed bushes, statues of small naked cherubs and a set of steps that were not the ideal obstacle when in 6-inch heels.

The hallway, with its marble flooring and gold-lined wallpaper, was bigger than her flat. She didn't know where to look first. The expensive art on the walls? The period pieces of the house that looked in pristine condition? The other guests who all looked like they were walking onto the red carpet of a film premiere?

Ah God. Run away.

"Your coat, darling," Sinclair gestured happily and then helped her out of it, fully revealing her attire for the night. "Absolutely stunning."

Sian smiled at his words. More compliments. She was beginning to get used to them for which Sinclair was grateful because he liked to pay them to her. When she resisted them, he just gave her more.

"So err, I think I'm finally understanding just how much money your company makes now," Sian admitted, feeling unusually naive. It's not as if she hadn't been around rich people, the restaurant attracted them, but this was rich rich.

Sinclair snorted, "Oh yeah, a lot. A hefty chunk goes into my bank but the real money goes into his."

He subtly pointed to a balding man, what little hair he did have was ashy grey and he was likely in his late 60s, with a rounded face and an even rounder stomach. His suit looked like it was struggling, in fact. Maybe an overindulgence of the expensive red wine he had in his thick fingered hand was his downfall.

"George Lancaster." Sinclair's voice remained even.

"Is he your idol?"

"Hmm," Sinclair pondered as he led Sian to the drinks table, they were both going to need it, "Career-wise, maybe, he's built a great company but personally? No. He's on his third wife, who we all know he cheats on. Always in the office or away on business trips so God knows how many times a year he actually manages to see the troupe of kids he's spawned and he's an overall sexist idiot, who would slap any secretary's arse if he could get his hands on it quick enough. Needless to say, I keep Mandy very close by and away from him. We'll do our best to avoid him tonight, I promise."

"Urgh, thank you," she replied disgustedly. He seemed the epitome of everything Sian disliked in men.

"Speaking of Mandy, we should find her. Sylvester too, Jane's dying to meet you. Come on," he chirped and held her hand again to lead her into the main room.

"A ballroom...an actual bloody ballroom," she whispered, "I haven't danced in a while."

Sinclair laughed at the horrified look on Sian's face.

"Do you not want to dance with me?" He asked, very much hoping that they would have a chance at some point in the evening to share at least one dance.

"Quite the other way around, you're not going to want to dance with me." Sian could dance around a kitchen all day, could be soft and light on her feet as she traversed the tiled floors between stations. Dancing in a club was different; she was usually a few drinks in and it was really too dark to see what anyone was doing but dancing elegantly with someone else, that wasn't Sian's idea of a good time.

"Stop that," Sinclair's voice changed quickly from jovial to serious, "stop putting yourself down at every opportunity. You're beautiful, talented, too good for that fucking restaurant and one of my favourite people, so I'd kindly ask that you stop bad-mouthing the person I..." he paused, what was he just about to say? Shit, it was too early for anything like that. They weren't rushing, he reminded himself. "The person I admire...so much."

His voice had cracked getting out those last tender words.

Sian wasn't sure she had ever heard Sinclair swear quite like that before but for the second time that night, he had left her speechless as his amber eyes seemed to look into the most vulnerable parts of her.

"Sinc, about time I found you, Jane has been having my ear off," Sylvester, who was dressed in a sharp emerald green suit had sauntered over to the pair who were completely lost in each other.

Sinclair gave her one last meaningful look then smiled and turned to his friend, shaking his hand and then putting his arm around Sian.

"Sylvester, this is Sian, Sian...Sylvester," Sinclair began the introductions, for which Sian knew there would be many.

"Nice to meet you...again, glad to know your name this time." Sian beamed and held out her hand to shake his. His hand was much larger than hers and his grip was strong but she matched it as best as she could. He had a businessman's handshake, she thought.

"Found him then," the voice of Sylvester's wife, Jane, piped up behind him before she came into view from behind her towering husband.

"And this is Jane," Sinclair finished.

Before Sian could even offer the other her hand, she had embraced her, the champagne taking a near miss as their bodies connected. Sian's senses were filled with the expensive perfume that lingered around Jane's neck and the velvet of her short emerald dress brushed softly against her hand. A contrast to the ruby necklace scratching her cheek.

"I'm so glad to finally meet you, Sian," she whispered into her ear, making Sian shudder at the tickling sensation, "You're the hot talk amongst us all."

"Oh...that sounds...interesting," Sian bumbled out the words. Of course, Sinclair had talked about her, just as she had talked about him, but it still didn't make her feel more comfortable about it. Sian didn't like to be the name on people's tongues.

Taking a small step back, Sian put herself closer to Sinclair as Jane smiled a very wide, excited smile at her. Sylvester had already engaged Sinclair into some conversation about work, she could hear them talking over numbers.

"Oh stop it, don't start already, you two. Every bloody year they're the same," Jane directed to Sian after giving her husband and her friend a displeased look. Sian laughed and nodded her head, even though he didn't mean to, Sinclair would often fall down the rabbit hole of talking about work.

"Sorry, baby," Sylvester apologised, "No more, I promise."

Sylvester wrapped his arm around his wife's waist and Sian could not help but notice how well they fit together and how their eyes caught each other's. Her parents, whilst she knew they had a love for each other, never looked at each other like that. And no one had ever looked at her that way. It was equal parts respect, comfort and passion. No one until now anyway. Sinclair watched her and when she finally turned to him, he smiled, breaking his cacophony of feelings, his eyes crinkling at the sides.

"Come on," he whispered putting out his hand to Sian, "I'd love you to meet people."

For a reason she could not pinpoint in that precise moment, Sian felt a lump grow in her throat when Sinclair looked at her.

"We'll catch up with two in a bit," Sinclair aimed at Sylvester and Jane, tapping Sylvester on the shoulder as he began leading Sian away.

Jane watched them leave, hand in hand with a coy look on her face.

"What is going through that head of yours?" Sylvester asked with an amused laugh.

"Look how happy he looks," she mused without taking her eyes off the new couple.

"It's about time," Sylvester drank from his own champagne glass, "I've never seen him quite so miserable."

"Would you not be the same if it happened to you?" Sinclair's friends knew of Natalie's affair but not the extent of it. He'd wanted to protect her even after she had betrayed him again.

Sylvester narrowed his eyes and thought about it for a moment. "I'd probably be worse."

"Exactly," Jane replied quickly before changing the subject and dragging her husband further into the party.

Elegant music and an array of jumbled voices filled the large expanse of the ballroom. Sian had never been kissed on the cheek so many times in her life. Nor had she ever smiled until her cheeks hurt or answered the same questions over again but she was relaxing. It getting easier each time. Sinclair sang her praises whenever he could, and every effort she made to dampen those praises was met with further adoration.

Then it was her turn to make the usually composed Sinclair blush as she acquainted herself very well and very quickly with Mandy. Sinclair knew they'd get on well but not quite so well that he was the spectator and the topic of conversation. Sensing her comfort, he gave the two women some privacy and meandered around his colleagues. He very quickly missed her presence by his side but was sucked into a circle of conversation, knowing she was happily enjoying Mandy's company.

"You know he tried to keep you a secret," Mandy said with amusement.

Sian frowned.

"Oh not in a bad way. He was trying to be all mysterious when I told him we needed numbers for the party."

"Ah, the day he rang me from work."

"But, we both know Sinclair, he's a talker. It only took a few days for him to crack." They both laughed.

"Should you be telling on your boss like this?" Sian joked and then scanned the room for him. The search was fruitless.

Mandy shrugged her padded shoulders and laughed again. She'd had a few glasses of wine apparently, and why not? They were free, after all. Sian had been watching her intake more carefully, not wanting a repeat of the evening of her Christmas party, or the fuzzy head that came with it the next morning.

"So now Sinclair has gone, you can tell me really how your husband feels about being left with the baby," Sian smirked at her acquaintance, someone she could see becoming friends with. Sian remembered a handful of times when her father looked after her and her brother by himself. It usually ended up with her mother telling them all off.

"Oh, he really doesn't mind. He's not one for parties anyway and Charlotte sleeps through the night at the moment. Childcare is hard. My mum looks after her a lot in the day when I'm working so I didn't want to ask her for any more time." She explained. "And he knows Sinclair will make sure I get home okay."

Sian smiled. Of course, he does.

"Want to see a picture?" Mandy asked with the proud smile that only parents seemed to possess. She was already reaching for the small black bag that hung over her shoulder before Sian could answer.

"I'd love to," she replied politely. Whilst there were plenty of other children around when she was growing up, most of her friends were not at the point of settling down and having children. There was, of course, the odd family get together where a cousin would shove a baby in her arms or show off their baby bump, but that was it.

Sian watched the love pour from Mandy's face as she passed over the little pictures that the slightly older woman kept in her purse. Sian's cheeks broke out into an amused grin as she looked them over. Baby Charlotte looked like a doll. So sweet and innocent, no mark of the world upon her.

"She's beautiful," Sian whispered.

"And what are you two gossiping about?" Sinclair's deep voice asked jovially from behind the pair.

"Oh, I was just showing Sian pictures of Charlotte," Mandy answered as she parted from Sian's side to let Sinclair stand between the two of them.

"Let's see," he said and shuffled closer to Sian, who was still holding the pictures.

"This one's new," he mused and took it from Sian's hand, Sinclair had seen photo after photo of Charlotte but hadn't seen her in person since she was a few weeks old when he visited Mandy and the new baby. "God Mandy, tell that child to stop growing so quickly."

"I'll do my best," she replied, wishing she really could slow down the time with her daughter.

Sinclair handed the pictures back to Mandy.

"I'm afraid to tell you, darling but Mandy always gets the first dance at these occasions."

"Sinclair, don't be stupid," Mandy immediately protested. She didn't care so much when it was Natalie but she was actually getting on well with Sian.

"Oh I don't mind, it'll save me at least one embarrassment," she joked in return.

Sinclair raised his eyebrow at Sian who just smirked at him and sipped slowly at her champagne. He looked back towards Mandy, who didn't feel quite right taking Sian's place. There was an awkward pause.

"If you two don't go, I'll make you dance with me, Mandy." Sian threatened with no malice. She really had no problem with them dancing together.

"Now that would be interesting, would certainly set a few mouths flapping, wouldn't it, Mand?" Sinclair chuckled.

"Better than the rumours about us two," his aid replied and then looked at Sian as she allowed Sinclair to take her hand, "those ones are very weird."

"So weird," Sinclair interjected. Not that there was anything wrong with Mandy, she was very smart and pretty but the idea that he looked at her as anything but his friend and colleague was bizarre to Sinclair.

Sian watched Sinclair and Mandy begin to dance, he sent a wink in her direction which earned him a roll of her eyes. With her glass now empty Sian went in search of a fresh one and once she had carefully manoeuvred her way through the crowd of people she felt flush. She wasn't sure if it was the strength of the alcohol or the number of eyes that seemed to follow her as she made her way past other guests but she felt rather suffocated between those vast, elegant walls. She made her way out as carefully as she could, doing her best not to draw any more attention to herself.

The cold air hit her pale skin, prickling it immediately. She'd tolerate the cold for a few moments to gather herself. It probably wasn't the best solution but she took a large gulp of the fresh champagne, the bubbles fizzing down her throat sent an invigorating shudder through her body.

Sian walked around the paved grounds of the house, carefully watching her step as she did. The music filtered through from inside less and less as she made her way around the seemingly neverending building, passing lit window after lit window that helped illuminate her journey.

She ran her fingertips along the rough stonework of the house, it catching her nails as she bumped along it. Sian ignored the cold, drowned out the humming of the music and could almost feel her childhood come back to her. Days spent running around the grounds of National Trust properties with him, so her father could read endless boards of information about people who once lived in there. Her mother would be close behind them with her picnic lunch she'd made that morning, ready to clean the knees of one of her clumsy children. Oh, how she doted on the children that she never thought she'd have. How she went without so her children could have the things they needed; repaired her clothes and cut her own hair, gave them extra dessert from her own portion on a Sunday afternoon. Sian's fingers slipped off the wall as the building came to an end. Just as abruptly as the memories. Just as abruptly as the love.

Waves of her warm breath swayed out in front of Sian as she overlooked the estate's many pruned acres before she closed her eyes on it all. She shouldn't be thinking about it, not here, not now but she knew exactly why she had.

"It's a bit cold out here to be standing there in that, isn't it?"

The man's voice startled Sian out of herself and she jumped back a step.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you," he lowered his voice and stepped closer to Sian. He took a drag of the cigarette in his mouth, dropped it on the floor and killed the last smoky embers with his foot.

"It's okay," Sian reassured the stranger and then looked over her shoulder. They were alone.

"I'm Roger," he greeted and held out his hand. Maybe it was because of the poor lighting but Roger's features looked harsh. His face was too chiselled and the cut of his muddy brown hair too perfect. He lacked the immediate softness she saw in Sinclair.

Sian shook his hand and smiled politely at him before wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. She could no longer be ignorant of the icy weather around her.

"And you are? I've never seen you around before." He questioned, his rich Etonian voice confident in himself and his question.

And you are? Good question, Sian thought. Who was she? Was she all this? The silk dresses and the big houses. Business and money had never been her aim. She had a passion and she followed that; it certainly didn't fill her bank account to the extent of many there but it was enough for her to live in relative comfort. Maybe he could see she didn't quite fit in. That she didn't quite hold herself the way others did. Maybe he could see all the lies. The secrets. The fears.

Stop it!

"Are you okay?" Roger pressed when he received no answer. At first, he was intrigued by the attractive woman who had stumbled upon his quiet cigarette break but now he was concerned he'd somehow attracted the weirdo of the night. 

"Sorry, yes. I'm Sian and no, no you wouldn't know me," Sian chattered as the cold seeped into her further. "I'm, er, I'm with..."

"You look freezing," he commented as he watched her bottom lip tremble, "here, I propped open this door around the side so I could escape for a cigarette easier."

Roger turned and pointed down to the other end of the house, "I'll get skinned alive if I'm caught going back through there so we'd better hurry."

Sian shook her head and placed the champagne glass down on the low wall a few paces ahead of her, then turned back in the direction she had come from. "I'll go this way, wouldn't want to get you into more trouble."

Her heels clicked against the stone floor but were halted by Roger's hand grasping her bare upper arm. She sucked in her next breath and held it.

"God, you really are freezing..." he said again, his voice a whisper as he closed the gap between their bodies, he smelt like cigarettes and whiskey which turned Sian's stomach. "It really is quicker this way. Anyway, tell me, which one of the old men is your father? We won't really get caught and if we did...they all love me anyway."

The laugh that Sian released was not one of comfort, quite the opposite in fact but she had no idea what was going through Roger's mind. It could be completely innocent, or it couldn't and she wasn't ready to take the chance on it not.

"This isn't really my father's scene," she joked and shrugged out of Roger's grasp. He didn't move from her though. "Sinclair Bryant. He's...we're together."

Roger made a clicking sound with his tongue before his face fell.

"Lucky Sinclair...you could still come with me though?" He offered whilst throwing his thumb over his shoulder.

Sian shook her head and turned, hearing his tut and "Suit yourself" before she made her way back down the side of the house.

The feeling in her feet was non-existent by the time she got to the front of the house and up the stairs again. She had walked quicker than before which left her slightly gasping for air as she was bombarded by the warmth of the entrance hall. If she attracted the attention of those milling around that area, she managed to not notice this time as she went in search of the closest bathroom.

When she found one, she locked the door and breathed out a deep sigh. This was not how she was expecting the evening to go. She wondered if Sinclair was looking for her or if he'd been distracted by other guests; she was hoping for the latter.

Sian pushed herself off the door and ran the hot water tap and let the water cascade over her reddened hands. The heat tingled her skin as she flexed her fingers into a fist and then out again until the water became too hot to bear.

A knock on the door made her jump for the second time that evening.

"Sian?" Sinclair's voice was soft yet speculative on the other side of the thick oak door.

It seemed he had noticed her prolonged absence.

"One sec," Sian called back, straightened her dress and brushed the wisps of escaped hair back.

The lock clicked and the door opened, Sinclair quickly looked over his shoulder and then let himself into the bathroom with Sian. Locking the door again.

"Everything okay? Jane said she saw you rush up here. Where have you been?" He could not disguise the panic in his voice.

"I'm fine. I went for some air."

Sinclair touched her upper arm and felt how cold she was. His hand was so much warmer and softer than Roger's had felt.

"Bloody hell, Sian," he moaned and shrugged off his jacket in a hurry before placing it around her.

"I'm okay," she protested but secretly was very glad of the warm garment now wrapped around her.

"Mhm, you steal my clothes to go to the toilet, don't try to fool me."

Sian laughed quietly, "Got me."

"Do I?" He questioned, his head dropping. He'd been here before. Disappearances at parties and whispered voices. Unanswered questions and awkward silences. He knew he couldn't face all of that again.

"What?" Sian frowned, "What does that mean?"

Sinclair sighed, he shouldn't have said that. He shouldn't have even thought it. When was he going to truly believe that it wasn't going to happen again?

"Nothing," he shook his head and then raised it, "Come here."

Sian fit into his chest perfectly, his embrace warming her in the best way possible.

The couple went through the motions of the rest of the night but neither could enjoy it as they should have. Sian blamed herself for Sinclair's reservedness. To those around him though, he played his part well, his smile fooling them all. All but Sian.

The journey back was filled with tension but not the same tension as it had on the way to the party. Sian was careful not to touch Sinclair and remained quiet as she lay her head against the window and watched the dark countryside pass by. Only lit every once in a while by a passing car. Sinclair watched her, feeling his own guilt, for jumping straight to the conclusion that she was up to something nefarious.

It was past midnight when the car pulled up outside of Sinclair's home. He jumped out of the car first and met Sian gathering her dress on the other side. After exchanging keys with the driver and seeing him off, the couple walked in silence up to the front door. The buzz of the atmosphere and their unified footsteps were all that could be heard.

He opened the door and then took her hand, turning on the lights in the hallway before leading her to the kitchen.

"You didn't eat tonight," he said quietly, dropping her hand and opening the fridge.

"I did..." she replied then bit the inside of her cheek, "A bit."

Sinclair raised his brow at her again before putting his head back in the fridge. He wanted to make amends for his quiet behaviour and food was always a source of comfort. Sian slipped off her shoes whilst he searched and propped herself on the kitchen counter. It wasn't particularly easy in a dress but she managed it.

"I have some leftover chicken, some strawberries, yoghurt..." Sinclair informed her as he turned with his hands full of the listed items. "I could make you an omelette, I have eggs and cheese and..."

"Sinclair," Sian chastised sternly with a smirk, "I'm really not hungry."

"You have to eat something...even if it's just chocolate in front of the TV," he tried to bargain with her.

"I don't think there are any chances of me wasting away in my sleep tonight," she joked, trying to lighten his mood.

"Sian."

She looked at him stood there in his three-piece suit still, food piled against his chest and could see the care he was trying to bestow upon her. She couldn't deny that it felt good, whether it was deserved or not.

"Okay," she held out her hand, "strawberries sound good. I know you'll have some cream in there, too."

Sinclair smiled and turned back towards the fridge, leaving the strawberries on the side, he packed away the rest of the food and retrieved the cream. He set them next to her.

"Enjoy," he said without meeting her eye. He tried to leave but she raised her leg in front of him like a barrier.

"Don't make me eat alone," she groaned.

"I need to get out of this suit," he countered. It felt tight and irritable and he longed for his comfortable clothes.

"Let me help?" Sian asked, hoping to ease some of the tension she knew she had created in him.

Sinclair stood still for a moment, with no real thoughts running through his mind, other than where this might lead them. Sian lowered her leg, giving him the choice to leave but he didn't, he turned to her and lay his hands down on the top of her thighs; she was considerably warmer than she was earlier.

"You don't have to," he reassured her.

"I want to," was all she answered before pulling the tie from his waistcoat and running her hand up it until she reached the knot. "You don't scream and shout do you?"

"What do you mean?" He asked, perplexed by the sudden question.

Sian undid the top button of his shirt and he could already breathe easier.

"I upset you tonight," she stated as she slipped her finger into the knot of his tie, her heartbeat rising. "Probably embarrassed you by disappearing."

Sinclair shook his head and placed his hand over hers. "No, I upset myself. I can only apologise for ruining the night."

"You didn't ruin anything. I had a good time, I met your friends and colleagues, I enjoyed spending time with Jane and Sylvester and Mandy." She had managed to undo his tie even with his hand over hers. "I enjoyed you in this suit."

Sinclair laughed.

"This is a nice tie," Sian mused as she ran her thumb over the silky material.

"You picked a good colour."

"Thank you." She placed the tie next to her then undid the buttons on his waistcoat. He watched her, his mouth slightly parted but no sound left him in his bid for control. Sian slid her hands up the front of his shirt and into his waistcoat which nearly ruined the control Sinclair was clutching at. His waistcoat and jacket were off with little effort and he deposited those on the worktop opposite.

Sian had picked up a strawberry and bit the end off as she watched him fold his jacket. He was happy to see her eating when he turned back to her.

"Want some?" She held up the half-eaten strawberry to him.

"I'd love some," he answered. Unsure if they were talking about strawberries or not.

She kept hold of the strawberry, guided it towards his mouth and watched as his teeth pierced through the ripe piece of fruit. He quickly tilted his head back as the juice dripped down the side of his mouth before wiping it with his finger.

"Careful, wouldn't want to stain your shirt," said Sian who was still staring at his mouth.

"Mmm," mumbled in agreement as he finished the food in his mouth, "my turn."

Sinclair opened the top of the cream and picked the largest strawberry from the pack to dip into it.

"Now, behave this time...no food fights," Sian warned in jest.

"No food fights," Sinclair repeated.

The cream touched her bottom lip before she bit down on the fruit, Sinclair quickly placed his hand underneath to stop any juice from spoiling her dress.

"Messy things," he whispered, his voice getting stuck at the sight of the cream lingering on her lips. "Let me help."

Sinclair placed the pad of this thumb on the bottom of Sian's chin and gently pulled down, giving him space to trap her bottom lip between his own. He moaned softly at the sensation and the taste.

"More?" He asked.

Sian licked her bottom lip, "Of?"

Sinclair laughed with nervous excitement. "Are you done?"

Sian nodded and placed the lid back on the cream. Sinclair didn't feel like arguing and making her eat more, not now they had rid themselves of their awkward behaviour from earlier. He put the food back in the fridge and as he did, Sian slid off the side of the countertop and came up behind him. He felt her forehead rest between his shoulder blades as her hands slid around his stomach until they met in the middle.

"You smell so good." He didn't smell like cigarettes or whiskey. He smelt like Sinclair and he felt warm and safe. 

Sinclair chuckled and creased his face in confusion at the odd compliment. "Thank you."

"Let's go upstairs," she spoke quietly into his back. He turned in her arms and looked down at her.

"Tired?" He asked as he cupped her neck and ran his thumb back and forth along her jawline.

"No."

Sinclair's face straightened as he deciphered her simple message.

Sian began to release the pins that lay hidden in her hair, keeping the long brown locks in their elegant bun. Then pulled the hair from its knot, letting it fall down past her shoulders.

"Oh my god, that's so much better," she hummed in delight.

Sinclair was enraptured with her. She had got him, completely. He pulled her to him, their chests meeting moments before their lips.

The taste of strawberries could still be found as Sinclair's tongue dipped into Sian's inviting mouth. The silk of her dress leant well to his hand slipping down her curves and cupping her bum cheek a little rougher than he normally would. There was a distinct lack of material covering her under the thin dress, which only enticed him further.

He pressed her back into the cupboards behind her and found the slit in the dress. Running his hand over her bare leg, he cradled it just above the knee as she raised it up and hooked it around the back of his thighs. Sian grasped the back of his hair as he slipped down her neck, his teeth connecting and nipping at the sensitive skin there. She pushed his head closer to her, wanting more.

Sinclair was losing all sense with her wrapped around him. He was only her at that moment.

When he reached her collarbone and ran his tongue along it she hissed and ground her hips into him. He pushed back just as fervently, not being able to deny himself the pleasure she so easily summoned.

"Sian," he panted into her heated skin, "I shouldn't say it but I want you.."

"Fuck," she whimpered as they met once more. "Not...not here. Upstairs."

Sian guided Sinclair's head so she could see him, so he could hear her properly. The amber of his eyes was harder to detect, his pupils wide and excited. She took his hand, led him out of the kitchen and up to the bedroom. Before the door was open his lips brushed the back of her neck, his very obvious arousal pressing into her the softness of her bum unintentionally.

"Are you sure?" He asked, his thumb rubbing slow circles into her hip bone.

Sian nodded. "I trust you."

She felt the smile erupt against her neck, "I trust you, too."

That's all she wanted. They would need it.

Sinclair didn't stop kissing her as the door opened and closed behind them. The front of her legs soon hit the footboard of the bed and she gripped the wooden frame as Sinclair sent waves of pleasure down her spine. He pulled the delicate strap of her dress to the side to kiss the spot where it had lay all night, then unzipped the small zip at the back of the dress and helped it over her arms, the soft material slipping off her body with little effort.

He kissed the base of her neck and ran a finger from the edge of her underwear up to her bra. She shivered and leant further into the baseboard. The strapless bra was off and on the floor in a second.

"Turn around, darling." His whisper was husky. Sian turned slowly back to Sinclair and let him see her. More of her than he had ever seen before. "So beautiful."

Sian opened her mouth to say something but Sinclair blocked whatever smart reply she had for him with his mouth. The kiss was enough to distract her and set her mind to something else, something that she was doing quite naturally. Buttons undone, she was pushing the shirt off his shoulders, relishing the feel of his muscles working under her hands as he moved her around the bed.

She landed in a seating position, Sinclair standing between her parted legs, and made no hesitation to aim for his belt. She wouldn't allow herself to overthink.

"Slow down," Sinclair cooed, taking her hands and kissing them both before dropping to his knees.

"Wha...Sinc..." her words were stifled by the softness of his lips meeting her thighs.

Sinclair had pulled back his excitement, reminded himself that he had longed for this intimacy with her and there was no way in hell he was going to ruin it by being overzealous. He didn't dwell on it too often but there had been times when he had questioned if he had been a disappointment in the past. If that's why it had started.

Sian naturally began to lean back on her elbows as Sinclair grazed his teeth along her upper thighs, one hand massaged her calf tenderly whilst the other held her waist. He kissed chastely over the silky red material of her underwear and didn't miss as her hips twitched upwards but he carried on along his path. Unperturbed by her impatience. His tongue passed over her belly button and she lay back with a chuckle, it tickling. He couldn't help himself doing it again just to hear her laugh once more.

When his teeth nipped softly at the underside of her breast, Sian's breath caught in her throat and was only released when he encapsulated her nipple with his wet, warm mouth. Sian was fairly sure she would combust. Maybe it was the age. Men in their early 20s, in her experience, were exceptionally selfish lovers. Attention to detail wasn't really the aim but Sinclair seemed to be looking for every sensual spot on her body. And he was succeeding.

He was surprised at Sian's receptiveness, whatever had been holding her back seemed to have dissipated but he had to be sure.

When he had traversed the entirety of the front of her body, he leaned over her, trying not to push too much of his weight onto her body. Her hands pushed from his sides and up his back, trying to get him closer to her.

A peck on the lips got her to open her eyes, Sinclair was so close that his warm breath was hitting her lips still.

"Can I continue?" In the sincerest voice, Sian had ever heard, Sinclair was once again asking for permission.

She nodded with a meek smile on her face. "I have protection in my bag...I know that's a bit of a buzz kill but we have..."

"You really do ramble as good as me now," he joked, "I am...prepared...but we don't need that yet."

Sinclair smirked before kissing her. His passion for the woman evident in every meeting of their lips. The path that he had worked up her body was soon being followed as his half-naked body slid down hers.

This time he hooked his thick fingers into the waistband of her underwear and pulled them down her legs. Discarding them on the floor with the rest of their clothes.

Sian had been watching Sinclair but quickly looked away, feeling conscious that his face was so close to the most intimate part of her. Her eyes shut and her chest rose and fell harder than it had been.

"Relax, darling," Sinclair reassured, rubbing her outer thighs before slipping his hands between her legs and parting them slowly.

It had happened before. Only twice, in fairness and neither time resulted in anything fruitful. Hence why it only happened twice. Sian found it a very flustering act and previous partners had been less than patient.

Sinclair, noting some hesitancy started slow, though wanted nothing more than to lose himself between her legs for the rest of the evening. When Sian heard a satisfied moan rumble from Sinclair's throat, she looked down and was surprisingly aroused at the sight of his shoulders pushing against her under thighs and the fingertips of his left hand pressing into her leg. His other hand over the top of her own that rested on the mattress.

His own enjoyment building, Sinclair flattened his tongue and added a degree more of pressure. It sent a tightening of pleasure along Sian's bud of nerves and she found herself moaning at Sinclair's perfectly white ceiling. She quickly laced her fingers into Sinclair's as he applied the same pressure again, eliciting the same response. She squeezed his hand which grabbed his attention. He looked up and Sian looked down at the sudden lack of contact.

"Everything okay?" He asked, then kissed her inner thigh. She could see that his lips were slightly glossier than usual and she suddenly felt self-conscious again. That was until he licked his lips and smiled his boyish grin at her.

"More than okay," she acknowledged, her eyes burning into his. She wanted him to continue.

Sinclair let go of her hand and grabbed the other one that was resting on her ribs, placing it in his hair before taking her other hand back in his.

Sinclair explored what Sian reacted to. Sucking and licking and every now and then lightly grazing his teeth over sensitive skin. She gripped his hair tight when his tongue drove inside of her and lifted off the mattress but Sinclair was ready and pushed her back down.

Sian tried not to be loud but was failing more and more with each stroke of his tongue and didn't quite realise how rough she was being with Sinclair's hair. However, there was no complaint from Sinclair, his moans were purely from his own gratification.

He felt a slow shake building in Sian's legs and steadied out his pace, not wanting to lose the stimulation he was building. The shaking increased, as did the squeezing of his hand. Sian felt ecstatic from head to toe. The heel of her feet dug into Sinclair's back as her whole body tightened euphorically. She repeated his name as he brought her out of the high he created. It was like a song to his ears.

She slowly released the grip of her thighs and her hold of his head. She looked down a little bashfully having realised what she had been doing to him.

"No, no," he proclaimed, "look at me. That was exactly what I wanted." He said a little breathlessly but with complete conviction.

Sian sighed in satisfaction. She completely understood all the hype about it now. Sinclair kissed her face softly as she basked in the aftershocks of her climax. It had completely worn her out but she couldn't just take. Without opening her eyes and still enjoying Sinclair's sweet aftercare, she slid her hand down his side and between their bodies. Sinclair groaned into the crook of her neck as she cupped the very uncomfortable hard-on in his trousers. It took all his composure to not push into her hand. Instead, he removed it and kissed the back of it. 

"Tonight isn't about me."

Chapter Text

Sinclair had a habit of not drawing the curtains fully, or at all sometimes, which is what woke Sian early that Christmas Eve morning. It was warm in his bedroom, the heating had already turned itself on to battle the winter outside. Sinclair was still blissfully sleeping beside her when she rolled over towards him; he had an arm wedged underneath his pillow, slightly propping his head up, and had pushed the flannel covers down off his chest.

She wanted to run her hands through his sandy hair, to move it off his face but she didn't want to wake him yet. So, instead, she studied him. His rested brow and the delicacy of his sleeping eyes, moving in dreams. The faintest hint of stubble on his cheeks that he would shave off as soon as he could, and the long, intricate arch of his nose. He could be a Roman bust. Apollo, with all his purity and light. Maybe that's why he always left the curtains open, Sian thought, with a smirk at her lips. 

Sinclair's lips, however, did not conjure thoughts of purity. Seemingly untouched by winter's harshness, they were warmth and softness, and lustful. She brushed her fingers over the bare skin of her shoulder, to the spot she knew he had marked last night, while her body remembered just how good it had all felt. She shuffled with the discomfort of this new yearning until her bare chest brushed against his arm and her head was near resting on his freckled shoulder.

Sian diverted her eyes downwards, lazily following the expanse of his chest where his sleeping breaths rose and fell; knowing nothing of her growing unrest. His soft stomach muscles were relaxed and the trail of hair that led over them, past his belly button, drew her eyes to where the duvet soon cut off her ogling. His skin was smooth, blemished only by what looked like faded chicken pox scars. They were small and silver; a few dotted around his upper chest and one below his left pectoral muscle.

The urge to wake him, touch him, breathe him in, grew. It wasn't all that surprising, considering the attention he had lavished upon her last night and the reciprocation he had deterred. After patiently building her sensitive body back to climax, he again shook his head and kissed her, then had her cuddled up into him before she could protest any further.

To halt her urges, she slipped out her side of the bed, took Sinclair's green striped dressing gown off the back of the door, and stood by the window. Though it seemed bright when she first woke, the morning mist had yet to lift and the sun could not be found behind the covering of ashy grey clouds.

She wrapped her arms around the fluffy material of Sinclair's gown and rested herself against the wall. Sian had not felt so comfortable in years. The main source of her newly found contentedness stirred and stretched until the span of his long arms eagled out over where Sian had slept and over the edge of the mattress on his own side. Sian, with a small sigh and a warm smile, made her way over to the bed and cupped his warm hand, placing it over his chest. Looking down at him, serene and comfortable, looking gentler than ever, she let herself and her mind linger too long, admitting to herself that she was falling, far too fast, for Sinclair. She turned quickly.

Padding over the plush carpet, she left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar, and made her way to the bathroom. She was going to shower but the gold claw-footed bath, that stood perfectly in line with the window above it, was too tempting and with the day she had lined up, an early morning relaxation couldn't hurt.

Sitting on the edge of the bath, Sian leaned in and plugged up the hole, then turned the thick, gold handles until water spurted out and began filling the bath. She couldn't see any bubble bath, but she found lavender soaking salts, which she sprinkled over the shallow pool now filling the tub. The smell quickly spiralled upwards, towards her and aired around the room with wisps of steam.

Sian left the bath to fill and made her way over to the mirror above the sink. Edging herself closer she looked at her skin, checking her pores and wiping the smudging of mascara from the corners of her eyes. The darkening under her eyelids signified she hadn't slept enough but she knew she wouldn't be able to fall back to sleep and Sinclair needed his hibernation hours. His office was now officially closed but he was going to drive her to work and was toying with the idea of going in. She quickly brushed her teeth; Sinclair had bought her a toothbrush to stay at his house, as well as the toothpaste she used.

When the bath was three-quarters full, she edged herself in, wincing and "oohing" at the heat. She turned off the hot tap and let the cold one continue to run, trying to cool the near-boiling water. Leaning back, she started acclimatising to the temperature and eventually closed off the cold tap with her toe. The salts made her skin tingle as she pushed herself further into the water until it waved over her shoulders and dipped down between the valley of her breasts.

The elegant bathroom fell into a calming quiet. The trees, that were not too far from the house, were all withered for the winter and did not attract the birds as much. Without birds, there was no birdsong; no breakage of silence came from outside. The only thing that was there, was the intermittent dripping of the tap. Sian's ears pricked at each droplet falling from the gold spout, hitting the water, and rippling. She could not open her eyes to the sight of it though, the familiar, steady beat that she had fixated on, in an almost previous life. But she could picture it in her head and soon enough, along came the associated noises. The machinery, and the pain, the groans, and the dry sobbing. Because there were no tears to be produced.

She drowned out the sound. Water engulfed her, covered every morsel of skin, filled her nostrils and ears. The noise was gone, overpowered by the thumping of Sian's beating heart. Her eyes remained clasped shut. It didn't take long for her body to start feeling uncomfortable, for her lungs to desperately call for air but she remained under. Her whole body was warm and still.

"Sian?" Sinclair spoke from the other side of the door, his voice still laced with sleep. He yawned and rested his head against the door, when she didn't answer, he called again. "Sian?"

Sian heard the muffled sound of her name through the water and pushed herself up quickly, quietly gasping for air as she pushed her long hair back from her face. She scrunched her knees to her chest and hugged them before she spoke.

"I won't be much longer," she informed him.

"No rush, darling," Sinclair reassured, "I'll go make some tea and have it in bed ready for you. Are you hungry?"

"Ye..yes," she lied, "that sounds great. Thank you."

Sinclair smiled, in his sleepy and euphoric state, he hadn't heard the subtle tremble in her voice and happily trotted along the landing and down the stairs. He had more than a spring in his step that morning.

Sian sighed and lay her head against her knees. Breathing in deep lungfuls of steamy lavender air before getting out and wrapping herself in one of Sinclair's extra-large bath sheets. Soft warmth enrobed her, it was comforting but not so much as she knew Sinclair's own warmth would be. As apprehensive as she had been, she was learning that his touch brought more solace than she ever could have imagined.

The faint noise of clattering in the kitchen could be heard as Sian's feet hit the soft carpet of the landing, she wrapped the towel a little tighter around herself, walked past Sinclair's home office door, which was ajar, then the door that always remained closed. The master bedroom. The real master bedroom. Not the room Sinclair had now given himself. Sian had never set eyes on it and it had never occurred to her to go in. Did she even want to see in there? Sinclair would eventually sell the house, a venture he would most likely start after the Christmas period, and then it would never be a temptation for either of them.

Sinclair, with a tray in his hand, embarked on the stairs, quietly so as not to disturb Sian's bath any further but when he reached the top, he saw that she had already finished in there and was stood stationary outside the door to his old bedroom.

"Everything okay?" he asked, watching her carefully, wondering what it was that made her stop there. Had she done it before? He wondered. Had she been in?

Sian nodded and turned towards him slowly. He was just in boxer shorts, tray in hand, which was home to a pot of tea, 2 cups, croissants, butter, and jam.

"Do you want to go in?" he asked, too curious to hold his tongue.

Sian shook her head, "No...no," she paused.

"It's okay if you do," he assured, shuffling on his feet.

"Honest. I know you don't like it...I don't even know why I stopped. It's good that you can escape it, you know...shut the door on it."

Sinclair frowned, "Are you sure you're okay? Are you not cold standing there in just that towel?"

"No, not really," she answered, which concerned Sinclair. Sian's body didn't like being bare, layers were her natural habitat.

"Into the bedroom with you." He smiled at her, masking his worries.

Sinclair watched her walk past the door, not looking at it again, straight into the bedroom. He followed, placed the tray down on the chest of drawers, and then walked over to her as she was repositioning her towel. He turned her towards him and covered her forehead with his hand, checking to see if she was overly warm, worried she may be unwell. She wasn't.

"What are you doing?" she asked with a giggle.

"Checking to see if you have a temperature. It's not like you to walk around in so little...you're acting a bit peculiar."

Swatting his hand away, she felt awkward. She didn't want him to think she was acting peculiar. She didn't want him to worry. What she wanted was to enjoy the hours they had left together before two hellish days. She smiled and cloaked her arms around his bare stomach.

Satisfied that she didn't have a high temperature and now distracted by her closeness, Sinclair reached for her cheek, where he brushed his knuckles along her smooth skin. She closed her eyes, enjoying his touch and the comfort she had thought about.

"I'm fine."

"Good." He smiled and leaned down, pressing his lips against hers. "Good morning...I missed waking next to you."

"I'm sorry, didn't want to wake you. You looked so..." sexy "peaceful."

"Wake me next time," he whispered near her ear. Had it meant to be so sultry? Her hair dampened his cheek, making him frown, "your hair is still soaked. Stay there."

"Where are you going?"

"To get you another towel," he replied as if it were obvious.

"I have one...and it is rather large," she flirted with a smirk before slowly opening her towel as a flower exposes itself to the sun. His eyes shone; bright and fevered. "I'm sure this one could be used to dry my hair."

Sinclair nodded, his gaze distracted by the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips. Sian turned and peeked over her shoulder, to see Sinclair fixated on her backside. Her heart thrummed with nerves and anticipation. This was still new. Frightening.

Clearing her throat, Sinclair's eyes shot up and met hers over her snowy shoulder. He flicked his hair to the side and proceeded to dry the ends of her long brown locks. Working his way up until he reached her scalp, massaging it. She sighed and closed her eyes before leaning back into him.

"I think that'll do," Sinclair whispered and threw the towel to the side.

Sian turned back around just in time for Sinclair to capture her lips. His hot hands, stark against her cool skin, crept around her neck and she lead him to the bed. Quickly, his back was flat against the mattress and Sian was straddling his hips. He moved his fingers through her hair, gathering it in his fist behind her head, so it didn't impede the meeting of their tongues.

Sian's soft, heavy breasts fell against his chest as she plundered his mouth. The sounds of his pleasure were satin. Smooth and faint. She lifted up, sitting back further down his thighs and Sinclair chased her kisses but was pushed back until he was lying down once more.

His grey boxers were stretched, constrictive but he remained calm. His eyes hooded and lusting, waiting for Sian to touch him.

"Can I?" she asked, never moving her eyes from his for a moment. She wanted this. She just had to focus on him.

"Of course, darling," he purred richly with need.

With only an air of hesitation, Sian watched as Sinclair's eyes grew wider and his mouth fell open as she released him through the opening in his uncomfortable boxers. She nervously teased him but when her fingertips stopped stroking and she grasped him, he hissed and lifted his hips.

As much as he willed himself to, he could not keep his eyes open for her. The hands that he so adored, her hands, felt more like silk than ever. Burning silk. She was often so soft and tender with him, which is how she started her movements but with excitement at his appreciative groans, her grip tightened. He tensed, clenched his teeth, and pushed his head back revealing his jugular as his senses blurred into a throbbing passion. Reaching out, he grabbed hold of her waist, pressing his fingertips into her supple body over and over, desperately holding on for as long as he could.

"Sinclair," she whispered, loosening the insatiable hold she had over him.

Slowly, his eyes opened. Her long, damp hair fell around her, the sun shining on her alabaster skin, reflecting all its glory in her. Sinclair pushed himself up on his hands and bumped the end of her nose with his own.

"We don't have to continue," he assured before grazing his lips against hers. Their faces connected. The faint stubble tickling Sian's cheeks and chin, as they each explored each other.

"I disagree," she whispered, her eyes closed, a shaky smile playing at the corners of her mouth "Where are..."

Words were halted by the sweet tongue of her companion gliding over her bottom lip and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, her mouth opened instinctively for him. Then, she was in his grasp, his arm wrapped tightly around her lower back while the other reached for her breast. Fingers slid around her dark pink nipple then squeezed before he kneaded hungrily. Sian's eyes closed tighter and her kisses faltered, moaning his name into the hollow of his mouth. She was the nectar he so craved.

Holding her tighter, he lifted her off his lap and lead her to lie down. It wasn't quite as smooth as Sinclair thought in his head though, as he was quickly knocked off his balance, leading them to fall less than graciously to the bed.

"Oww," Sian moaned, "You're on my hair."

"Shit, sorry...sorry," he quickly apologised, feeling abashed at how useless he was.

Sian laughed softly, "It's okay. I think that was my fault, wasn't quite expecting you to pick me up."

Still, in an embarrassing state, he looked away but Sian placed her hand on both sides of his face and turned him back to her.

"I don't think we've ever been this...close," she said with a sigh as she shuffled underneath his sturdy frame. The height of his excitement was very evident in the suppleness of her inner thigh.

Sinclair looked like a puppy, his hazel eyes were wide and innocent. "Did I spoil the moment?"

Sian shook her head and smoothed her hands down his neck and over his shoulders before shuffling again, widening her legs so Sinclair fit perfectly between them. "It's okay to laugh together...I hope so anyway."

Touched by her care and consideration, he smiled and relaxed. Well, as relaxed as a man can be, whilst naked in between the woman of his dream's legs. She was so soft against him and every slight movement she made below his harder body, led to a delicious vibration from his cock to his lower back. He pushed back, feeling Sian's soft curls brush against his lower belly. Her body stiffened and her fingers tensed into his sides, where she was holding him.

Sian lifted her head to his, kissed his lips chastely. She nearly lost herself then. "Protection, Sinclair," she reminded him, her fingers tapping where they lay.

Quickly, he lifted himself onto one arm and leaned over her body, opening the top drawer. She kissed his collarbone and ran her short nails up and down his sides.

"Stop that," he squirmed and they both chuckled, before Sinclair was back, the small silver wrapper in his hands. "Are you sure about this?"

"I am. Are you?"

Sinclair felt his chest restrict and his heart flood. "I think you might be everything I've ever wanted."

Too scared of her reply, he immediately kissed her. Rougher than before and she reciprocated just as fiercely. Dropping the condom near the side of her head, he ran his hand down over her breasts, stomach, and through her curls before applying the lightest amount of pressure against her swollen bud of nerves. She hummed into his mouth and then bit his bottom lip.

Lips soon fought for power, and tongues clashed wildly as Sinclair continued his gentle ministrations. His slicked fingers slid further down and he tentatively pushed at her entrance. Feeling Sian's tight warmth wrap the tips of his middle and ring finger. He wondered briefly if he'd even be able to control himself once he was inside of her.

He hooked upwards and massaged with the tips of his fingers, enticing her to tighten around him further. Sinclair turned the attention of his mouth to her lavender-scented neck, he much preferred the papaya but she was still delightful and a lot warmer now. The slight taste of salt on his tongue as he licked her neck before sucking, pricked his tongue. 

Sian wanted more, she was rocking her hips to meet his fingers but she wanted him wholly. She released the grip she had on him and felt around her head for the condom. The cold wrapper hit the side of her hand and she made a grab for it. Sinclair was distracted by her movements, his eyes ablaze when he saw what she had. He had the smile of a much younger man. Cheeky and hopeful.

"You're going to need to remove those," Sian said with a smirk on her face, then licked her lips at the sight of him sitting up between her legs. Hard and proud.

She opened the wrapper as he removed his boxers, where they soon joined the towel on the floor. Not wanting to waste any time, Sian readied the condom and placed it over Sinclair's near throbbing head.

He swallowed back a faint whimper, "You don't have to do that."

"I want to," she replied, looking up at him.

Even the way she looked at him was going to be a problem in a minute. He was nervous. So very nervous, that he was going to ruin what had been a perfect morning.

The cold material slid down his warm shaft and Sinclair ran his hands through her hair, massaging the back of her scalp with blunt nails, careful not to grasp her hair too tightly in excitement.

When she was done, she placed a small kiss on the end of his cock. It had the desired effect. Sinclair's legs flexed and his eyes fluttered shut.

"Keep that up and we might not make it much further," he whispered as he lay back down between her legs. His chest hairs tickled her breasts and the heaviness of his erection lay between the folds of her womanhood before he laced his hands between their bodies and lined himself up to finally join their longing.

Sinclair's forehead hovered above Sian's, he wanted to see her, wanted to make sure she still wanted him and she did. Raising her hips, she gave him his final permission. He held his breath and pushed ever so slightly. 

Biting her bottom lip, the slight burning feeling took her by surprise. She didn't realise that she dug her nails painfully into his shoulders until he winced. 

"Sorry," she whispered and pulled back.

"God, darling, don't be. You feel...fuck...amaz..." he pushed into her further until their bodies were flush, "amazing" he finally panted and dropped his forehead onto hers. He gave himself a second, he was right earlier, this was both the best and worst feeling. Sian's eyes were closed and she breathed deeply through her nose.

"Are you okay?" Sinclair asked, concerned he'd hurt her. He cupped her cheek and dipped his mouth to hers, rousing her eyes to open. "Sian, are you okay?"

Was she okay? She'd managed to get to this point, with only a near hiccup.

She swallowed back her concerns and slid her hand down his side once more, this time she squeezed his bum, pulling him closer to her. "You feel really good, too."

Sinclair sighed a small laugh and began to move slowly. It was a tender pace, and Sian could feel how he was trying to be so gentle with her. How he held his weight and stroked her, all while he kissed her with a simmering ache of passion. Lips lingering as their breaths became one. This wasn't fucking. It was so much more. More than Sian had felt before. She let go. Her head relaxed into the cushy duvet below her, her cheek pressing into it as Sinclair grazed his teeth against the lobe of her ear.

"Si...Siannn," he whispered, for her ears only. For he had never felt like this, either.

Their hips felt out a rhythm, one that had sped up but still remained as languid, long strokes of pleasure for the two of them. Lifting her legs, she wrapped herself around Sinclair and rocked against him, so every thrust brushed against her clit. Again, she had grabbed hold of his bum, this time with both hands.

"Just like that," she moaned quietly, "but harder." She looked away, feeling too needy.

Sinclair did as he was instructed, his hips snapping harder and his breaths becoming heavier and louder. He kissed and sucked wherever his lips landed, his eyes closing briefly before he forced them open again. He wanted to see her. See her pleasure but he was holding the last of his resolve as he felt tingles run through his back. Sian clenched her legs tight around him, bucked once, then twice, and moaned somewhere deep in her throat as Sinclair hit her clit a final time before he himself buried his head into her neck and jolted as his orgasm gripped him.

Their chests heaved against each other. Sinclair was the first to move, carefully raising his head to see the woman he could feel so vividly below him.

"Beautiful," he mused then lay his head against her rising chest.  

Chapter Text

As promised but much to his disappointment, Sinclair drove Sian to work. As tempting as it was for her to stay entwined with him, she could not call in sick on Christmas Eve but as buildings became familiar, signifying they were close to La Croix, Sian found herself restless. Her fingers played nervously between each other as Sinclair chatted about some last-minute Christmas shopping. It wasn’t a mistake she repeated silently in her head. She looked over at him, keeping her movements slow so as to not to distract him from the road. No, she thought, it wasn’t a mistake, Sinclair could never be a mistake.

Reaching over the gear stick, she rested her hand on his thigh and sat back a bit more comfortably in her seat. Sinclair covered her hand with his own and continued through the slow Christmas traffic, planning in his head how he could get as much time with her as possible over the Christmas period.

The car came to a stop outside La Croix and their mutual reluctance to part ways hung in the small space between them. Sinclair leaned over first, brushing the end of his long nose against her warm cheek before he kissed it.

“I’ll see you tonight?” he whispered quietly, kissing her again, she nodded her response as she guided his lips to hers. It was gentle, familiar...comforting. Sian needed comfort today, more than Sinclair could understand. “I’ll pick you up after work then.”

“You don’t have to,” she reassured him again, for what felt like the hundredth time, “you have plans tomorrow.”

“No more discussion on it…” Sinclair paused, he knew he was being greedy, needy even, but he wanted more time, “and how about lunch?”

Sian’s hands stopped stroking his side and she moved back into her seat, closer to the door, closer to exiting.

“I could pick us something up, eat in the car, just to give you a break…” he continued but it was hard to miss Sian’s sudden change in demeanour as her eyes stayed fixed on the radio.

“Erm, it’s quite hard on today…” fuck “Christmas Eve...you know...busy.”

Sinclair frowned, “Is something the matter?”

Sinclair had nearly forgotten about her odd behaviour back at the house but now she was clamming up again, he was reminded of it.

A knock on the window startled both of them.

“Steamy windows…” Perry cooed from the other side of the glass, “you dirty, dirty teenagers.”

“I should go,” Sian sighed and leaned over, pecking Sinclair’s cheek. He stopped her retraction with a hand on her forearm, taking her in for a moment, trying to figure out if he had done something wrong.

“Call me if you need anything…” Sian smiled at his show of care as he finished his offer, “I mean it.”

“I know,” she assured him, more and more confident that Sinclair was a man of his word.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers before letting go of her arm. Perry’s face, cupped by her hands appeared through the misty window.

“Put him down!” her voice muffled through the glass.

“Sorry about her…” she smirked, “excuse me,” Sian reached behind her and opened the door swiftly, knocking Perry back slightly.

She took it in her usual stride, laughing as she quickly composed herself and ducked her head through the door.

“Morning, Batman.”

“Good morning...Robin,” he replied, shaking his head and returning his hands to the leather steering wheel.

“I do look good in spandex,” she tittered.

“Right, move, now, you peeping Tom,” Sian shooed her away from the car and hopped out.

“Not my bag really but it was entertaining enough.”

“Have a great day, you two,” Sinclair declared warmly, leaning over the passenger seat, waving them off.

“Pray for me,” Sian chuckled as she was pulled away by Perry, who was eager to know all about last night’s Christmas party.

*

“Jen get you that necklace, Perry?” Sian asked before her friend could bombard her with question after question.

Perry looked down at the teardrop necklace and shook her head, “No, Jimmy did...last night after work. I thought he’d better at least see me wearing it once out of politeness.”

She shrugged her shoulders as if it was no big deal but the continued adoration from her co-worker had started to raise questions with her girlfriend. She put the necklace on after leaving her flat this morning, so as not to fan the flames of jealousy any further.

“It’s pretty...looks expensive. Do you think it was wise taking it?” Sian questioned, knowing this may only encourage Jimmy’s admirations more.

“Bit rude to decline a Christmas present isn’t it?”

Sian sighed, “I suppose so.”

“Any idea what Sinclair has for you?”

Sian shook her head as she began to take off her scarf, “Not a clue.” She shrugged out of her coat and packed away her bag before pinning her hair up, ready to start prepping the kitchen. She was being rougher with herself than normal, she’d shoved her belongings into her bag far more haphazardly than ever, pulled her hair too harshly into submission, leaving behind a sting at the roots.

“Stephen’s coming today,” she declared bluntly.

“Shit...sorry, I totally forgot it was today.” How could she forget it was today? It’s not like they hadn’t done this last year, or the year before that. Perry walked up behind her friend and wrapped her arms around her, feeling like the shittiest friend in the world in that moment. She wasn’t even going to make the excuse of her auditions, work, Christmas, and parties.

“I’m going to have to leave at lunch, straight away, you’ll chip in for me?”

“Of course, it’s for your brother, if anyone says anything, I’ll deal with them,” Perry replied and felt Sian breathe in deeply before finally making eye contact with the shorter, red-haired woman.

Her voice quivered, “Thank you.”

“Look sharp,” Jimmy interrupted as he swept into the staff room, doing his best at disguising the look of guilt he wore on his face. He had been eavesdropping, hoping to hear if his gift had been a success or not. “Andre is one hell of a mood, and Julien is here.”

Perry immediately rolled her eyes. Julien was the owner of La Croix and aside from having enough money to start the restaurant, he was fairly clueless about the business as a whole. He showed his face when he had to but as far as anyone was concerned, today he didn’t have to.

*

Whilst most of Sinclair’s office was closed for a few much-needed holiday days, the business never stopped. Not really. Security was still manning the large office complex that the business was situated in, and was more than used to the higher-ups or the yearning young ’uns edging for a promotion, coming and going all through the Christmas period.

He greeted them as he passed through, heading straight for the glass lifts, his hands in his pockets and a Christmas tune humming deeply from his throat.

With little distraction around him, other than his own mind, which seemed to only feature the events of that morning, Sinclair worked. With a grin that seemed unfailing. His pen scrawled tirelessly along small yellow post-it notes that he slotted in-between files. Business that would have to be done as soon as things were back up and running fully, but if he got it prepared today then it wouldn’t be such an arduous task for him and Mandy when her holiday ended.

It took a while for his writing hand to cramp; he put down the pen and stretched out his fingers before pulling the thick knit jumper over his head. It ruffled his hair and the small push of his hand through it didn’t do much to calm the mess his partial undressing had made.

“Knock, knock.” Sinclair’s door opened. He looked up from his desk, his eyebrow raised, recognising the voice immediately and being most disappointed at it just as quickly. 

Ah, nepotism incarnate, Sinclair scoffed inwardly.

“Roger…you can just knock on the door, you know?” Sinclair glibly pointed out. 

Roger shrugged his shoulders. It was known far and wide that the man in his office loved himself. And why wouldn’t he? His father, who practically ran the company alongside George Lancaster, paved the way for him. Roger had become near untouchable within the company. Near. Sinclair would find his weak spot eventually and besides, Sinclair was far better at his job than he was. Something Roger knew but would never admit to. 

“You look a little...tired Sinclair,” Roger reached into the back pocket of his tight designer jeans, and pulled out a comb, “want to borrow this?”

Sinclair smiled, hiding his true feelings towards the pompous idiot, and ran his hand through his hair once again. “I’m fine, thanks”

Roger sniffed, then ran the comb through his slicked dark hair.

“Something I can help you with?” Sinclair asked, watching him slot the comb back, hoping he would get out of his slightly static, disheveled hair.

“Good party last night, wasn’t it?” Roger grinned, closed the door, and leaned his back against it, “met your friend...Sarah?”

Sinclair clenched his jaw. “Sian.”

“That’s it,” he clicked his fingers. “Sian.”

Sinclair didn’t like the way her name sounded on his tongue. He frowned, thinking about the party, “I don’t really recall seeing you…”

“We were outside,” Roger interrupted, “she was very nice. Great dress. Flirty…I was hoping to get her number…you two aren’t you? Are you?”

Sinclair valued his job. Valued his position in the company. Valued his privacy and above all valued his propensity for level headedness but this was pushing him.

“I think you know we certainly are, Roger. So whatever this is,” Sinclair shook his hands in front of him “drop it.”

With his hands held in front of him, in mock surrender, Roger laughed. “Easy Sinclair. She just...didn’t make it obvious. Maybe you should be a little...firmer with her.”

Sinclair pushed his chair further into his desk and looked back at his work. Not that he could see any of it. All he could see was rage but he held firm. “Have a good Christmas, Roger.”

That was his final word. And it left a chilly feel in the warm office.

“Merry Christmas Sinclair. Say hi to Sian for me.”

Before he could snap, Roger was gone.

“Ridiculous,” Sinclair whispered as his head fell into his hands. Had she flirted with him? She’d been fractious and nervous when she got back to the party. She’d certainly been gone long enough. That’s who she was with then, he conceded.

Flirted? “No, no, no,” he muttered. Sure, Sian was friendly, charming but she wouldn’t flirt with someone else there. But isn’t that how it always started? A bit of harmless flirting? A look? A smile? Sinclair felt himself spiralling downward. The office felt too hot, his clothes restrictive.

“Stop...stop,” he told himself. There was no way he was going to let himself believe Roger’s shit. He knew Sian. Trusted her. He felt guilty that for a brief moment he doubted her.

Looking at his watch, he saw the day drawing towards the end of the Christmas lunch shift. She didn’t want to have lunch and that was fine but he needed to see her. Just briefly. To apologise in any way he could, because he had been stupid enough to let Roger get under his skin. Maybe that would deal with the guilt.

*

Julien had watched over the shift, marched through the kitchen, and sucked up to the customers. It was infuriating but there wasn’t much time to dwell on that, not with hungry people to feed, and when per head cost as much as it did on Christmas Eve, things had to be perfect and on time. Andre was sour and hungover but he hid it well for Julien’s eyes. The master pretender he was.

As soon as the shift ended and the doors were locked for the afternoon break, Julien pulled in all the wait staff into the small office near the staff room. Sian looked at the clock in the staff room, knowing she had little time and she had to go. She was pulling off her apron when Jimmy came in, scratching the back of his neck and biting his lip.

“What do you think that’s about?” He asked Sian. He kept the door open with his foot, peaking out through the crack he had left.

“No idea. Probably not happy with their speed or something stupid.”

“Hope so,” Jimmy replied forlornly. “Shhh, they’re coming," he suddenly waved. 

Shh? Sian thought, she wasn’t even saying anything.

Jimmy watched his colleagues file out of the room, their faces long and miserable. “

“What’s going on?” He whispered but they just shrugged past him. “Where’s Perry?”

Sian checked the clock again, she couldn’t focus on Julien’s drama. She locked the bathroom door and quickly changed, shoving her uniform into her bag and zipping it up. She pulled her hair out and checked her face in the small round mirror.

As she left the bathroom, Jimmy was still waiting.

“Something’s going on…”

“I’m really sorry, Jimmy, I’ve got to go,” Sian rushed past him and made her way to the back door, the one that lead off the kitchen.

Rounding the corner from the alley, there he was, right on time and waiting for her.

*

Finding a decent bunch of flowers on Christmas Eve wasn’t the easiest but Sinclair had done the best he could with what little time he had. Once the meagre bouquet of flowers was in hand, he rushed the 15-minute walk across town, feeling far more stupid than he had when he left the office. She didn’t deserve his problems, his unfounded doubt.

He checked his watch again, they’d be closed now, so at least he wouldn’t feel like a huge burden. He would be in and out in 5 minutes. The restaurant fronts he passed were familiar, all leading to La Croix. About 5 or 6 more and he’d be there.

But he didn’t need to wait. Sian came around from the back, the small alley that lead down the restaurant to their bins. Sinclair had been through there before at the end of shifts. He was about to call out but stopped when Sian put her arms around the shoulders of a man he wasn’t familiar with. Or not, formally familiar with anyway. There was a slight resemblance to someone.

The unknown man kissed her, not on her mouth but not quite on her cheek either. A little too close for comfort. Sinclair’s stomach dropped and he quickly leaped into the doorway of another restaurant, out of sight.

They laughed softly together, hugged again and as they walked off in the other direction, he playfully smacked her bum before wrapping his arm around her.

Sinclair slumped against the restaurant’s glass doors. What had he just seen? She didn't want to meet for lunch with him because she had plans with someone else. Someone she clearly knew very well. Sinclair's ears buzzed, drowning the noise of cars and voices. 

“Sir, are you okay?” A tapping roused Sinclair from his stupor. It was a waiter from the restaurant. “Do you need something?”

Sinclair pulled himself away, telling himself what he had seen was just...what was it? It was…playful, loving. Flirty. Sinclair swallowed, straightened himself up, and walked towards La Croix but before he could even try to get in the building, Perry came running out of the same Alley.

“It’s bullshit,” she cried, “Fucking Julien and fucking Andre. I bet it was him, the fucking drunk fuck,” she continued, seemingly to no one, until Jimmy came jogging behind her.

“Perry. Wait. It’s just…we can sort it. They’ve got it wrong obviously. Talk to Julien.” Jimmy sounded desperate. 

“Fuck him,” she shouted again over her shoulder and crossed the street, ignoring everyone staring at her and the sounds of car horns blasting at her. 

Sinclair, still feeling unsteady on his feet stopped Jimmy flying into the street of traffic after her. “What’s going on?”

Jimmy pulled his arm out of Sinclair’s grip and was about to push him away before he realised who it was. “Nothing...sor...sorry Sinclair...just a misunderstanding.”

“Maybe give her a minute.”

“I’ve gotta help her…” Jimmy looked close to tears.

“Just a minute,” Sinclair repeated calmly, even though he felt anything but calm. His heart felt like it would soon beat out of his chest. 

The kitchen worker huffed and slumped his shoulders, giving into Sinclair's advice. "Yeah okay."

“Jimmy...do you know...who Sian was seeing today?” Sinclair couldn't help but ask. 

Jimmy shook his head, his mind not really on Sian’s social life at that precise moment. He didn’t answer.

“Jimmy?” 

He said all he knew. “She mentioned something about her brother earlier...it was nice seeing you Sinclair but I need to go.”

Jimmy didn’t see the devastation on Sinclair’s face. But Sinclair felt it all over his body. He wanted to wretch. To bring up the little he had in his stomach. How could she? How could it happen again?

He stood on the pavement, alone but surrounded by people getting on with their merry little lives, until chills seeped into his clothes and ran through him. He never wanted to see her again.

With little regard to the traffic he had pulled Jimmy out of, Sinclair crossed the road and shut himself into the red phone box. He lunged his hand into his pocket for change and shakily tapped in the number he needed.

After a few rings, the call was answered.

“Mandy. I’m so sorry to do this to you. I...I need your help…” Sinclair almost sobbed, “I need a ferry crossing to France. Tonight if possible. I’ll pay whatever.”

“Is everything okay?” Mandy asked concerned and confused, “Are your parents okay?”

“Yes...yeah as far as I know. I just...I just need to see them.” It was a lie. He just needed to escape. 

Mandy shuffled the phone from one ear to the other, “Two tickets?”

Sinclair paused and bit his lip until he could taste blood. “N...no. Just one.”

Chapter Text

"Sian, Dr Kennedy will see you now," the young, petite receptionist stood in front of her, ready to escort her to the office. She was new but she seemed nice.

Sian stood, pushing her over the body handbag to the side, where it sat on her hip. As she followed the receptionist, she pushed her now shorter hair behind her ear. It tickled the back of her neck where it ended, a feeling she was still getting used to.

As usual, Dr Kennedy, or Sarah, which she often had to remind Sian to call her, was waiting with a smile. Sian had been worried when she finally forced herself back into Dr Kennedy's care. She'd taken her back on as a patient only weeks before she disappeared on her again but Sarah was just glad she was okay.

Dr Kennedy allowed Sian to get comfy and settle herself in before beginning to ask about her week. Which had been uneventful, except for the haircut. Sarah complimented it, saying it suited her, and asked if she felt it was more practical for work.

"So last week," the doctor began, "we started the lead up to Christmas, your last visit here before then and you said you thought you were ready to talk about Christmas and what followed."

Sian nodded and agreed quietly, already feeling an uncomfortable constriction in her chest.

"We don't need to rush," Dr Kennedy could see her anxiety already, "we set this at your pace, remember?"

"I think six months...well, it's not really a rush is it?" Sian asked.

"It's different for everyone," she reassured Sian, as she sat back in her chair and pushed her wide rimmed glasses higher up her nose.

"I don't want to waste anymore time. You know I'm 30 now...and well, it suddenly feels like time is ticking away. My mom died when she was 58...something my dad keeps reminding me about," Sian paused on that thought, "30 more years, if I'm lucky."

"Or it could be 70 more years...many people who have lost loved ones struggle with their mortality. It's common. It sort of sets us in a race against time, which can make anxieties worse as we then tend to pressure ourselves to reach goals at a certain point."

"I suppose...I just don't want to keep holding myself back. I want to talk about it. I'm ready. Honestly." She smiled nervously at Sarah, and rubbed the palms of her hands over her jeans. It was getting hotter by the day.

"Okay," nodded the doctor, ready to listen, "so where do you want to begin?"

"Christmas Eve."

6 months earlier.

There was a sombre atmosphere in the back of La Croix when Sian rushed back in 5 minutes late. Her absence had gone unnoticed though, as most of her colleague's heads were down, appearing focussed on their tasks.

She had no time to concern herself with the atmosphere though, as Andre shoved a tray in her hands, whilst making a comment on her tardy nature. Which was rich coming from him, but she bit her tongue and continued on, feeling it best not to start an argument at that precise moment. The work would be a good distraction from her "lunch break" anyway.

The rush of orders coming through and her efforts to stay out Andre's path did distract her. Distracted her for many hours, until Jimmy dropped a plate, smashing it in front of the kitchen audience.

Andre blew. "You stupid boy, get that cleaned up. Now. I don't want to see one little piece left, do you understand me? Or you'll be gone just like your idiotic friend."

At this, Sian looked to Jimmy. She hadn't wanted to make eye contact with him when he was being berated, like it wasn't embarrassing enough for him. His eyes seemed to fill with tears but he quickly dropped to the floor and started collecting the remnants of China that once formed a plate.

"Who's gone?" Sian asked naively. Not understanding what he had meant by it. Then it clicked. Perry had been taken to the office and she'd not seen her flitting in and out of the kitchen as she usually would. She had been too distracted. "Where's Perry?"

Staff looked to themselves and back at Sian, who felt like a prize idiot and a selfish friend for not realising sooner.

"Would someone like to tell me what the fuck is going on?" Sian near shouted as no one answered her.

Andre threw down the cloth that hung over his shoulder. "She's gone...and that is the end of the conversation. Have a problem, take it to the office."

Sian moved from her station to do just that but Andre intercepted her, "On your own time, or you can leave too."

Sian backed down but as soon as she could, rushed to the phone in the staff room and dialled Perry's number. There was no answer and after the fourth attempt, Sian had run out of time.

Jimmy avoided her his whole shift and left the first moment he could, nudging past Sian's shoulder muttering that she hadn't been there to help.

As soon as the kitchen was cleaned and dismantled for the evening, Sian tried to barge into the office, only to find it locked.

"Fuck sake," she hissed under her breath, feeling overly frustrated at everyone's silence.

"He's gone," Andre spoke from behind her as he lit the end of his cigarette. It was obvious he was enjoying this.

"Obviously," she snapped back and walked past him, "are you leaving? I need to lock up...unless you want to?" She asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Don't want to stay for a Christmas drink?" Andre asked after taking a long puff on his cigarette.

"I'd rather drink sewage water."

Andre tutted, "you Englishwomen...so classless."

Sian was in no entertaining mood. "Thank you," she replied then crossed her arms, waiting for him to leave. He made a point of finishing his cigarette before moving, then cleared his tobacco filled throat as he walked away from her.

Sian closed up as quickly as possible and, knowing Sinclair should be outside waiting, planned to ask him to take her over to Perry's flat. When she got outside, there was no sign of Sinclair's Jaguar, so she wrapped her coat around herself and waited. Bobbing up and down to try to produce some heat.

She checked her watch, it was way past the time Sinclair would arrive. Sian worried but knew Sinclair had a lot of commitments over the next few days. Visits with friends. Presents to exchange. She hoped he had just lost track of time. Either way, it was probably best for her to check in with him. She crossed the road with relative ease, due to how late it was; most people would be tucked up in their homes, enjoying the Christmas Eve with loved ones she imagined.

Opening the door of the red phone box, she bundled in and searched her bag for loose change. Little did she know as she picked up the receiver of the public telephone that Sinclair had used it earlier that day. A phonecall that had lead to Mandy securing him a ticket on the last ferry of the day, from Dover to Calais.

Just as earlier, her call had gone unanswered. She left a message, explaining that something had happened with Perry at work and she was going over there and she'd let him know what was happening as soon as she did. She then rang her own flat, to see if he had already gone back there, perhaps he had fallen to sleep, she thought. Again, no answer.

In the taxi to Perry's, Sian tried to shake the odd feeling she had about Sinclair. He was never usually late and for such a busy man, she never had a hard time getting a hold of him.

Present day

"I got to Perry's, she was upset, obviously. She'd been sacked on the spot and not given a chance to defend herself. I'm not even sure that that's legal but...it happened and it was shit," Sian wiped her hands down her jeans again. "So we opened a bottle of wine and I consoled her, I thought about calling Sinclair again but at some point during those early hours, we must have got too comfortable and fell to sleep together on her sofa. I didn't wake up until the morning, I left Perry to sleep and tried to call him but he didn't answer again. So, I left another message."

Six months ago. Christmas Day.

"Hey Sinclair," Sian began her message, after hearing the beep of the answerphone, as she smoothed her knotted hair back, "I'm still at Perry's but will have to head home to get some clean clothes and then go to work. I'm really sorry for last night, it was important and I'll explain it all when I see you. I'll call you later or if you get this, call me...I'm starting to get a bit nervous. Sorry, you're probably fine...anyway, I'll see you later. Bye."

She replaced the phone and bit the inside of her lip, where was he?

"You didn't have to stay," grumbled a mass of red hair that was poking out from under a blanket on the sofa.

Sian half sighed, half laughed. "I know but what do we always say, 'chicks before dicks,' which honestly isn't fair because you don't even like dicks." Sian was trying to start the day on a more cheerful note than last night had ended.

"Urgh, please don't talk about dicks so early in the morning," Perry groaned and pulled the blanket over her head completely.

"Merry Christmas," Sian sighed, sitting down on the ground in front of the sofa.

Perry mumbled her reply, "Piss off,"

"You don't mean that."

The blanket was thrown off her head and Sian finally saw Perry's puffy eyes and red cheeks. "No...I didn't. Sorry."

"Oh shut up, don't make it weird and apologise," Sian shuffled awkwardly in her spot.

"Got time for a coffee?" Perry asked, sitting up.

Sian checked her watch, it was still fairly early. "Yeah."

Perry yawned and stretched out her arms "Good, two sugars please."

Sian's eyes widened at the cheek of it but laughed, "cheeky cow," she joked before standing up and walking to Perry's small, understocked kitchen.

"I think there's some Rice Krispies in the cupboard if you want some," Perry shouted through.

Sian popped her head around the door, "are you trying to tell me you're hungry as well?"

Perry patted her stomach, "Famished, mate."

The two sat on the sofa, under the blanket and ate bowls of Rice Krispies and drank their coffees in relative peace. Perry was still seething and embarrassed but she managed to keep her tears at bay when she told Sian who she thought had actually been stealing from La Croix. Andre, she said.

"I've overheard him on the phone to his girlfriend about his drinking, and gambling. It's got to be him. I just have no way to prove it," Perry shrugged and threw her spoon into the empty bowl.

"I'll keep my eye on him."

"Thanks. Just...let's keep this low key for now. I don't want you getting into any trouble."

Present day

"I watched Andre like a hawk all of Christmas Day. Probably not as suitably as I should have, he definitely noticed. Told me to stop checking him out a number of times," Sian inwardly shuddered at the thought. "I didn't see anything untoward anyway."

Sian paused. Trying to figure out where to go next with the recap. Sarah knew she'd have to give her a little nudge in the right direction.

"Did Sinclair call?"

The light seemed to drain from Sian's eyes at the question, until Sarah could no longer see them as her client inspected her shoes. Her head sullen and low.

There were a few brief moments of silence between the two women.

"No, he didn't and er, I did something quite stupid really because I was concerned. I didn't have his friends numbers and..." there was a shake in Sian's voice.

"Don't force it out," Sarah reminded her gently.

Sian shook her head.

"I went to his house. I had to ask a friend of Perry's to drive me, which was no small ask on Christmas. It was a miracle we actually knew someone sober," the chuckle that came from her mouth was filled with sadness.

Six months ago, Christmas evening.

"I'll wait out here, jus' in case," Rory, the man who so kindly had driven Sian to Sinclair's house offered.

"Thanks, Ror, I owe you big time."

Sian practically jumped out of the car and rushed to the house. There were a few lights on around the place but she still worried. What if he'd had an accident? What if he'd suddenly taken ill and she'd find him collapsed on the floor?

She tried to peer through the windows as she passed them but couldn't see anything. Ringing the doorbell made Sian realise just how much her hands were shaking. It was bitterly cold but she couldn't feel it.

She rang again. And again. And again. Until the click of the lock turned, her heart seemed to relax before it plummeted to the floor.

"What are you doing here?" Sian asked before she even had time to reword the question.

Natalie stood blocking the small space she had made opening the door, giving little access to see in the house.

"Merry Christmas to you, too," she replied with a malicious grin on her face.

Sian stepped towards her, about to push past her but Natalie cut her off.

"I'm here to see Sinclair..."

"He's occupied..."

It was then that Sian really noticed what Natalie was wearing. A silk robe, slightly undone still, revealing something lacy underneath.

All of a sudden, Sian felt very small in the older woman's presence.

"Occupied how?"

"You seem like a smart girl, I think you can figure that one out."

"I don't believe you," Sian protested, but with little fervour as her eyes began to sting. God, she didn't want to cry in front of Natalie.

"Sinclair and I have decided to try again. He needs someone who understands him, understands the circles he's in."

Sian wasn't sure if the ringing in her ears was from the cold or from Natalie's words. Either way she felt off balance.

"You're young, overwhelmed. It's understandable you hid at your first party with him." Natalie's words seemed like they were trying to comfort her but her demeanour was anything but comforting. "Can you see how embarrassing that may have been for him though?"

Sian shook her head in disbelief. Sinclair had told her about that?

"A little word of advice from woman to woman," Natalie closed the door behind her and stood closer to Sian, "Don't offer yourself up so early in the future."

Sian stepped back, she felt sick at the smell of Natalie's perfume and Sinclair's cologne mingled together.
He'd told her everything. The betrayal felt like a knife to the stomach.

Turning, Sian made her way back to the car, she wanted so badly to slap Natalie in the face but she'd stopped herself. Barely.

Finally, away from Natalie's view, Sian let the tears pour heavily down her cold cheeks.

Present day.

"I'm so sorry, Sian," Sarah offered, still looking intently at her patient.

"Perry says I dodged a bullet, getting out so early," Sian wiped a stray tear away "still didn't stop her from wanting to kill him."

Sarah faintly laughed with Sian.

"Have you tried to contact Sinclair since?"

"No..." Sian sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, "sorry, that was a lie. Yes, I have. At work, both times Mandy, his secretary picked up...he never got back to me. I didn't want to seem desperate, so I stopped after that."

The session went on for another 12 minutes, Sian highlighted her trust in people, which was already suffering, had become even worse. Her mental state had become quite fragile in the few months after Christmas, so her and Perry had moved in together. One, so Sian could help Perry with rent and Perry could keep an eye on her friend, although she hadn't outwardly told Sian that.

When the session ended, Sian readied herself to leave, shook Sarah's hand and told her she'd book another appointment at the reception.

"Sian, one thing, if you don't mind me asking?"

Sian closed the ajar door slightly more for privacy.

"No, not at all," she replied.

"Did you ever find out who kept stealing the money?"

Sian clicked her tongue, "It was Jimmy. He wasn't getting paid a lot but he wanted to impress Perry. He stole it for her Christmas present."

"Wow," Sarah reacted, which is something she wouldn't often do.

Sian shook her head, "Yeah. It was one fucked up Christmas."

Chapter Text

Summer, as many people who lived in England knew, didn't always bring about what it should but so far it had exceeded expectations.

Sinclair, with David in tow, left his towering office building and looked up to the sky, framing the top of his eyes with his hand to protect them as best he could until he pulled the sunglasses out of his white linen shirt pocket, placing them carefully on his face.

There was a hesitation in his step as he looked out onto the bustling Saturday street, this would quite possibly be the last time he left that building, and although the feeling was freeing, it was also terrifying.

David slapped his shoulder with his broad, tanned hand.

"You alright?" His friend asked, squeezing the muscle his hand landed on.

Sinclair didn't even think about his answer, simply confirming that he was. His eyes may have told the world differently but they were hidden from view now. In truth, he wasn't alright. He hadn't been for quite some time, well except the brief reprieve that his fleeting romance with Sian had brought about. Since then, he had felt even worse. More so than when his marriage broke down.

The duo walked to a local bar to meet Sylvester. Celebrations were in order, for many reasons. David had finally earned the promotion he had been vying for, for the past 2 years. Sinclair was embarking on a business venture he had been contemplating for some time and Sylvester, well Sylvester's news was yet to be announced.

As the two men entered the bar, Sinclair swept his hair back, slightly dampened by sweat and removed his sunglasses.

"There he issss!" David roared loudly and pounded across the bar to Sylvester, giving him an awkward hug/slap on the back, as men often did. "Where've you been hiding for weeks then?"

Sinclair joined them, greeting Sylvester a little more coolly. He was not quite feeling himself and he could tell by David's demeanour, he was in for quite the day of drinking.

"Jane sends her love to you both," Sylvester chimed after their mutual greetings.

David rolled his eyes. "Jess was chewing my ear off this morning about their lunch."

"Why?" Sinclair asked, just to seem like he was paying attention to him. He'd been blithering on about work and his wife all morning, which was two topics Sinclair couldn't find much empathy for. The idiot was blind to how good his life was.

Sylvester ordered the group three cold beers, keeping an ear on the conversation.

"I organised the babysitter, so she could go out but my mom's getting on a bit now, she didn't want to commit for the whole day, so she's going to need to pick the kids up. Which turned into an argument because apparently I should have offered to get them."

Sylvester and Sinclair gave each other a look, Sinclair's jaw tightening. David seemed oblivious to the fact that Sinclair much preferred his wife's friendship to the one between them, and as much as he didn't like to get between the couple, because it was none of his business, he severely disliked David's attitude when it came to his wife and kids. He was far too old school for Sinclair's tastes.

"Why didn't you?" Sylvester asked.

David shrugged and picked up the pint glass in front of him. "I've been at work all bloody week, I've just earned myself a 10 grand pay rise and so I wanted a day off. It's not too much to ask, is it?"

Just as Sylvester and Sinclair thought his moaning was over, David took a breath and continued.

"Oh, and she wants me to get the bloody snip."

Sylvester grimaced slightly but only because his groin seemed to cower at the thought of it.

"Might not be a bad idea," Sinclair added quickly before the stocky banker could continue. "It's not like you want more kids."

And neither did Jess. Not with David anyway.

"God no. I love the boys but I think I'd lose the last of my hair if we had another. Although, think Jess could do with a girl. Did I tell you Daniel is doing dance classes now? We have to go watch him prance about tomorrow."

Sinclair scowled, "don't be an arse, it's not 1953."

Old school indeed. Before marriage, Jessica had been an artist and an excellent one at that but she put that to the backburner, for the sake of looking after the house and the boys.

"Wait til you have kids," he replied, as if he was the master of parenting.

Not likely, Sinclair thought.

Sylvester took his moment. "Well, I'll let you know in about 5 and half months."

"What?" Sinclair asked, a smatter of a smile beginning to form as he began piecing together Sylvester's meaning.

"Jane's pregnant. We had it all confirmed at the hospital last week. The baby is doing well."

Sinclair's smile burst open. It wasn't often talked about but there had been some issues for the couple in terms of conceiving. Sinclair knew they had been trying for a few years but never did ask any more than was necessary when Sylvester brought it up.

"That's brilliant," he exclaimed, throwing an arm around his friend, "happy for you, mate. Truly."

"Thanks, Sinc. It's just a shame you won't be around for it." There was a sense of melancholy in his friend's voice.

"I'll come to visit," he assured.

David took a gulp of his drink, quickly congratulated Sylvester with a crass "well done" and then griped slightly about how Jess, come next week, would be off buying stuff for the new baby, he was sure of it.

Now Sylvester had made his happy and excitable announcement, he could finally sit down. The suggestion left a space for a moment of quiet. A space for the three men to settle down at a booth in the far corner of the bar, with a good view of the busy street outside.

Sinclair would miss the city. Some of it that is, there were parts he now made a point of avoiding for fear of bumping into people he would rather not see.

"Frazzle, frazzle," Sian joked behind her. The sun's rays were blessing her pale skin with a slight tan this year, and she was taking full advantage of it. Short denim shorts and a home-made cut t shirt showed off most of her legs, arms and a smidge of her mid riff.

"I'm going to look like a lobster. A bloody lobster with extra sun burn."

Sian snorted and nudged her friend along "come on, I've got the lotion in my bag."

"Saint," her red headed friend beamed, and she followed, watching Sian make a fake halo around her head.

"Speaking of you being such a good friend and a saint," Perry stuttered.

Sian's suspicions raised immediately at the creeping nature of her best friend.

"Yessss?"

"Jen and I have been talking and...we, well we think we want to try living together."

Oh, Sian thought. That's not where she thought the conversation was heading at all.

"Sooo, what are you saying? You're moving out?" Sian inquired, her first thought being worry because paying the rent on the two bed that they now shared would prove tight.

"Well...how would you feel about Jen moving in with us? I don't want to leave you high and dry after you helped me out. And our bedrooms are at least separated by the bathroom so you won't have to hear you know..."

Sian raised an eyebrow at the red head.

"The bow-chicka-wow'wow." Perry weirdly wriggled her hips as she hummed her pornographic tune.

"You're not selling this."

"Damn," Perry moaned.

"Should have let Jen ask," Sian volleyed back, crossing the street between waiting traffic.

"She did say that." Perry was trailing behind, her shorter legs not able to make the same wide strides as Sian.

The obnoxious sound of horns blaring broke their conversation for a moment.

"Oh dear, looks like we're holding up traffic already," Sian laughed.

"Such a shame," Perry laughed, too, adjusting the placard she had under her left arm.

"I don't mind, by the way...Jen moving in."

"No?" Perry asked with a smile.

"Not at all, I like her better than you, anyway."

The joke earned Sian a slap to her bare arm, leaving a slight red mark. Perry laced her arm through her taller friend's, slowing her down to a more suitable pace as they made their way to the meeting point.

"What's going on?" David asked, noticing the attention of his floppy haired friend was not on the conversation but the growing row of cars outside.

"Not a clue," he shrugged.

"Lots of protests around here lately," Sylvester interjected.

"About?"

"Come on, Dave, you can't be that blinkered."

"What? There's a new problem every other week," he tried to defend himself, feeling a bit stupid but hiding it.

Before either men on the other side of the booth could answer, a group passed by the window. A sign written boldly in red.

"One of what?" Sinclair asked, his annoyance rising too fast to manage.

"You know...flippin' puff, minces around the office. I give him a wide berth, I tell ya."

Admittedly, David had already finished three drinks but it didn't give him reason to be such a bigoted twat.

"Come on mate, you can't be saying stuff like that," Sylvester tried to say calmly, "it's about time we got away from that shit. You want to go back to the end of the 70s...80s, where I was getting battered just for being a black man?"

"No, no" David quickly clammed up, "that's completely different. Of course I don't want to go back to those days."

"Well then," Sylvester continued, Sinclair saying nothing as he had no right to, not knowing the life and hardships Sylvester had to live through to find his success, "you can't pick pockets of progress. If we're moving forward, we're all moving forward. It's 1994 and those poor bastards out there are still dying because the government don't give a crap about people who are different."

David played off that he understood but his friends had serious doubts about that. He quickly excused himself to the bathroom, leaving Sylvester and Sinclair a moment for themselves.

"Well said, mate," Sinclair simply praised then said no more.

But, as peaceful a protest it was, there were always going to be people who fought against them. You could hear it, the public shouting back terrible things that Sian would never repeat to anyone, for they were so sickening.

Eventually, the protest broke off as planned, diverging down different streets. Sian and Perry stuck closely together, walking along, in solidarity with their friends. But, the powers that be had apparently had enough for the day.

Their group was met by a line of waiting police. Lined up, unmoving at the end of the street, blocking off their route and blocking any further cars from going down the street.

"Argh, Jesus Christ," Perry moaned loudly as the group came to a halt. People tried to be considerate of their fellow protesters by trying to give them space. It was too hot to be pressed up against each other.

Before the group could turn back, two large police riot vans pulled up at the other end of the street. Sian's heart began to race as she wiped sweat off her forehead. 

The leader pulled up the megaphone that hung around his waist and turned to the crowd. The line of police kept a hard stare.

"I think we'd better get out of here," David suggested after finishing another drink.

He'd watched as the traffic completely disappeared from outside, only to be replaced by people, placards and megaphones blaring.

Chapter Text

The police van rumbled to life and began moving along the city road at a leisurely pace. It's inhabitants less than happy at their arrested state. A chorus of grumbles and moans could be heard, amongst mutterings of profanity and utterances of pain. They had not been treated gently, the various cuts and bruises giving evidence to that.

Neither Sinclair or Sian could utter a word to each other. Where would they even begin? Polite, how are yous? The weather is nice isn't, it? Certainly not. No matter how British they were.

Perry, however, did not hold back.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she spat from across the van, her venom directly aiming for the man who had broken her best friends heart. 

Sinclair lifted his head, breaking the gaze from his lap where his nose had been dripping blood. He wiped what he could along the shoulder of his soft linen shirt, it was already ruined so it didn't matter. Immediately he knew the vitriolic question was for him, and he knew he probably deserved it. No matter how complicated the situation had been, he knew he'd been unfair but his heart couldn't take another beating. So, he had run and never looked back.

Before he could reply, Sian cut in, sending a warning to her friend. "Perry. Don't."

She looked pointedly at Sinclair, a flash of anger coursing through her veins. "It's not worth it."

What the hell was he doing here? Sian let herself think as she ripped her eyes from Sinclair. As far as she was concerned he'd fallen off the face of the fucking planet six months ago, never to re-orbit. Now he was sitting in front of her, bleeding, his amber eyes continuously shifting towards her. 

Sylvester was sat next to Perry looking confused and angry, but refrained from uttering a word. He had no idea what had happened between Sinclair and Sian, as Sinclair had remained tight lipped regarding the whole ordeal. His pregnant wife was also likely to blow her top, so he was trying to figure out a way to tell her diplomatically that he'd been arrested; he was only meant to be going for a few drinks with the boys.

And so, with each of their reasons to, they all sat biting their tongues.

It wasn't long until the van pulled to a complete stop, and the officers in the front exited to let their prisoners out of the humid confinement.

A stocky officer started pulling people out with a heavy hand. It was all so ridiculous, surely they had better things to spend their resources on but apparently not.

"Out!" The officer shouted at Sian, and she wiggled across the seat to get to the end of the bench. When she was close, the officer grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her out, displacing her balance until she almost fell face first into the ground.

"Hey!"

"Oi, watch it!"

Both Perry and Sinclair shouted at the same time in outrage. They held each others gaze, Sinclair's faltering first at the malice in Perry's.

The officer stared blankly at them, unperturbed by their protests.

"Shut it!" he yelled back, "now move down!"

Sinclair exited next holding the stare of the man who had just mishandled Sian. He raised his chin, not giving way this time.

"Move along, pretty boy!" he warned with a shove to his back, flinging him forward towards the station.

Sinclair's head had started to throb in the van, the swollen feeling in his nose running up and along his temple. The heat, which had not given anyone a moment's reprieve all day, bore down on him again, intensifying the pressure in his skull as his head shook from the force of the shove.

"Sinc," called Sylvester from behind him, "don't worry about any of this okay. I'm going to call Jane and she'll go bloody mental at them all. We'll be out in a few hours."

Sinclair didn't much care, he was too focussed on trying to keep his eye on Sian ahead of him. She was clearly in pain from her scuffle with the police as she tried to subtly walk off a limp.

They were herded into the station like cattle. Poked, prodded and yelled at. Within the booking area, they were strictly warned to not utter a word unless spoken to, then divided into men and women. The disdain in which the male officer said men was clear for all to hear. He then warned his other officers to wear their gloves and masks when dealing with them, with no effort to lower his voice.

Everyone felt it. The us and them effect. Already damned by the police before asking any questions.

Perry, who had done her best to remain calm throughout the farcical show of power decided she'd had enough when she was pulled forward to be checked. Kicking and screaming would do nothing but get her a whack around the legs with a baton, so she decided upon a different route. The female officer who was about to deal with her, was in for a treat.

"Ooh officer," Perry groaned crudely, "careful now, yank those cuffs any harder and I might get excited."

It was met with a surly reply of, "Be quiet! I'm going to pat you down, have you got anything on you that might hurt me or that you want to declare."

"In these skimpy shorts...they're just about hiding my massive hard on for your uniform," she continued her overt flirting. 

Sian desperately tried not to chuckle behind her. Only Perry. The smile was soon gone when she turned and saw Sinclair watching her, their eyes meeting for the briefest moment made her heart race uncomfortably.

"I said be quiet," the officer replied far more prickly than the first time.

"Authority kink," Perry expressed, her ginger eyebrows raising into her pale forehead, before she dropped her voice to a whisper, "I quite like that."

The tight bunned officer, who looked like she suddenly might collapse from embarrassment, shook her head as she quickly began running her hands down Perry's petite body.

"Oooh, she's gentle folks," Perry declared loudly, and was met with a crowd of laughter.

"Get her out of here!"

With a smug grin, Perry was pulled to the next room to give her details, whilst Sian stepped forward for her own pat down. Sans flirting.

Sinclair watched with gritted teeth as she winced, the female officer's latex covered hands patting down over cuts and bruises. He'd often wondered what he'd do if he ever saw Sian again; never in his wildest dreams did he think this would be their reintroduction. And as for what he wanted to do, well, that was to simply bundle her up and stop her from any further hurt and humiliation. But he shouldn't feel like that, should be? Not after what she'd done.

Once the long winded facade was over, they were all put into holding cells until decisions were made.

Sian placed herself gently onto the metal bench and leaned her head against the cool concrete wall. The only upside of the debacle. Something cooler than the sticky heat of everything else.

"Can you believe the audacity of him?" Perry practically pounced at Sian with the question. She'd held her tongue, as requested, but now out of Sinclair's earshot she felt free to discuss the matter.

Sian raised her now freed hands to her forehead, wiping sweat from her warmed skin. She shrugged her shoulders, out of energy for a fight or heavy talk.

"I don't know why he's here and I really don't care," she eventually answered. It was a lie. Of course she cared, she'd never stopped caring; one thing she hated herself for. She didn't want to, actively tried not to but it came clawing its way back each night when she turned out the light, and was left with herself.

"Fine," Perry puffed, knowing the stubbornness of her friend; she wasn't going to talk, "but don't go..."

"What, Perry?" Sian nipped.

The redhead held her hands up in mock defence.

"I don't know...I just don't want you to go back to six months ago."

Perry had been there, had wiped back the tears and the confusion. She'd do it again in a heartbeat, of course, but that didn't mean she wanted to.

On the other side of the hallway, Sylvester looked at his bloodied cellmate. Sinclair, body and soul, looked like he'd been through ten rounds in the ring with Mohammed Ali.

"This is bullshit," Sinclair moaned, and those around him agreed in a murmur.

"Are we talking about this?" Sylvester asked, signalling to the cell they'd been left in, "or? Or do you mean that feisty little redhead who looked like she may kill you with her bare hands?"

Sinclair groaned and put his aching head into his hands, leaning forward to his parted knees.

"That's Sian's best friend...and she probably could kill me with her bare hands. I've got to get out of here...I need to talk to Sian."

"Is that wise?" his level headed friend asked, "you're leaving in a few weeks."

The pang of sickness Sinclair felt in his stomach had him breathing heavier. Each breath through his nose was excruciating but he needed to breathe before he threw up all over the floor. That wouldn't make him popular amongst the others, or the police. He was leaving, but now? How could he just leave now, without another glance or word said to Sian. How could he just leave again?

When Jane received a call from her husband hours later, she was relieved he was okay. She stormed into the station, her small bump beginning to show through her summer dress, like a bull being taunted by a Matador.

After much to-ing and fro-ing with the uniformed officers, where threats were made regarding the treatment of her husband, friends and the wider group of people they pulled off the streets, releases were made.

"Don't piss off a pregnant lawyer," Sylvester joked, walking out onto the street with his arm around his wife. The sun was setting, the sky a clash of pinks and oranges.

"Take your own advice," she scowled at him.

"What? You'd have done the same, don't try to deny it."

Jane couldn't deny that he was right but she wasn't about to let him off that easily. This was at least worth an extra long foot rub tonight, she thought. Her overriding feeling was of course pride, for standing up for what was right.

Sinclair was dragging his heels behind the happy couple, hoping to catch Sian but she'd yet to make an appearance. Jane turned, noticing his hesitance.

"Want to come over for some dinner? I suspect you two are starving. I've plenty of wine that I can't drink and paracetamol," she asked, trying to be as persuasive as possible.

Sinclair rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at his shirt. He looked a state; needed a shower, needed something stronger than wine, and most of all, needed to see Sian.

"Jane!" Sian's voice suddenly called from the doorway, Perry was in tow, a vague look of wariness on her face.

Sian bypassed Sinclair, only peeking at him peripherally to check he was okay. He looked exhausted.

"Sian," Jane replied, hugging her softly, "it's good to see you."

"You too. I just wanted to say thank you for speaking some sense in there. I'm sorry you all got dragged into it."

"Yeah...thank you," Perry added, lacing her arm into Sian's territorially. The jolted tension between the group was awkward, and as much as Perry was grateful she also wanted to get both her and Sian out of there as quickly as possible.

Sinclair stayed back, his hands twiddling nervously in front of him, watching Sian give her thanks. She hadn't even acknowledged he was there, and while that wasn't entirely a shock, it caused great shame.

"We should get going but thank you again. It was good to see you...all," Sian forced out her last word. Seeing him again wasn't good, not at all, it just reminded her of how pathetically he had ruined her. 

Perry led Sian away, still holding onto her arm. It was only then that Sinclair stepped forward to join his friends, a lost look on his face as he watched her walk away from him. Jane couldn't hold back.

"If you don't go and talk to her...you'll regret it. And trust me, I'll make bloody sure you don't forget about it." Just the tone of Jane's voice told Sinclair she meant business.

"Bit harsh, babe," Sylvester added which earned him another scowl, "but completely fair."

"That's not what you said earlier!" Sinclair quickly pointed out.

Another glare from Jane.

"Don't listen to my husband. Listen to me..bloody go!"

Sinclair seemed to find his feet planted to the spot on the grubby pavement.

"Go!" They both cheered with annoyed enthusiasm, and with a final push on the back from Sylvester, Sinclair finally found the part of his brain that moved his legs, and he was off down the street.

What the fuck was he going to say? The way that his shoes pounded the street, he didn't have time to think of anything anyway. He was going to have to wing it. Bloody hell!

"Sian!" he called as he neared closer to the duo of friends walking arm in arm.

Sian's heart pounded in her chest at hearing her name, his voice was still beautiful, even when a little out of breath. No, no, no, he's an arsehole.

"Don't turn back," Perry suggested, keeping their pace.

Sinclair stopped running, his chest slightly burning as he berated himself for not working out more.

With a gulp of courage, he tried again.
"Sian, please...I just want to talk."

People passing by him were staring at the odd man covered in blood, chasing after a pair of young women.

"Perry...I," Sian stuttered then stopped, she wanted to hear what he had to say, how he would even begin to explain himself, and then maybe she could move on. Forget him. "Just, let me speak to him."

"Are you sure?" she asked, concerned.

"Yeah." No!

"I'll just be around the corner. If you need me."

"Thank you," Sian said earnestly. Perry had been her rock all year.

As she said she would, Perry continued down the street and turned the corner but not before making sure Sinclair caught her eye. Sending him a look that could kill.

Sian nervously waited for Sinclair to approach her. Her stomach churned as her heart still thud, she could hear it vibrating through her ears. It's about all she could hear. She wished she had a bag, something to grip onto, just something to keep the tremors in her hand from being so obvious.

Sinclair felt like he was walking the plank. That whatever Sian would say to him, would kill him. He took his last unstable step, ready to plunge into the sea below him.

"Sian," his voice shook, "thank you for stopping."

"Glad to see you're alive!" she quickly blurted out, an edge of anger already in her choked voice. No matter how soft he looked, how vulnerable he appeared, blood stained and swollen, the evening breeze brushing through his floppy hair, he had been cruel, hard, a liar. "I did wonder for a while!"

"I.."

"You what, Sinclair? What is so pressing that you're chasing me today when you tossed me aside months ago?" Sian crossed her arms, wincing as her fingers brushed the grazes on her elbows.

"Are you okay?" Sinclair instinctively asked. His eyes meeting hers with concern, his hands aching to touch her. This is why he had stayed away from her, because he was too attached, too drawn to the woman who had made him feel whole again. If he had stayed that day at La Croix, he'd have given into her. Forgiven her, whilst he lived with the harm it caused.

Sian raised her dark brow, her face expressing just how stupid the question was.

"Well..of course you're not okay. Sorry, that was a silly question. I just meant...are you hurt? Is it bad?" He tried to get a better look.

She'd hoped that she would be able to remain civil but the bile that was bubbling in her stomach would not cease from coming out.

"Like you give a shit about what does and doesn't hurt me?" She raised up her arm, showing off her injuries, "This doesn't even begin to hurt as much as what you did."

Sinclair's forehead creased dramatically, Sian's aggression rubbing off him. Yes, he did wrong, but he wasn't the only one.

"What I did?" He replied just as fervently, though he tried to keep his voice low as he edged towards Sian's face. People were already looking. "Sorry, I forgot that you were a completely innocent bystander in all of this."

Sian scoffed, "Nice deflection. And yeah, okay I embarrassed you at a stupid fucking party...you, you disappeared." You went back to her.

Party? Sinclair thought, his face pulling into confusion.

"But well done, you still got what you wanted from me."

"What?" he asked, his confusion building.

"Don't act dumb, Sinclair. You fucked me and then..." she couldn't say the words, "well we both know what happened then."

Sinclair brushed his hand through his hair in irritation, digging his fingers into his scalp. Yes, what happened then. The world came crushing down on him, that's what happened, when he saw her brother pawing at her arse.

"Yeah...yeah, I suppose we do," he said through his clenched jaw.

"What's the matter, can't actually admit it?" Sian pushed at his chest, so he wasn't so close.

What he did was terrible, he could admit that. 

"Ohh that's rich coming from you! Did you think I wouldn't find out about it?" Sinclair volleyed without a breath between their rising, heated words.

"Oh, well I certainly found out about yours didn't I?" The image of Natalie was imprinted in her mind, the silk robe, all of her flesh on display. "How is your fucking wife, anyway?"

He hadn't even heard the question really, he was just angry, and wanted her to admit it, deny it, anything. Just make him feel like he wasn't fucking crazy.

"How's your brother?!"

Sian froze. Any air in her lungs couldn't be found. Sinclair stepped back into her space, shielding them from passers by but Sian couldn't stand to be any closer to him. If she thought him running off was cruel, this was something else. Something entirely more sinister and disgusting.

Sinclair calmed himself in an instant, realising he had completely lost control of his emotions. It was unlike him.

"Sian," he whispered.

He tried to reach out to her arm, to try to soothe his harshness but with a flash she had slapped his advancing hand.

"Don't touch me. Don't you ever...ever...touch me," she croaked, tears beginning to fall down her sun kissed cheeks. Without another word, Sian turned and walked as fast as she could. Holding onto herself tightly.

"Sian!" Sinclair shouted, trying to get her back but she didn't pause. She was going.

"Fuck!" he groaned under his breath, "Great. Fucking great work, Sinclair."

Chapter Text

Sinclair woke in the apartment he had been living in for the past four months. A temporary abode for him to settle the affairs of his life in England, ready to embark on the next chapter of his life.

He didn't move, just stared at the smooth white ceiling above him, listening to the waking street below.

It had taken a period of adjustment to live in a built up area again. The traffic, and sounds of sirens at all hours of the night mingled with drunken folks enjoying their lives. On nights he couldn't sleep, he would sit out on the balcony and watch them cheer and sing; sometimes fall over, laughing with their mates. Once the night died down, he would be falsely entranced at the vast expanse of the city's bright, sterile bulbs; artificial stars amongst the buildings, polluting and robbing the sky of it's true magnificence. Their mockery reflected in his eyes, giving light where light no longer lived.

Leaving the place he called home for years had pushed him to give up the fakery in his life. He sold the house, the flashy possessions and the even flashier vintage car. They meant nothing, and the joy he thought that they gave him, had lost it's appeal. He had simply stopped trying to fill the gaps with things.

Now, Sinclair desperately wanted something meaningful, something real and he thought that he had begun to find that in Sian. And though he had turned his back, he missed her. Every day. It was the little things; the smell of her shampoo, and the smile he'd receive when he brought her a morning cup of tea. The way she was always cold, so would be snug against him all night. How she'd share any food, except potatoes. 

Could it have all been a lie? Really? Sinclair asked himself as he continued his staring match with the ceiling. It wasn't the first time he'd asked it either.

Blinking the last of the remnants of last night's awful sleep from his eyes, he rubbed his tanned hand down his face. It ached as he did so, the bruising from the officer's punch had slowly been spreading, resulting in a black eye and an extremely sensitive nose. He was lucky it hadn't broken.

When he had returned to his apartment after the fight with Sian, he stripped himself down and discarded his clothes in the bin. Nothing from the day could be salvaged. He showered, washing off the feeling of shame but he couldn't wash away the look of horror on Sian's face, the way she had pushed him away. He tried desperately to make sense of it but he now realised he couldn't do that alone, he needed her help. But if nothing could be salvaged, how would he do it? She probably never wanted to see him again, he told himself, as the falling water masked the tears that seeped from his swollen eyes.

Ever since, he had been stalling, too scared to see her again, but he told himself today was the day. He couldn't leave with that being their last words to each other.

The rush of boldness inside of him didn't match his body when he mustered enough will to get himself out of bed. Sinclair moved around his apartment with lethargy, the thrumming of his veins and the sickening nerves inside of him proving difficult to balance. Eating was out of the question, unheard of for Sinclair, but his stomach lurched at the thought of breakfast - well, brunch by the time he had got out of bed.

The rest of the morning had to be taken up with phonecalls and paperwork. Leaving the country wasn't a simple task. Once the last document was signed, he sat back in his chair and sighed, but it wasn't in relief.

By the time he left his apartment at 2.38, the sun was high above the tall buildings, scorching everyone below it. Sinclair slipped on his sunglasses far more gently than he normally would; they shielded his eyes from the rays and his bruises from the world.

Slinking to his car, already feeling too hot, he ducked in and settled himself in the driver's seat. He immediately flicked on the blowers to full, dousing himself in the breeze.

Sinclair had no idea of Sian's schedule, it was a Tuesday; she might be at work or she might not. She might be out enjoying the sun, seeing her friends, out on a date. That idea irked him. The possibilities were endless, but as he pulled out of from his parking space, he knew he had to try her flat first.

The drive took 30 minutes through the traffic, in which time Sinclair tried to distract himself with music and the radio. Neither were particularly effective, but he had made it without turning back.

He got out on the familiar street, locked his car and then looked up to the window that he'd once shouted up to, like a romantic Romeo, calling his Juliet. The keys in his hands jangled as he nervously twitched, looking at the front door of the building.

People passed him by, wondering why there was a man just stood in the middle of street but he didn't seem to notice.

Sinclair's silent, painful reminiscing was broken by an elderly voice vying for his attention.

"Hello...can you hear me?" The elderly figure of Sian's neighbour called to him again, waving her arthritic hand about.

"Sorry," he replied, snapping out of his trance. Sinclair looked down at the woman who had caught his attention. Shit, what's her name? He panicked, rifling through his brain to try to remember. Mrs..Peters...Pierson!"

"Mrs Pierson, how are you?"

"Sweltering and the lady at the 'airdressers didn't get my blow dry right this time," she puffed, touching up her newly style hair.

"It looks lovely," he assured her.

She smiled sweetly at him, her wrinkles creasing even further.

"You know she doesn't live here anymore, don'cha?" she repeated herself from earlier, when Sinclair hadn't heard.

Of course, Sinclair didn't know that. He looked past the old lady for a moment, and irritably sucked in his cheek.

"She liked you, you know? Never did bring back any other men to her flat before you," Mrs Pierson informed him, quite unhelpfully in the circumstances.

"I liked her very much too," he murmured, though like was putting it very poorly and selling the feelings he had far too short.

"Mmm...these things have a way of working themselves out," she said, shifting her weight from one leg to another, her breathing becoming considerably shorter with each movement.

Sinclair felt bad for keeping the poor woman in the street.

"Let me help with those bags," Sinclair offered, putting his hand out to hers, to take her shopping.

"Ohhh, thank you dear," she cooed gratefully and gladly passed them over to what she considered to be 'a young man.'

She unlocked the front door, and Sinclair propped it open for her, then followed along at her unavoidable leisurely pace.

"My Albert...God rest his soul," she began, puffing as she tackled the steps up to her floor, "when we were courting...we had a big row."

Sinclair listened as he stepped closely behind, just in case he needed to catch her at any point.

"His mother didn't approve, you see. Didn't want us to marry...said I was too common for her son. Well we did marry and very happily it turned out to be..." she paused her story, getting to the landing that her flat was off. She caught her breath, then continued. "We did stop seeing each other for a spell...when he was being too indecisive about it all."

"I'm glad to hear you had a happy ending," Sinclair smiled but it was not without sadness.

Even though her eyesight had seen better days, she knew the look. She had no idea what had happened between the pair but she had noticed his absence and she had caught Sian crying a few times before she moved out.

"Like I said, life has a way of working out."

She turned and unlocked her door, inviting Sinclair in. He followed with the bags and placed them on her kitchen work surface, making sure to not be too nosy at her neat flat. It was very like Sian's...well, not Sian's anymore apparently.

"Thanks ever so much for the help and...wait here," she instructed, raising her crooked finger. She pottered off into the living room for a few moments before getting back to the kitchen, a piece of paper clutched in her hand.

"Now, you promise me that you won't cause that lovely girl any more upset? Hmm, you can't lie to an old lady now."

Sinclair didn't know if he could promise that, his presence alone may upset her but he'd certainly try his best to be more tactful this time.

"I promise to do my best," he offered back, hoping the slight compromise would persuade Mrs Pierson.

She nodded her head slowly, "Okay, love, here's the forwarding address she gave me."

"You...are a saint, Mrs Pierson," he chimed, looking happier than he had all morning. He threw a hug around her frail frame; she smelt like his grandmother, which soothed him greatly.

"Now off you go...I need my afternoon nap," she chuckled, patting his back tenderly. He really needed that hug, she thought.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, dear. I hope you can find your happy ending."

Sinclair smiled, sadly he didn't feel that was going to be the outcome but he appreciated her kind will.

Clinging to the piece of paper as he exited the building, he got back into his car, hoping that his chance encounter with Mrs Pierson was fate.

Sinclair opened the paper to see his next destination. He laughed, "you're bloody joking!"

For the past four months, they had lived 10 minutes away from each other. Maybe not fate then.

Through late afternoon bumper to bumper city traffic, it took Sinclair near 50 minutes to get back across to Sian's new street. The speedometer on the car dropped as he edged down the road, trying to get his bearings on building numbers. As slow as he was going, he only spotted it just as he was driving past. Quickly looking ahead, he saw the closest parking space and took it.

"Pay and display," murmured the overheated man as he looked through the console of the car for change. Once he'd mustered up enough coins and displayed the ticket in the window of his car, he was off towards Sian's building, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

A row of numbers presented themselves as he made it to the entrance door.

"Number 23," he whispered as he scanned the panel with his hand, landing on the button he needed.

The calling tone blared, ringing four times before being picked up.

"Hello?" It was Perry. Bad start.

Sinclair leaned on the wall and huddled himself closer to the speaker, concerned what reply he might get from the redhead.

"Perry... it's Sinclair."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the intercom. For a second he thought she'd cut the call.

"Hello?"

"You've got a nerve!"

"Please, I just want to talk to her...I need to apologise for the other day."

"You need to apologise for a lot more than that," she spat back.

In the distance he heard a door close and the faint sound of Sian's voice. Thank God she's there.

"Who is it?" came the voice that Sinclair had loved to hear.

"It's me!" Sinclair near shouted, just needing to get her attention; the adrenaline coursing through his body made his voice shake. "Sian, it's me...can we please talk."

The line went dead. Sinclair buzzed again, hearing the same tone but this time it was cut off before it was even answered. His fist slammed down on the wall, what else did he expect to happen, really?

Defeated, he slumped down onto the step. Sinclair's head fell and he pulled off his sunglasses harshly, not caring that it affected the tender bruises around his nose. Footsteps passed him by, chatter of the day on people's lips but his head was a blur to it all. He pulled his legs in, his shoes scraping along the concrete floor and made himself small so that no one would notice him.

With a gush of wind, the door behind opened, and he jumped with shock at the sudden noise.

Sian sighed, loud enough for Sinclair to hear. He didn't dare look at her, just saw her well worn pumps and tanned legs come to his side, until she was sitting next to him on the step.

Sinclair starting biting his bottom lip, slowly latching his teeth onto thin strips of skin. She was looking at him, he could feel the weight of her eyes taking him in as he sat there feeling a fool.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. The question was far more softly spoken than their row the other day.

Sinclair laced his fingers together and wrapped his arms around his knees.

"Honestly...I have no idea," he replied, his chest feeling heavy, "but I know that I needed to apologise for the other day. I shouldn't have shouted at you."

He finally built up the courage to raise his head and look at Sian. Her neutral expression turned to concern as she was finally able to see his face. The deep purple bruising around his eye shocked her.

"Jesus, Sinclair, your face!" She didn't expect to feel much sympathy for him when she made her way down the stairs of the building but she couldn't stop herself now.

"It's fine, the swelling has gone and it doesn't really hurt now." It was a lie, it hurt like hell, but he didn't want her pity. He'd not taken the punch for that. "How are you? Your cuts?"

"They're okay. Nothing a bit of cotton wool and TCP couldn't fix. What...what were you doing there?" She had to ask, it had been on her mind since seeing him.

"Pure coincidence. I was in the bar...erm, Farrell's, when it all kicked off. Sylvester saw you first and when I saw..." he paused, remembering the feeling of dread in his stomach at seeing her being manhandled, "when I saw you, I...just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Sian listened carefully, watching his face, strangely touched by his sentiment. His eyes made contact with hers and she quickly looked away, down the street, fixating on a woman walking her German Shepherd.

"I'm," Sian's mouth felt dry, she wished she brought a bottle of water down with her, "I'm really confused."

"Me too," he whispered. "I'm a coward, Sian. My confidence, it's all pretence. Something I've manufactured...to guard myself. There's things I never told you...things that would sort of help to make sense of it but I could never speak of it."

Sian wasn't looking at him, probably for the best he thought, he might not be able to say it otherwise.

"I came to La Croix on Christmas Eve...after the shift and when I saw you with your brother..."

Sian's head snapped round, her now shorter hair briskly sheltering her face for a moment.

"What?" she asked with a tension in her jaw.

Sinclair's lip shook.

What the hell is he talking about? Sian thought.

"Do you have your car?" Sian asked out of the blue. What am I doing?

Sinclair nodded his head, "It's just over there."

Without a word of warning, she jumped to her feet and held out her hand.

"Give me the keys," she ordered.

"What? Sian...you can't," she didn't let him finish.

"Sinclair, give me the keys." If he was obsessed with her brother, he could bloody well meet him.

Sinclair knew she could drive, she'd learned when she was younger, with her dad, but she had no use for a car.

It's just a car, he reminded himself. It didn't matter.

Joining her, he pushed his hand into the pocket of his trousers and retrieved the keys to his Jaguar, then handed them over.

Sian turned and walked towards the car, then looked back when she realised that Sinclair was still standing where she'd left him.

"Are you coming or what?" She asked irritably.

Sinclair's feet hustled, but he remained a respectable distance from her as they made their to the car.

"Where are we going?" Sinclair asked as he went to open the passenger door. His brow was creased with worry.

With her hand on top of the car, at the driver's side, Sian glanced over at Sinclair. She didn't know what the hell was going on in Sinclair's head or her own for that matter but she was doing this.

"I'm going to need you to not talk to me right now...can you do that?"

Sinclair nodded again, noting the seriousness of her tone. He'd turned up at her door, whatever was happening, he would have to go with it.

"Good," she muttered, and then got into the driver's seat.

She made the necessary adjustments to the plush, leather seat, Sinclair's legs being longer than hers and changed the mirrors a touch, so she could see better.

Sinclair wanted to ask if she was going to be okay driving, she looked nervous, but he didn't risk being kicked out of his own car.

They drove in silence. Complete silence. Sian had turned off the radio the moment the engine sprung to life.
Sinclair did his best to keep his focus on staying quiet as he stared out of the window. He wasn't paying attention to anything out there. From time to time, his eyes would meander to the side to catch a glimpse of Sian. She was so beautiful. He wished this was different. That he could rest his hand on her thigh as she drove, and talk to her.

Sian pulled in and shut off the engine, as close to the park as she could. In reality, the drive hadn't taken long but with the awkward silence bouncing around the confines of the car, it had felt it.

She got out and without having to be told this time, Sinclair followed her. It was still warm, though the intensity of the sun was waning as it slowly retreated behind thick clouds, resulting in a sticky humid feel to the air.

The noise of the street died down as they walked further into the greenery, the atmosphere turning to serenity. Or as much serenity as could be found in the city. Birds fluttered about in the trees, the fully bloomed leaves giving them shade and reason to sing.

As much as it all felt relaxing, Sinclair was on edge as he followed his silent companion. The terrain changed as they turned onto a gravel path, the sound of it under Sian's feet a familiar one. The land inclined, turning their shallow, easy breaths to more of a pant as they trod the rocky land below them. Sinclair wiped sweat from his brow as he watched Sian walk it with far more ease than he seemed to be doing. Her toned legs flexed at the workout, her short athletic shorts leaving nothing to the imagination. He snatched his eyes away, feeling disgusted at himself.

Finally at the top of the hill, they stopped for a second to catch their breath, which is where the view finally unveiled itself. There it was, the whole city to feast his eyes upon.

"Come on," Sian sighed, knowing there was no going back now.

With a heavy heart and reluctant steps, Sian led Sinclair to the bench just a few metres away. He was more confused than ever.

Sian was stood in front of it, staring down at the wooden seat, her eyes already beginning to produce salty droplets.

When he finally joined her, he looked to where her sombre attention was held. The hidden sun fortuitously peered out from it's hiding as Sinclair read the plaque.

Chapter Text

Robbie Baker.

196 1. Two years older than Sian.

Sinclair reread the plaque to himself slowly, not quite believing his eyes. It felt like someone had dropped a large stone into the pit of his empty stomach as his mind calculated quickly, ending only in one solution. He couldn't speak. How had she kept this from him? And more importantly, why?

"There's no way you could have seen me with Robbie...my brother...because he died...on the 24th of December, 1989." Sian sobbed,  hiding her face and her tears from Sinclair.

Sinclair's arms itched to wrap around her but she had told him never to touch her again. An order he took very seriously.

"The person you saw me with at La Croix," she sniffed, wiping tears and snot from her face, "was Stephen. Robbie's partner. We were coming here, as we do every Christmas Eve since he died."

Oh, you abominable fool.

Sinclair's legs buckled, feeling sure he was going to vomit. He reached out quickly, anchoring himself on the bench; he needed to sit but it would be crass to do so now. On that bench. Of all places and of all times. 

Losing control of himself, Sinclair's breathing became erratic, the skin under his t-shirt a burgeoning furnace of complete self destruction.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," he panted over and over, "What have I done?"

With a cautious step, Sian tried to edge closer to him as his body shook involuntarily, his words jumbling together. She knew the signs of a panic attack, so approached him with continued caution, doing her best not to spook him.

"Sinclair," she whispered softly to the side of him, "Sinclair, listen to my voice."

"You shouldn't...you shouldn't come near me...I'm not...ah fuck my chest hurts. Sian" he gasped, "...Sian, I can't breathe," he panicked, clutching the top of his t-shirt, trying to get it away from his skin.

"Sinclair...you can breathe," she raised her hands from her side, "I'm going to touch you okay..."

"Urghh," he rasped, hanging his head over the bench. When Sian's hands touched his back, he flinched.

"Just listen to my voice, okay?" she soothed, "Breathe, Sinclair...through your nose...you can do it."

He tried his hardest to hear her over the beating of his wild veins.

"I thought it was the same, I thought it had happened again," he suddenly sobbed.

"Shh, it's okay. Deep breath...please," she coaxed, rubbing her hand with a purposeful pressure, up and down his back.

This time, he did as he was asked.
Sinclair sucked in air through his nose, the rush tingling his aching sinuses.

His actions gave some slight relief, as she looked around for anyone who might be about.

"Okay...good..good, now out through your mouth," Sian continued to coach him. She did so through one, two, three cycles of breathing, until she managed to sit him down on the bench. Right next to her brother's name.

Sinclair was a mess, his face pale and sheened with sweat, snot, and tears.

"She...she went back to him...to Richard," Sinclair continued, his body expelling his secret with little control, "and sh...sshhe fucked him ou...ourrr bed. Andd, I told you...it was the last straw but that wasn't it."

"Sinclair...look at me...just look at me and breathe."

He tried but couldn't focus.

Sian had no idea what was pummelling its way through Sinclair's head, and at that moment she didn't care. She just needed to calm him down.

"I need you to get up," she told him, and placed her arms under his and started to lift. His body felt like a rag doll - limp and feeble - as she got him to the floor. Then she sat behind him, her legs framing his and pressed his back into her chest. Her arms linked around him, holding him steady against her.

"Just look, Sinclair," she spoke gently into his ear, "open your eyes and look out, take your time. I've...I've got you." Her voice shook with raw, conflicted emotion as she quelled her own tears into the shoulder of his T-shirt.

It took some time, but Sinclair came down from his heights of chaos. His chest finally rising and falling evenly under Sian's protective hands.

"Wh...what just happened?" Sinclair finally asked, looking out as the sun set over the city.

"You had a panic attack...but you're okay," Sian assured him.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," he bumbled and tried to get himself up, get himself away from her. She didn't want him anywhere near her and now here he was in the safety of her arms. Taking advantage of her kindness when she'd just revealed her heartbreak to him.

"Relax," she whispered as she held him tighter to her, "just give yourself a minute."

He loathed himself but being wrapped up in her felt divine. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. He closed his eyes, relishing in it for it was likely the last time.

The world around them seemed to quiet as they sat there unmoving. Life below the hill had gone home, the birds had settled into their nests, taking with them their sweet summer songs, and with rush hour over, the city in front of them was a distant hum on the breeze.

"Sinclair?" Sian tentatively spoke, her chin resting on his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything." There was no point in hiding now.

"Who's Richard? You said his name earlier...is that the guy?"

Sinclair braced himself, his heart hardening for the truth.

"Richard is Natalie's brother." Sinclair had never spoken those words before. He'd never told a soul and he'd never intended to.

"But you said..." Oh fuck. The admission hit Sian like a tonne of bricks. It couldn't be. Could it?

"Right under my nose," he answered, as if he had read her mind, "but that's not the worst of it."

Sinclair sat forward, then turned so he could see Sian in the low light of the new evening.

"I forgave her the first time, and it stopped, I'm sure of it but only for a while. I went away on a business trip and...," his jaw tensed, he no longer felt anguish when he thought of the scene, only anger, "when I got back I found them at the house. I came home a day early to surprise her."

Whilst she was sympathetic, the resounding question that screamed in her mind was obvious. If she had hurt him so badly, why had he gone back again? And why was he so adamant to talk to her?

"I kicked her out...then 6 weeks later she turned up distraught. She was pregnant...and it sure as hell wasn't mine. We hadn't been..." Sinclair cleared his throat awkwardly, dipping his amber eyes in embarrassment at the detail. When he raised them again, they were glistening with tears.

"She begged me...said I was the only one she could tell and the only one she trusted to help her."

Before he even said anything else, Sian knew where this was going. In that moment, pushing everything aside, her heart broke for him. Natalie's manipulation ran so deeply through him.

"I...I took her...I took her...," he repeated with a shudder.

"You can say it," Sian reassured him, taking his hand in hers. Sinclair looked hard into her eyes, he couldn't understand why she was being so kind to him.

"I took her for a termination...a...a private clinic that didn't ask too many questions..but the looks they gave me, Sian. Like I was some kind of monster for killing my own..my own fucking child. You have to believe me that I did it for good reasons...that poor baby, it wouldn't have had a chance. I researched what happened to children when their parents were so biologically linked. And she...she didn't want it...she begged me Sian, please, please believe me."

He broke down and wept into her shoulder. She held him like she might never let go and for the second time in the space of less than two hours, allowed him get it all out. All the hurt, and the anger, and the regret.

As Sinclair dried himself completely of tears into Sian's top, the skies above the couple rumbled. The past few weeks of humidity was about to break. The skies could hold no more.

"We should head back," Sian suggested, still stroking the back of Sinclair's hair. She looked up at the ominous clouds above. "I think it's about to rain."

Sinclair snuffled, wiping his face yet again and agreed. Reluctantly, he pried himself away from Sian's warm, inviting body, and stood up. He felt terrible, the only thing that had been keeping him together was Sian's touch.

Offering out his hand, he pulled Sian up. The force in which he did so, mixed with the thrust she gave, sent her straight at him. Sinclair caught her, steadying her with his hands on her hips, and balancing them out as best he could in his own sorry state. Sian gazed up at him, her breath lodged uncomfortably in her chest. There it was; the thing...the force that had always pulled them together.

"Thanks," Sian shyly said with a pat on his chest, and stepped back. "This is going to sound terrible...but erm...you don't have to tell her about this. Make something up. I...I won't...I don't want to cause any trouble."

Sinclair frowned, not following Sian's meaning.

"Tell who?"

Sian rolled her eyes slightly. She didn't think she'd ever truly understand or likely forgive him for going back to her but what was done, was done. It was out of her hands. Holding onto the bitterness was doing her no good.

"Natalie." She said bluntly.

"Natalie?!?"

The sky seemed to rumble just as he expressed her name in sheer confusion. The city had been dry for weeks and was calling out for rain, the heavy clouds above, finally heeded the call. Droplets began hitting them as they stood staring at each other.

Sinclair looked at the skies with exasperation. Great fucking timing.

"Sinclair..." she sighed frustratedly, why couldn't he just tell her, straight to her face? "You know I turned up that night, there was no way you didn't hear me."

"What are you talking about?" His shirt was beginning to soak through and the confusion Sian was creating felt like it was flooding his brain.

Sian raised her voice, "Christmas Day! I thought you'd collapsed or worse...you weren't answering my calls...but you were with her. Just admit it."

"Christmas Day I was driving through France to get to my parents house," was all he could admit because that was the truth. "You went to my house?"

Sian nodded her head, her hair sodden and sticking to her face. It wasn't him? She thought, stricken with panic.

"And she was there?"

Sian nodded again. "She told me I'd fucked it up," she croaked, "that I was an embarrassment...that I shouldn't have opened my legs up so soon."

"She what?!?" Sinclair bellowed, making Sian jump. His eyes widened with shock, disgusted at the words he was hearing.

"You weren't upstairs?"

"No, Sian, I promise you I wasn't there. We are not together."

The rain was coming down harder but the pair ignored it, too enraptured in the details that were unravelling.

"Then it was?" Sian thought out loud.

"Richard." Sinclair quickly finished that thought for her. It had to be.

That sick, sadistic bitch.

Chapter Text

Sinclair blazed down the hill with the fervour of a much younger man, Sian at his heels.

Water splashed around her bare legs as she shuffled to keep up with Sinclair's long strides; her old, white pumps now completely ruined by the quickly formed mud. Their clothes were drenched with the cooling summer rains, accentuating every muscle in Sinclair's back through his maroon T-Shirt. She had never seen him like this, not even during their fight. He was usually a beacon of calm and control. 

They traversed the paths they had taken in much the same way. Silence. Sinclair was so mad he daren't speak, scared of what would come out of his mouth.

The usually wise man, couldn't believe how stupid he had been. To still allow Natalie access to the house. And letting her know he was leaving for the Christmas period? Fuck, he was an idiot. A colossal fucking idiot.

She was waiting for him that day, parked up outside his house as he frantically returned to pack a case. A gift in hand, all wrapped up with a bow. She'd asked questions of course, to which Sinclair gave little away. In words, anyway. But she knew enough; that Sinclair was leaving on very short notice and without Sian. It had clearly aroused some suspicions in his ever plotting, manipulative ex- wife.

The anger he bestowed upon the ground, with his heavy plodding feet made up the soundtrack of his seething.

The street that Sinclair's car was parked on was empty when they made it back. Everyone safe at home, avoiding the downpour.

"I need the keys," he said as he turned to Sian, who had followed behind him the whole way.

"Is that wise?" she asked, bracing her arms around herself. The tank top she was wearing no longer proficient for the weather. The goosebumps on her arms could be felt under her fingers; she wasn't sure if they were from her nerves, or if it was because she was becoming cold.

"I need to go to Natalie's and I can't walk it from here," he said bluntly, if not a little harsh. Not that he meant to, he was just having a hard time concealing the sheer hate inside of him.

"I'm driving you home," she replied with a tone that left no room for negotiations.

She walked around to the driver's side quickly, unlocked the car and planted her saturated body onto the cream leather seat.

Jesus, that's cold! She thought with a shiver passing through her.

Sinclair stayed put, letting the thunderous skies have it's way with him. She'd left him no choice for now, he wasn't about to yank her out of the car.

Conceding that he couldn't do much, other than be her passenger again, he grabbed the wet handle of the Jaguar and opened the door. Sian had put the heater on already, and he felt it blow out towards him.

He sat down in silence, resting his hand over his battered face, before swiping the excess moisture from it. A mixture of the skies and sweat.

As bold as Sian had been to get in the car, she soon realised, as she was watching Sinclair stand in the rain - like a stubborn child refusing to come inside - that she wasn't entirely sure how to navigate her way to Sinclair's estate by herself.

The engine purred and the heaters continued to blow hot air around the car as they both sat in some strange impasse.

"I might need directions," Sian admitted, speaking first.

"I've moved," he said with a dullness that was so unlike Sinclair. Droplets of rain fell from the front of his usually floppy hair and Sian found herself having to stop herself from pushing it back from his face.

"Then direct me there...please?" she asked, giving him a small, polite smile.

"It's not far from you. Drive there, get yourself dry before you become hypothermic and then I'll carry on," he replied without looking at her, still plotting in his head what he was going to say to Natalie.

Sian shook her head, cascading rainwater about her shoulders. "No...I'm taking you home."

Sinclair turned his gaze to hers, her piercing blue eyes shattering through his resolve. She was too kind to him. He was a wretch and didn't deserve an ounce of it, but she was giving it - whether he liked it or not.

Again, boldly, she placed her hand just above his knee, keeping his eyes steady with hers.

"Sinclair...please, I'm freezing and you're going to get ill if you don't dry off."

Sinclair couldn't say no to her.

"Okay, just wait there a second," he said with a raised hand, heavily distracted by her palm still on his leg.

He quickly opened the door and dashed back out into the rain that had been pummelling the car. The boot opened and Sian tried to see what he was doing through the rearview mirror but couldn't.

In a flash, he was back in the car, with a fresh layer of good old British weather on him.

"Here, put this on," he instructed, handing her an old zip up jacket that he'd forgotten to take out of his boot. It was mostly dry.

Sian took it from his loose grip, his small gesture a reminder of the true person he was. She unbuckled her seatbelt and looked down at her light blue tank top, which was now practically see through. Sinclair had been a gentleman and kept his eyes from the bra you could clearly view.

"Thank you."

Sinclair smiled for the first time that night. "No problem."

"Ermm...do you mind turning round?" Sian twiddled her finger in a spinning motion to her reluctant passenger. 

Sinclair raised his brow, questioning her request.

"No point putting this over my wet clothes...it'll just soak through."

"Oh..oh...I see, of course." Sinclair felt uncharacteristically abashed.

She'd have got in the back seat but that would leave the driver's seat open to steal, and with Sinclair quite aimed towards Natalie's house, that wasn't an option she was about to risk.

The car suddenly seemed a lot warmer as Sinclair's face turned a subtle shade of pink. He turned, as asked, shading his eyes with his hand so there was no chance of catching a reflection in the car window.

Sian quickly checked the street and then pulled her tank top over her matted head. She fumbled getting the jacket on, then zipped it up, so grateful for the added warmth. Slipping her arms through the jacket, she leaned forward and unclasped her sodden bra. With much shifting around, and puffing, she pulled the wet article from her breasts and slipped it out from the bottom of the jacket.

Much better.

With a heavy slopping sound, the clothes hit the back seat.

"I'm...finished," she shyly confirmed, as if he hadn't seen her naked before, like her body was a secret to him. It wasn't, of course, but things were different now.

Sinclair turned, cautious at where he planted his eyes.

"So, where to?"

Sinclair wasn't exaggerating, he really did live close to her now; something that Sian found quite bewildering. They could have bumped into each other at any opportunity but they mysteriously hadn't.

Sian followed him up, not sure if she should but her judgement was somewhat off kilter after the night's revelations. Her worry for Sinclair's mental state outweighed her wounded heart.

The apartment was nice, a fairly newly built complex by the looks of it. There were still unpacked boxes about the hallway that caught her eye when he ushered her in.

"Let me get some dry clothes," he muttered, slightly ashamed of the messy atmosphere. He, obviously, hadn't been expecting guests.

Sian was left in the hallway as Sinclair entered what she guessed to be his bedroom. Her soggy clothes were balled up in her hands and she felt as if she was standing in puddles, so quickly kicked off her shoes. Thank God it wasn't carpeted.

She felt odd. Sinclair's apartment didn't feel like home. More like a hotel; sterile and bland. It didn't feel like Sinclair at all.

With dry clothes in his hand, Sinclair came back out to Sian. He knew what she was doing, sticking around so he didn't run off to hammer at Natalie's door. Why else would she be here? She only lived 10 minutes away, she could have been in the comfort of her own home already. Not that he minded her presence but better circumstances would have been appreciated.

"I've left some clothes and a towel on the bed for you...do you want to shower, actually?"

Sian shook her head, "No, it's fine."

"Okay, I'll leave you to it."

Sinclair headed to the bathroom, his whole body tense, whilst Sian went the opposite direction into the bedroom.

The room was dimly lit by a lamp on the bedside table and a towel with a neat pile of clothes lay on the end of the bed. Sian walked over the soft grey carpet, the fibres feeling like they were sticking to her damp feet, and lifted the towel off the top of the clothes. They were hers. He'd kept them. They were only old; items she'd left at Sinclair's house to sleep in or laze around in - they weren't valuable enough to retrieve. But he'd kept them. Why? There was even a fucking hair tie! It both warmed her heart and irritated her.

It was too much to think about. She just didn't have the mental capacity to process much more, or put herself through hell for something that was already finished. 

She dropped the towel back on the bed and removed Sinclair's jacket, and her damp shorts and underwear. The towel was ridiculously soft against her skin as she dried herself, with the familiar smell of his washing powder now lingering on her.

She picked up her clothes one by one. Her soft green bralette she liked to wear around the house, to save her boobs from the torture of under wire and her comfy black, cotton underwear. A faded Prince, Purple Rain, T-shirt that was super soft from going through the washing machine so much and grey cotton jogging bottoms. The black socks were Sinclair's.

Once dressed, feeling a lot warmer and comfortable, she sat on the edge of the bed and sighed into the unknown territory. It felt so bare. So...sad? She picked at the skin around her nails, nervously and just to buy herself some more time, before she had to go face him again.

"Okay..." she whispered to herself, a precursor to the mental pep-talk she gave herself.

When she opened the door, she could hear Sinclair somewhere down the hallway talking. Near shouting

Sinclair had dressed as quickly as he could and slipped into his makeshift home office to call Natalie. He sat on the edge of the generic flat-packed furniture, holding the phone to his ear tightly, his knuckles white.

On hearing his voice, Natalie had put on her usual charm. But she had yet to cotton on to the fact she held nothing over him anymore. When the conversation turned to Sian and the events that took place over Christmas, she became coy.

"Natalie, I'm not going round in circles with you...just have some common decency for once and tell me the truth."

"Look, I don't know what she's told you but..." False. She knew exactly what she said and she had enjoyed every syllable of it.

"Stop! Stop lying to me!" Sinclair was almost pulling his hair out as he tried to keep his cool. And though he wanted to call her every name under the sun, that would get him nowhere.
"If you need help, I'll get it for you, okay? Just tell me."

Sinclair could hear her finger tapping on her phone, and then a long, drawn out breath.

"Fine, I mean, it doesn't even matter now anyway," she laughed, "the house is gone."

"What did you do?"

"I did what you clearly were begging me to do by leaving me with a key for so long. I came round from time to time. To check on you. I've always worried about you, Sinclair, you know that."

He ignored her fake niceties, not wanting to spend a second more than was completely necessary, in conversation with her.

"When?" he asked bitterly, feeling violated that she was in his house more than he knew.

"Did you open your present, at Christmas?" she asked with an amused lilt in her voice.

He hadn't.

"No," he replied bluntly, unamused at her toying nature.

"That's a shame...I tried to deliver it in the morning...I actually had to cancel my afternoon plans to come see you again...you should be more grateful."

Sinclair laughed sarcastically, truly taken aback by her gall.

"A little birdy told me that things didn't go quite as planned at your Christmas party and I wanted...to console you. But from what I heard upstairs, it sounded like she was doing that just fine...which upset me a lot by the way" she quickly added. "I didn't want to have my feelings hurt twice in one day, so I waited outside...remember? That day you scuttled off to France? I thought you might have been inside, letting her make up for her embarrassment again."

"You're lying. Who told you that nonsense? Hmm? Ohhh, let me guess...Roger? You always did have a soft eye for him, didn't you?" Sinclair spat question after question in quick succession, truly hoping she was somehow making it all up. But he knew she wasn't, how would she know otherwise?

"Why would I lie about hearing you fuck another woman?" She actually sounded upset as her voice cracked.

Sinclair felt sick to the pit of his stomach. That moment with Sian. Their moment of ecstacy and passion and fucking love. Ruined.

There was a little tap at the door as a silence hung between the connected telephones. Sian stepped in quietly, closed the door and leaned her back against it.

"She's a whiny little thing isn't?"

Natalie's crude question broke his gaze on the woman in front of him.

"Stop it, Natalie." Sinclair warned. 

But she didn't want to stop, she seemed to get some weird rush from picking at his weak spots.

"Bet she got on her knees for you, didn't she?"

"Shut up!" He finally cracked. The aggression in which he said it, shocked not only Sian, but Sinclair himself.

"What was it Sinclair? Why did she turn up at Christmas, all doe eyed and sad?"

"Oh yes...you mean when you were fucking Richard, again?"

Sian's eyes widened, she went to leave but with a hand signalling not to, she stopped her turning of the door handle.

Natalie laughed. She actually bloody laughed.

"Well...I had to get my own back some how. All's fair in love and war. Anyway, I was just joking with her...I didn't think she'd take it so seriously." She giggled. "Honestly, you kind of suit each other."

"You make me sick. This will be the last time you hear from me, Natalie. You need help and I've done all I can for you. If you try to contact me, I will resort to the police and my lawyer. Good bye."

"Ohh stop it..."

Before she could finish her sentence the phone was slammed down. Ending their call and whatever weird, dependent relationship she had with him. For good.

Sinclair then turned the phone around and took the cord out of the back of it.

The white walls of the room seemed to hold onto every morsel of silence as Sian looked Sinclair over. He had sat in the chair behind the desk, his head down, fingers kneading into his temple.

"You want to know what she said?" Sinclair asked without raising his head.

Sian wasn't sure. The prospect was undeniably terrifying, considering his reactions.

"Okay. Let's...let's get a cup of tea, warm up...and talk."

Sinclair puffed out a laugh that held no amusement.

"We're going to need something stronger than tea."

Over two glasses of whiskey, Sinclair relayed Natalie's twisted tale. The whiskey burned Sian's throat but she needed it, just as Sinclair had foretold. She couldn't believe it. Well, she could believe it but she couldn't fucking believe it.

Neither of them could.

Sinclair, when finished, poured the amber liquid into his glass, offering Sian another one to which she agreed to.

They sat there together, taking in a moment of relative calm. Everything else around them was chaos, so they just stopped. Each sipping Sinclair's expensive booze.

Sian looked at the time when her glass was drained, for the third time. It was late. They'd both drank too much to drive, and the clouds were still hammering their pent up release outside.

"Do you want to stay?" Sinclair asked, having been thinking the exact same thing as Sian had. "Or I could call you a taxi. Whatever it is, I'm not letting you walk home in this."

Sinclair pointed out the balcony doors to the weather.

Everything inside of her told her to go home, that this was all too much but she couldn't bring herself to leave. Not just yet.

"I'll stay...if you're sure."

"I'm sure," he replied, masking a yawn.

"I just need to phone Perry. She'll be worrying."

"You'll have to plug the phone back in," Sinclair chuckled to himself.

"I think I can manage. I'll take the sofa...I...I don't think I can sleep in your bed, even by myself."

Sinclair understood completely and although he didn't like the thought of her having to sleep on the sofa, he wasn't about to make this anymore difficult.

Sian stood, a little unsteady on her feet from fatigue and whiskey, and made her way back to the office.

She was completely terrified to call Perry. She was going to blow a gasket.

"Hello?" Perry answered, panicked.

"Hey, Per..."

"Oh my God," she sighed in relief, then muffled the receiver. "Jen, it's Sian!"

Muffled or not, Sian could still hear the little loudmouth she called her best friend.

"Where the hell are you? Are you okay? Has he hurt you? I swear to God, I will beat his perky rich arse..."

"Woahhh," Sian cooed, "I'm fine.."

Sort of.

"I'm with Sinclair, we got soaked in this fucking rain...anyway, I'm sorry for worrying you."

"Are you coming home?" Perry asked, with an air suspicion, predicting that she probably wasn't.

"I'm staying with Sinclair tonight...on the sofa," she quickly added the detail, "we've had a few drinks and I'm exhausted."

"Sian.."

"Perry.."

The redhead groaned.

"Fine...fine but I swear to god."

"Yeah, yeah I know, you'll kick his perky rich arse."

They both laughed.

"But you're okay? Seriously?"

"I'm okay."

She wasn't sure of that, but if she said that to her friend, she'd likely track down Sinclair's address and pull her home, by her hair through the mud. Not an experience Sian needed after the night.

"Alright. Well, call me in the morning."

"I will. Good night. Love you."

"Love you too. Night."

Whilst Sian was on the phone, Sinclair made up the sofa, fluffing up the pillows and finding his best spare blankets out of the boxes in his bedroom.

Sian came back in, releasing her short hair from the ponytail she had put it up in and then sat at the end of the sofa, her bed ready.

She pulled at the bottom of her shirt while Sinclair cleaned up the glasses from the table and took them over to the counter. She couldn't understand why he kept it, if he thought so little of her.

He turned, about to bid her a good night but she looked pensive.

"Everything okay?"

With the shirt end still between her finger and her thumb she raised her head to Sinclair.

"You kept my clothes."

Sinclair wondered when he put those particular items out for her, whether it was a good idea or not. He wondered if it made him look a tad creepy but it seemed stupid not to give them her, when they were hers.

He pressed his lips together, remnants of whiskey giving him some courage.

"I kept everything."

Chapter Text

Sinclair, even though physically and emotionally exhausted, could not sleep. His tired eyes stung around the rims as he opened them to the darkness of his bedroom.

As he lay still, the thin duvet sheltered him - but didn't offer the same security as Sian had earlier in the park. Or when they spent those blissful weeks body to body. Protecting each other and their unknown secrets.

Sinclair's chest hurt, the strings of his heart ripped apart by his own folly. The pressure of his arms wrapped around it didn't help.

Deep down, he had never truly wanted to let Sian go, but the damage he had shackled to him by Natalie, had beaten him. The knowledge that there was something beautiful that lay unaccomplished between him and the woman in his living room ate away at him. If things had been different, if he hadn't run away at the first sign of mistook danger, then they could have been perfect together. She would have been his last love. He knew it.

The thoughts festered at the front of his mind in that lonely, black room until he could take it no more.

There was still one very obvious topic that had not been discussed, which Sinclair could only blame himself for. She'd spent all evening taking care of him, and what started the spiral of events, had been pushed to the back. He felt a selfish prick for letting his needs come before hers.

The sheets crinkled as he pushed them off his semi dressed state. He picked up his discarded shirt off the floor, pulling it over his head as he quietly made his way out of the bedroom.

The living room was silent when he approached it. She was probably asleep, he thought, but as he edged around the door to check, the silhouette of her body propped up.

"Sinclair?" Sian spoke softly, velvet like with a hint of sleep.

Oh God, he'd missed that. Yearned for it at night, when she'd say his name so sweetly and run her silky hands over him.

"Did I wake you?" He asked guiltily, his hand keeping him steadfast at the door.

Sleep had completely evaded Sian, as she'd listened to the unknown sounds of Sinclair's flat and the light rain that hit the windows.

"No. Hard to sleep in new places, you know?" she replied with a small chuckle which Sinclair emulated until they died down into quietness again.

"Sian." Sinclair's deep voice broke, her name hanging in the empty space of his living room.

His next words were a low whisper, questions that he didn't expect answered. She owed him nothing, after all.

"Why are you here? Why after everything I thought, are you not washing your hands of me?" He paused, to give her time to tell him to shut up, if she needed. She didn't.

"You should scream," he told her, "...wish you'd never met me...something...something other than this."

Sian slowly began to sit up, letting Sinclair's questions sink in.

His continued speech seemed to rile himself up on behalf of Sian. He wanted her to be mad at him, beat his chest and tell him that he was nothing.

"I accused you of something deplorable and you've not said a word about it."

"We are all sick," she volleyed, as if it were the most common of knowledge, "deranged by our anxieties...who am I to judge someone's irrationality? What you thought you saw and what happened were different, but you weren't to know...and I can admit that that was partly my fault."

"This isn't your fault..." Sinclair corrected in an exasperated whisper.

Sian had spent enough time with Dr Kennedy to know that every single human out there, in their broken world, carried their own set of burdens and fears. They were all unique; wounding an individual in ways that others might not comprehend. Sinclair was sick but so was she.

"I'm not going to berate the agony she left you with, Sinclair. If you want me to leave, I will, but I won't scream at you, nor will I make little of your trauma."

"And what of your trauma?" he asked, his hand now gripped painfully to the wooden door. "What happened...to Robbie?"

Sian nodded her head, it was only a matter of time before he asked. She was honestly relieved when he hadn't because it meant she hadn't had to explain anything.

"Sit down..." she instructed, pulling the blanket back.

It was light enough in there, from the streetlights breaking through the fabric of the blinds, that Sinclair saw her gesture.

With a hefty dose of hesitance, he joined her, twisting his body to see the dull strobe of light touching her face. She looked vulnerable. Afraid.

"It's a long story," she warned him before beginning.

"I have time," Sinclair reassured her, but stopped at that, not wanting to to add unnecessary pressure.

"Robbie," she began with a sombre breath, "you'd have loved him, I know it. He was...I don't know...just the most fun person to be around. You could never mope in his presence because he'd just somehow make it better. Even as a child, when I was the annoying little sister, he took me everywhere with him. And I was a clumsy little shit then, but he'd always pick me up and brush me off."

Sinclair smiled at the thought of it. Of the small children playing; protecting each other.

"When Robbie was 16, he told me a secret...made me promise not to tell anyone." Sian's eyes teared up remembering how scared he was, even to tell her. He cried his eyes out in her bedroom that night; their parents had gone out to the social club, leaving them at home, alone.

"He told me he was gay...and he'd started his first relationship with a boy. He'd had girlfriends but they'd always split up after a week or two...mom and dad put it down to a teenagers prerogative to get bored easily. He'd really tried but there was just...no attraction there." She shrugged her shoulders. For Sian, it was as simple as that. You loved who you loved.

"He was able to hide it for a while but one day, just before he was 18, dad caught him. He hadn't come home for dinner or let mom know he wasn't going to be home. Dad found him not too far away, with a boy...a different one, and dragged him home."

Sian wiped the tears that were now pouring down her cheeks onto the edge of her T-shirt.

"Ah god," she sobbed, the vivid cries still in her mind, "he beat the shit out of him, Sinclair...mom tried to stop him but she wasn't..." Strong enough.

"She couldn't. I sat in my room like a coward, with my hands over my ears, crying like it was happening to me."

Sinclair had refrained from interrupting her so far but he couldn't at that point.

"You're not a coward...you were a child, Sian."

As much as she appreciated him trying, she couldn't agree, shaking off his kindness with a haphazard wave.

"I snuck into Robbie's room that night, cleaned him up as best I knew how...he had bruises for weeks. Couldn't go to college. Wasn't allowed to leave the house."

He'd basically been imprisoned in his family home, the only saving grace being his sister who would sneak into his room to give pieces of overheard information, much needed affection, or sweets she'd bought for him in a bid to cheer him up.

"Then when he was healed, dad gave him a choice...though it wasn't a choice really. Robbie could either get over his disgusting affliction, get himself to church...dad was an extremely back-slidden Catholic," Sian added for context.

"Get himself some help or get out. Robbie was terrified...guilty that he would have to leave me with them...but he wouldn't live a lie and I didn't want him to. Dad was livid that he was picking that lifestyle; packed up his bags and threw him out. I...I've never forgiven him for it."

Sian's throat felt dry from sobs that ravaged their way through her, she breathed in deep trying to steady them. She needed a break.

"Can I have some water, please?" she asked Sinclair.

"Of course."

He shot up from his seat, laying the blanket back down and retrieved water and tissues from the kitchen.
Sinclair passed both to her and watched her sip from the glass and wipe her face.

"You don't have to continue," he assured her, resting his hand on top of hers. "Maybe that's enough for tonight."

"No, I want you to know."

Sinclair was in awe of her strength. What she was telling him was not something a teenage girl should have ever been witness to. Nor was it something a confused, teenage boy should have been subjected to. But that was the cruel world they lived in.

Sinclair squeezed her hand lightly, but suddenly concerned that he'd touched her without asking, he tried to pull his hand away. Sian clutched it. Keeping him near her.

"We had to sneak around to see each other after that. Dad didn't want his influence rubbing off on me, and mom...well, she stayed quiet." As women of her generation often did.

"But she knew I saw him, and from time to time would ask me to tell him she thought of him."

"How did he cope?" Sinclair asked, completely taken with Robbie's plight.

"Friends, hostels...anywhere really. Until he got himself a decent apprenticeship and started earning his own money anyway." Sian wiped her nose with the tissue Sinclair had brought her.

"He got this little, shitty bedsit that we used to take a bottle of cheap vodka to and get pissed, pass out and fall to sleep together. Butttt...I used to cook there. Used to cook for him, otherwise he would have lived off microwave meals and take aways. It's where I got the bug for it and he really encouraged me with it. He was my biggest fan...when it was good that is, he'd be brutally honest if it wasn't. The little git." Sian laughed, quite heartily; there were lots of good memories. They were sometimes hard to find through the bad, but they were there.

Sinclair chuckled along with her, not wanting to seem like he judged her for laughing at such an odd time.

"After I finished at culinary school, which he always helped pay for," she made sure to add, wanting Sinclair to know how good of a person he was.
"I moved out from mom and dad's, started working but couldn't really progress because of my age and lack of experience. Robbie found this course for me in Paris; he was excited, said it was just what I needed, you know? I could see a bit of the world and get some more education under my belt."

"Sounds like a smart man," Sinclair chimed.

"He was. But Dad found out, came round to my flat and almost tore up the application, said it was a waste of time and money. Robbie wouldn't let him deter me; helped me fill in the forms, even though I was reluctant to go. We went to a post office together, sent it off. The whole thing. And wow," Sian's eyes widened, "you should have seen his face when I got in. He was ecstatic. Promised to visit, helped me get what I needed, packed with me and within 6 months... October 7th 1986 to be exact, he was waving me off to France."

France. Fuck. That was something else that Sinclair needed to tell her! But now wasn't the time.

"I don't have any siblings, as you know, but he sounds like the type everyone would want."

Sian bit down on her bottom lip to stop it quivering.

"He was." Her face dropped until all emotion drained from her soft features.

"My brother never visited though. He'd send cards, goofy pictures of himself and Stephen, I thought everything was fine...but...Robbie sent me off to Paris knowing he had HIV."

Sinclair, without meaning to, squeezed her hand, his heart plummeting. Everything fell into place then. Why she was at the protest - what she had been fighting for. 

"When I got back to England, it was clear something was wrong. He was getting ill a lot; chest infections that lingered for weeks...he'd lost weight but he kept telling me that he was just working himself too hard. That he'd take a holiday and relax soon. I believed him, a bit naively, and even though I was worried, I had got myself another job and started up here again. I started dating and so...I should have been smarter!" Sian growled. Her clear annoyance at herself pained Sinclair.

"He was trying to protect you. You didn't know...you can't blame yourself," Sinclair replied, trying to settle her by pulling her closer to him, resting their joined hands over his chest.

Sian welcomed the comfort of him, shuffling closer until his free arm came around the top of the sofa and around her. She was safe.

"After he collapsed one day at work, Stephen finally persuaded him to tell me the truth. It broke me. I spoke to my parents, they didn't want to know. Too ashamed."

Sian hated them for it.

"Is Stephen?" Sinclair didn't know how to word the question sensitively. "Does he have...?"

"No," Sian shook her head, "Robbie wasn't stupid. He was careful...I mean, he gave me a safe sex talk once he knew I was...you know."

Sian waved her free hand in front of them awkwardly.

"Got it," Sinclair said with a shaky laugh. He didn't really want to consider it too in-depth, for obvious reasons.

"But it just takes one time, Sinclair." She held up one digit, shaking it furiously.

"One silly drunken night, where you think it'll be okay, because it's just once!"

Anguish. That's all Sinclair could hear from Sian. Unbridled anguish.

"Robbie didn't know he had it when him and Stephen met, and they were always safe. Robbie tried to break it off time and time again but Stephen loved him too much to leave."

Sinclair's guilt smacked him in the chest then. Stephen had stayed and he had ran away. That was life or death and what was his?! Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!

"You okay?" Sian asked, seeing the far off look in Sinclair's eyes. "Is this too much?"

Sinclair quickly became annoyed with himself, this time because he'd not been able to hide his useless emotions. Again!

"No...God no, sorry. Do you need some more water? Tea? Anything?" He offered, wanting to show his presence and consideration.

"No...just...this is good," she said, and shuffled into his side more.

"You can rest your head..." Sinclair offered, his heart pounding pathetically in his chest.

She did. She lay there on his shoulder. Pressed into him like he'd never abandoned her.

"Please...continue?"

Sian nodded and took a deep breathe, knowing she was getting to the very painful parts.

"Robbie was never really the same again. In and out of the hospital. I had so many arguments with nurses and doctors over his care. It was worse back then, they still didn't like people visiting but...I'd tell them to shove their gloves and masks when they tried to insist I had to wear them. I didn't want my brother to be afraid of me like he was them."

Sian's head was beginning to hurt from the constant on and off crying that she couldn't control. Which was starting up again, soaking into Sinclair's T-Shirt.

"At the end he was a shell of the man he used to be. So emaciated...painful lesions covering his body...bed bound. The fevers would make him delirious."

She broke. Sian's hand shot over her mouth, holding in a yelp of unthinkable pain.

"Sometimes," she burst through a howl, like a wounded animal, "sometimes he'd call out for our mom. Like...like a little boy."

Sinclair held her tighter, his own lip shaking.

"Did..did she come?" He asked tentatively.

Sian shook her head, pawing at her face. "Neither of them did. Even when we were told he was going, and to say our goodbyes."

"I'm so sorry, Sian." He tried to soothe but what good was sorry? he thought to himself. Sorry didn't bring him back. Didn't make his parents reach out to their crying boy.

"Stephen and I were there when he passed. He couldn't fight another bout of Pneumonia. He just had nothing left."

As Sian had done for him, Sinclair let her sob, her body convulsing with wave after wave of heartbreak. It was too much for him to contend with though, as he shed his own tears for the spectacular woman in his arms, and her brother, Robbie Baker; failed by his parents and society.

"I think you're very brave," Sinclair whispered into the top of her head, sniffing back what he had wept. "Exemplary."

"Maybe I was in the face of it...but afterwards...when it was all done, I retreated."

"What do you mean?"

"When boyfriends left me, because they couldn't possibly touch me when I'd been around him, I just got straight back to it. When I started washing my hands so much that they were red raw...I ignored it. I just blurred it out - all my own problems. I'd spent all this time keeping my head above water, running around to make sure Robbie and Stephen had what they needed that I didn't see what it had done to me."

"How did you? See it, that is?" Sinclair asked, stroking slow circles into her back. Hopefully he was helping her through the process.

"I found a support group, who suggested a therapist. I've seen her ever since...on and off," she admitted, "I had developed this fear of getting ill, and after watching Robbie suffer so much, I was terrified. Blood, I can't do...the moment I see it, I just freak out."

Perry had been witness to that a number of times. She had never judged her, just talked her down from her feverish fear.

"I tried to date but was too scared when it got...to the point of getting intimate. I told one once, thinking it would help, but he told me I was disgusting...and that I was likely to have it too."

"That's preposterous!" Sinclair spat. Why were people so monstrous?

But what if? He thought. What if he had pushed it with her? He had been so forward that morning they'd made love.

"Sian if I ever did something that you didn't want...I'm sorry," he began to bumble out but Sian stopped him.

"You didn't," she replied quickly, resting her hand on his thudding chest. "I put myself back into therapy when I met you...I wanted to be normal. I wanted you."

Sinclair closed his eyes tightly, relieved, saddened. She'd done so much to be with him and he'd fucked it up.

"I need to go wash my face," she whimpered abruptly, pulling herself from Sinclair's chest. "I'm sorry about all the snot. I'll clean myself up."

Sian was embarrassed, too warm, too...she couldn't explain. She just felt stifled all of a sudden.

She got up and Sinclair perched on the edge of the sofa, wondering if he should follow. He didn't, feeling that she probably needed some time and space.

With the door firmly locked behind her, Sian looked at herself in the backlit mirror; the tap below her running icy cold water into the white ceramic basin.

She pushed back her knotty hair, to inspect the damage. Red, puffy, bloodshot eyes, stung by salty tears, looked back at her. The skin underneath them felt tight and itchy. She cupped the running water in her hands and threw it on her face, it caused a shudder to run through her warmed system. She did it a couple of more times, until she felt cleaner, and cooler, then looked at herself again.

She'd told him. And he didn't recoil from her. Didn't judge her. Still let her cry all over him. She'd told him. But too late.

Sinclair's legs bobbed up and down nervously, she'd been in there for 22 minutes. He was watching the clock like his life depended on it.

When she came out, it was nearing 5am. The fading moon was being replaced by the waking of the sun. Sian wasn't sure she'd be able to face work in a few hours time.

Sinclair was biting the ends of his fingernails when he caught sight of her in the doorway.

"I'm going to leave a message on the work's answering machine. Is...is it okay if I sleep here still? I might not wake up too early...and you probably have to leave for work soon. So, I should probably go, shouldn't I?" She  nervously asked, balling up the bottom of her T-shirt in her fist.

Sinclair wanted more than anything for her to feel welcome with him. The question hurt but he knew she wasn't saying it to do so.

"I want you to stay. Please." He was pleading, his hands clasped tightly together, like a man begging for his last meal.

Sian smiled meekly. Dampening her own happiness.

"I'll just go make that call." She turned out of the doorway, and retreated to the office once again. This time, she sat down at the desk and picked up the phone.

Dialling the number, her heart rate increased, she'd never phoned in sick before, not unless she was actually really too sick to work.

She left a quick, stuttery message saying she was ill and would not be able to make it but she hoped to be in for her next shift. Then placed the phone back into it's cradle and pushed it away. Doing so drew her eye to a document that got caught underneath it.

She looked at the door, Sinclair hadn't come by, and then snatched it up.

Sian reread the page a few times to see if she had misunderstood. But she hadn't. Sinclair was leaving. The boxes that hadn't been unpacked, were in fact packed - to ship to France.

Her hands trembled as she placed the document back where it had been. She didn't want Sinclair to think she was snooping through his personal things.

She couldn't get angry at him, she had no right. So with that, she wiped the errant tear that had strayed from her eyes and sucked in a breath to console another sad weight on her shoulders.

Sinclair was waiting for her in the living room, unaware that she now knew he would be leaving in a little over two weeks.

He stood from the sofa, ready to fight her on his proposition if he had to.
"I want you to take the bed...you've had a ringer of a night and you won't get disturbed in there."

To his surprise, Sian simply nodded her head and agreed.

That was easy.

"Will..you come with me?"

And that was unexpected.

Sinclair gave her a confused look. She could see it clearly now the light of a new morning shone through.

"If that's what you want." It was a crass way to put it but he wanted, no, had to hear her say it.

"It's what I want."

Sinclair pulled back the covers on his side of the bed, as did Sian on her side, and watched her carefully. She slipped into it, settling on the pillow, catching his concerned amber gaze.

"It's okay," she whispered turning on to her side to face where he would sleep.

Sinclair kept himself a respectable distance when he lay down on the mattress. Tensing his body, trying to make himself as small as possible, so he didn't inappropriately touch her.

Sian shattered his struggle, by snuggling into his side, until he had to wrap his arm around her, giving her opportunity to lay her head on his chest.

Coconut and Papaya.

It felt like nothing had changed as they slipped into much needed sleep.

Except, everything had changed.

Chapter Text

When Sian awoke, slightly confused at her surroundings and parched, she expected Sinclair to be by her side but he wasn't.

She extricated herself from the entanglement of the duvet and pillows that she'd apparently fought with during her slumber and went in search of her missing bedtime companion.

Pleasantly relieved; she found him in the kitchen.

"Morning," she mumbled, raspy sleep still holding onto her throat.

Sinclair turned from the kettle that was starting to bubble with a smirk. "Afternoon."

"What time is it?" she asked rubbing her eyes, looking around for a clock in his stark white kitchen. It's brightness uncomfortable on her sensitive retinas.

With a flick of his arm, Sinclair looked down at his brown leather strapped watch and chuckled.

"3.15"

"What?!" she gasped, her eyes suddenly alive. "Perry's going to kill me. I said I'd call her in the morning."

"Don't worry," he said raising his hands in the manner that people do when they try to calm someone, "I already received an ear full off her this morning. Apparently, she 1471'd my phone number last night. Sneaky...but smart."

Sian laughed, "Yeahhh, that does sound like Perry...sorry about the ear full."

"Don't worry, I've heard worse," he replied nonchalantly with a wave of his hand.

But Sian did worry. Perry had found it difficult to mask her contempt for the man who had left her without word or warning.

"How do you feel?" he asked, closing the gap between them until Sian had to angle her head upwards to catch his eyes.

Sian paused. Asked herself the same thing and gave a hint of a smile. "I'm okay, a bit sore but I guess I feel, sort of, strangely liberated. You know the old saying, something shared...is something halved. A bit of that philosophy...I think."

"I'm glad." Sinclair seemed to forget himself in their moment of honesty. He reached out his hand to her face, cupping it gently; the ends of his fingers touching behind her ear, tickling the roots of her hair.

When Sian's eyes fell, his memories awoke. "Sorry. Old habits die hard."

"It's okay," she whispered, still not able to meet him eye to eye.

What does one do, in these awkward situations? The click of the kettle sounded. Saved by the bell.

"Tea?" he offered with an exuberant bounce in his voice, sliding his hand from the intimate home they had taken up.

"Yes please."

"The big mug?" he inquired as he turned and opened the cabinet above the kettle.

"What do you think?" Sian shot back sarcastically, feeling inexplicably comfortable in the moment, considering what had just taken place. She couldn't deny that it had felt...wanted. Dare she admit it; needed.

Sinclair snorted and confirmed with a swift nod of the head. "The big mug."

Why did he have to be so damn lovable?

"Go sit down. I'll bring it over," he instructed, feeling her eyes on him as he worked his way around the kitchen. She'd always had a penchant for watching him in there.

Sian did as she was asked, settling her bedraggled state under the blanket on the sofa. Sinclair had folded it back up and draped it along the top, but Prince now had trails of dried snot all over him, and it wasn't pleasant. She wanted to hide it and the blanket was the obvious article to do so with.

Within minutes, with a plate in one hand, and as promised, her favourite mug filled with tea in the other, Sinclair walked steadily over to where Sian had sat.

"Here we go, enough tea to drown a cat and the Paddington special; marmalade on toast, with extra butter."

Just how she liked it.

"Thank you", she chuckled at his references, "I'll be out of your hair after this, I promise."

She sipped the tea, it was boiling but her mouth was glad for the moisture it brought. Sinclair remained stood in front of her.

"Don't say that," he issued pensively.

"Don't say what?" she asked, her voice raising half an octave in confusion.

"You're not a burden here, Sian." The cheery disposition she had found in him in the kitchen had disappeared.

Sian instantly felt bad. She hadn't meant any harm by the comment but on second thought, and after last night/this morning, it probably was a bit cutting.

"Sorry..." she swallowed down the scalding liquid, "can I blame my sleep fogged brain?"

Sinclair's tongue twisted around his mouth, before sucking in a quick click.

"Sure."

He finished his little exaggerated scene with a smile. "I'm glad you got some sleep, fogged brain and all."

"Thank you...for letting me stay...and not waking me up," Sian joked, with her own smirk, then bit into the toast.

How could something as simple as marmalade on toast be so utterly divine? She answered her own question immediately; she'd not eaten since lunch time yesterday. Sian was so hungry, a raw potato would have sufficed.

Sinclair left her to eat in peace. She needed it. He went back into the kitchen and pulled her clean clothes out of the drier, then grabbed the white pumps, which he'd tried his best to salvage. They hadn't fared well.

Rejoining Sian, he stood in the door way that separated the living room from the kitchen; clothes folded neatly over one arm. Shoes dangling off his middle and forefinger at his side.

"These are clean," he said raising his arm slightly, then he lifted the tattered shoes with a look of regret, "these, however, are ruined."

"Bugger," Sian sighed, "they were my  favourite."

She'd missed this. How well they worked around each other and with one another. She reminded herself that she shouldn't...couldn't dwell on it; he wasn't even going to be in the country in a couple of weeks.

"I wondered," Sinclair began as he placed the clothes next to her, leaving the stained shoes on the floor, "and feel free to tell me no, but I wondered if we might go back. To..to Robbie's bench."

Sian looked up from her seated position, Sinclair's hair cascading over his face as he was bent over the sofa, refolding her tank top that had become creased when it landed on the seat.

His soft amber eyes flitted to hers when she didn't say anything.

"Sorry...horrible idea," he decided.

"Why do you want to go?" she asked, not with any malice, just curiosity.

"I feel a bit of wretch for how I behaved there yesterday. Feel as though I should...make some" he paused, looking for the word as he waved his hands through the air. "amends. But it was...it was thoughtless of me to ask...so soon. Just, please, forget I mentioned it."

"It's not. It's the complete opposite of thoughtless," Sian's voice wobbled, both at the thought of Robbie, and Sinclair's sweet gesture. "Let's go."

Sinclair smiled shyly, then signalled for her to hand him the finished plate. The task would give him a second in the kitchen to compose himself. The way she looked at him: it was killing him inside. For all the cheer he was putting on, - this; being with her but not being with her, was torture. A self inflicted wound that he was purposefully prodding.

After a shower, and a much needed change of clothes, the duo were back in Sinclair's car. This time, Sian had allowed him to drive. He'd have made a joke about it but the timing wasn't right.

Sinclair pulled in not five minutes into the journey.

"Quick pitstop," he informed his passenger, before leaving the car. Sian followed him with her gaze as he jogged down the road but lost sight of him in the crowd of people.

She rested her elbow on the window and looked out.

What the hell am I doing?

Trying to get your heart broken all over again, the little devil on her shoulder answered unhelpfully. She mentally told him to piss off as she wound down the window, needing air.

It was another warm, and busy day out on the streets; last night's rain no longer remembered; dried out by the sun. Like Sian's storm of tears, quelled by Sinclair. 

It was he who broke Sian's trance of people watching when he opened the car door. His backside entering first.

Oh for God's sake, Sian muttered inwardly. Like she needed anymore...confused feelings for him.

The reason he'd done it, was not to entice Sian's view, though if anyone had told him it had; he wouldn't have been disappointed. No, the real reason was because of the oversized bouquet of flowers and other items stuffed into his arm.

"What...the...hell?" Sian drawled.

"First things first. Water, for you," he handed her a large, chilled bottle, "it's hot and I don't want you becoming dehydrated. One bottle for me," he continued, slipping it into the cup holder.

"And these..." he said much quieter, "these are for Robbie."

The devil stabbed his fiery pitchfork into Sian's heart. She burst into tears.

Sinclair looked flabbergasted, his mouth open trying to find words. Any words. Just. Words. Sinclair! His body  was blocked by the bloody flowers that he thought were a good idea, but now he was considering tossing them out of the window.

"I'm sorry..." he said a bit pathetically, "I'm sorry...I'll get rid of them."

"No," she sniffed, wiping the unexpected tears with the back of her hand, "no, don't."

People heard her crying, and as pedestrians do, tried to catch a glimpse of the action. Subtly, or not so subtly, casting their prying eyes into the car.

Sinclair closed the window from the panel of buttons he had on his driver side door. Giving them some iota of privacy.

"Should I take you home?" he asked, watching her dry off the last of her sudden deluge.

Sian shook her head. "No...but do you have any tissues in the car? Because...this might happen a lot today."

Without a word, Sinclair placed the flowers carefully on the backseat and then leaned over Sian's legs to the glovebox. He pushed in the little button for it to pop open, revealing a packet of tissues.

"You just think of everything, don't you?" Sian said, a little amusement somewhere deep amongst her emotions. 

"One tries," he replied meekly.

*

The walk through the park, that would eventually lead to their destination, was much slower this time.

Sinclair pottered along beside Sian, flowers in one hand, his other firmly placed in his pocket; refusing his bodily urge to reach out to her. To run his fingers through her finer, more delicate digits until their palms brushed together.

Sian's ruined shoes lead the way without thought or need for direction. Knowing the land and paths like one knows the layout of their home. In some poetic way, a part of her home was here.

As the flat trails began to incline, Sian pushed forward faster than Sinclair, before she turned, her legs carrying her up the hill backwards.

"Robbie used to race me up this hill...you up for it?"

Sinclair laughed, thinking she must be joking.

"What?" she asked, quickly checking over her shoulder to make sure her footing was sound. "Scared you'd lose?"

"Scared I'd have a heart attack more like," he joked with a little scoff.

"Oh come off it..." she threw back, her calf muscles working doubly hard on their reversed journey.

Sinclair shook the flowers that were in convoy. "Are you forgetting these? They'd be trashed by the time I got up there."

Sian shrugged. "Sounds like an excuse to me."

Ah god, why was she doing this? his mind screamed. She was so irritatingly endearing that he already knew he was going to agree to the hare-brained idea.

Sinclair raised his brow, a playful smirk breaking out. She was already a few paces ahead of him by this point and in far better shape than he was; that was clear from the muscles that were bared to late afternoon sunshine.

"On your marks," he said with mock seriousness, losing the battle with the smile that he was fighting off.

Sian broke out into a childlike grin. Ear to ear. Heavenly.

"Get set," she followed, starting to twist her body so that she was at least facing the right way.

There was a moment of exciting tension as birds swung over head from tree to tree and children played somewhere off in the distance of the park.

"Go!" Sinclair bellowed, then picked up his feet into a run.

Sian was off, sprinting between divots in the rocky paths, flinging up dust that Sinclair then ran through. He held the flowers tightly between his arm and chest; a definite disadvantage to the water bottle Sian carried.

A fluffy sandy dog came pelting down the path, his owner walking some distance behind. As soon as the excited pup caught sight of their race, he U-Turned trailing after Sian in newfound excitement.

She squealed in delight, laughing at her new running companion.

"Sorry!" The dogs owner yelled, hustling a little faster down the path. It didn't take long for them to reach the very embarrassed looking man.

The dog stopped at his owners feet wriggling uncontrollably, as Sian passed them.

"Thanks for the boost, doggo!" she yelled, not resting for a second.

Sinclair's lungs burned as he reached the dog walker. Stopping to inhale as much air into his body as physically possible while he bent over slightly.

"Everything alright?" He was asked, the walker looking slightly concerned.

Sinclair sucked in enough to speak, "yep...just a...little race."

"Is she mad?" he asked with a chuckle, as Sian continued to the top. The shaggy dog between the men pouncing around desperately, wanting to play more.

"Absolutely," Sinclair chortled, "..in the...best possible way...must go!"

Sinclair didn't bother to run any further, thoroughly beaten by Sian's legs.

The walker watched him for a few paces, still slightly bewildered, but with a smile on his face.

"Right, come on you," he addressed his rambunctious dog, "no more chasing women."

Sian was sitting on the bench, guzzling back water when Sinclair made it to the top, flowers mostly unscathed, and with the uncomfortable feeling of sweat dripping down his neck into his sage T-Shirt.

"Bravo," he panted, "bravo. We'll...sign up for the...Olympics I think."

Sian peered to her side, watching Sinclair approach, water still in her mouth. She swallowed it down with a hard gulp, still catching her own frantic breath.

"I haven't done that in years," she chimed with a laugh.

She held out the bottle of water to Sinclair who happily took it and practically threw it down his struggling windpipe. He was careful not to finish it, saving the last few sips for Sian.

He stood at her side, his breathing evening out as he looked down at the splendid view. It was truly the perfect vantage point. Sian had her eyes fixed in the same direction.

"Can I sit?" asked Sinclair, now looking down in Sian's direction.

"Of course." She patted the spot next to her, and reeled in her feet so they wouldn't be a trip hazard.

They sat their for a good ten minutes, enjoying the calm, their bodies recovering from its exertion.

"That was fun...thank you." Sian said, finally breaking their mutual rest.

"I thought that dog was going to take you out," he laughed, shuffling the flowers that he lay on his lap.

"I have fallen up that hill before. Robbie was bloody fast..." she shrugged her shoulders and raised her hands, chuckling, "my competitiveness could get the best of me."

"So, this place is special?"

"Very. It was his spot. He loved the view, and the piece of wilderness it gave to the city. All three of us would come sometimes...Stephen and Robbie that is; have a picnic and waste the  day away."

Sinclair turned his body to her, resting his elbow on the back of the bench. "Doesn't sound wasteful. Sounds like bliss."

"It was. We pushed him up in a wheelchair once, when he was getting weaker. That was hard work. He loved it though. Eventually he couldn't come."

Sian nervously pushed the plastic of the bottle in and out, it giving off a popping sound.

"Unbeknownst to most people, because it actually might be some kind of health and safety issue...his ashes are scattered through here."

Seeing that the topic was getting difficult for Sian, Sinclair edged his rested elbow a tad closer, until his fingers could brush gently on top of her bare shoulder.

"Robbie would have been proud," she said patting the bench, before dropping her voice, about to reveal another secret. "I had to steal them from mom and dad's house."

Sinclair grinned at the confession.

"As his official next of kin, they got to decide about the funeral. It was pathetic. A quick impersonal affair at the crematorium...so I said to Stephen we should do something better for him."

"How did you pull that off?" he inquired, intrigued.

"I invited myself around for dinner, it was awkward and horrible but I slipped out with the ashes in my backpack." Sian's face turned into a sour look, her chin wobbling. "They didn't even notice for a few days."

Sinclair pressed his lips together. Keeping in all of the things he'd like to say regarding her parents.

"It was too late by the time they did because we came up here in the dead of night with a few of his friends...had some drinks and remembered him properly."

"What did your parents say?" Sinclair asked, still running circles into her shoulder.

"Mom remained tight lipped as ever but I could tell she was disappointed. Dad went ballistic. Said I'd taken away their right to pay their respects."

"Bold..." Sinclair's resolve to remain silent on the subject slipped.

"Yeah..." Sian agreed with a roll of her eyes and a nod. "I got so angry!" she said louder, fresh tears surfacing whilst her hands shook in front of her. "Told him he'd lost that right by not respecting him in life."

Sinclair nodded his head softly, in complete agreement with her insight and her actions. He pulled a tissue out from his pocket and handed it to her; not that he thought she should hide them.

"We didn't speak for months after that."

Sinclair thought for a moment, then tentatively spoke what was on his mind.

"Forgive me if I cross a line here but I'm surprised you speak to him at all."

Sian understood what he meant.

"It was for mom's sake."

Whilst Sinclair couldn't comprehend their family dynamics, he didn't question it. Sian was a good person, so he wasn't shocked that she'd do her best even when she was wronged.

"Here," Sinclair passed her the bottle, "finish that off."

"Thanks. And thanks for this...I appreciate the thought."

"I should be thanking you," he said matter-of-factly.

Their eyes met, the sun revealing the speckle of greens that lay hidden amongst the sea of blue. She looked down to his hand that was still soothing her skin. It had helped. His touch always did.

"Sincl..."

"Voooooorrrrrhoooooom."

Sian's thoughts were interrupted by a little boy pretending to be an aeroplane, his mom not too far behind him.

Sinclair looked over as well, moving his hand from Sian's shoulder. He laughed as the boy screeched to a perfect landing at the other side of the bench.

He climbed up, not too far from Sinclair, his knees hitting the backrest as he perched on them.

"Hello Robbie!" the boy said, waving at the plaque.

Sian's eyes near bulged from their sockets, before she had to stifle a small whimper behind her hand. She looked away instantly, trying not to freak out in front of the small child. He must have only been around 4 or 5.

"Harry, stop being so loud. There are other people here as well," his mom chided softly as she caught up.

"Oh no, don't mind us..." Sinclair spoke back to the mom before looking at the young boy again. He sat forward slightly, shielding Sian from view. 

Harry's mother sat with a worn out sigh."Some hill that, isn't it? He drags me up it at least once a week. Likes this bench, and likes to think he take off the hill as spitfire...sorry if we're interrupting."

"No, not all." Sinclair replied politely with a friendly smile, though feeling very awkward. He then subtly turned his attentions back to Sian.

"Do you want to go?" he asked as a whisper in her ear.

The part of her that immediately panicked, did. But the part of her that was touched by the boy's sweetness, didn't.

"In a sec," she replied. It wasn't like it was the first time she'd shared the bench with anyone but it was the first time she'd ever heard anyone acknowledge that it had Robbie's name on it. She was touched by the boy's innocence.

As all children of that age, he shifted around like he had ants crawling through his clothes. So much so, that he bumped into Sinclair a few times. Rustling the plastic wrap the flowers were in.

"Mom..." he whispered, well at least he thought he whispered. "That man's got flowers."

His mother looked embarrassed and did a better job at concealing her voice than her son, but both Sinclair and Sian could still hear her due to their proximity. "I know, pretty aren't they? Now come on, sit down and eat your sandwich."

Harry completely ignored his mom's instructions, still focussed on the flowers.

"I think he loves her..."

Perceptive. Sinclair thought, feeling instantly uncomfortable; especially as Sian was now nervously bobbing her right leg up and down. It was brushing against his leg.

"Stop being nosy and eat your sandwich," she said far more tersely. This time he listened and wriggled until he was sitting. His mom placed what looked like a ham sandwich in his lap and took out her own.

The couple looked at each other, each with their own speculative look. As if searching for any signs that the other did not believe what the little boy had said. Children were exceptionally talented at blurting out what adults thought were best kept secret.

"We should get going," Sian suggested, tearing her eyes from Sinclair's.

"Yeah."

Sinclair stood first, flowers in hand. He feared he was about to look frightfully odd to their present company.

Sian put her hands on her bare knees and rose from the seat. She patted the back of it twice, knowing she'd be back soon. 

"Byeee," Harry said with a mouth full of sandwich, his short legs just about dangling off the bench, flitting backwards and forwards.

"Bye," Sian said shyly with a short wave.

Sinclair placed the flowers down on the bench, careful not to make eye contact with the little boy's mom, who he knew was watching him.

As Sinclair went to step away with Sian, Harry couldn't hold in his confusion.

"Scuuuse me. You forgot your flowers."

"Harry!" His mom warned.

Sinclair stumbled to find the words to explain, but with a hand on his arm, Sian took over.

"Oh no," she said softly, in a lighter voice that would soothe a child, "they're for Robbie."

Harry's eyes seemed to light up in astonishment. "That's nice. Do you know him?"

Sian looked from the boy to the plaque, a teary smile breaking out.

The mom seemed to realise what was going on as she sent Sian and Sinclair a sympathetic look, whilst putting an arm around Harry; in an attempt to deter any further questions.

"I do...you keep visiting him. I'm sure he likes it."

Harry looked proud of himself. "Okay." He answered simply before biting his sandwich again.

"Bye now." Sian waved again and with the hand still on Sinclair's arm, pulled him with her.

They walked back down to Sinclair's car in relative quietness, passing others enjoying what was set to be a beautiful sunset. They both had a lot running through their minds, and neither wanted to be the first to bring any of them up.

In the privacy of his car, Sian asked if they could go back to Sinclair's flat; she wanted to pick up the clothes she slept in last night. Or at least that's what she told herself. If she were being truly honest, she just wanted that extra slither of his time.

Sinclair parked the car and led Sian back up to his flat. This time a little less frantically, as they weren't soaked. He knew he had to tell her about moving but the timing all felt so wrong, so he buried it down. But he'd have to do it in the next few days. That's if she wanted to see him again.

Sian gathered her clothes from Sinclair's bedroom, placing it in a strong paper carrier he had given her. She did so in slow movements, trying to decipher her warring emotions. Head or heart. It was an enigma.

She eventually joined him in the living room, though stood waiting by the door.

"I'm going to walk home...I need to grab a few things on my way, anyway," she informed Sinclair, who had been shuffling between the living room and kitchen nervously in her absence.

"Are you sure? It's no problem...I don't mind..."

"I'm sure. Thank you for listening...and again, for today."

Sinclair gave her a short nod of acknowledgement, finding himself stuck for words again. This was an ailment Sinclair was not used to, and he was damning his heart for silencing his voice.

He was opening the front door before be knew it, watching Sian step over the threshold from his flat into the world. Without him.

"Ermm," he began, giving himself a second to present an idea..any idea.

"Yeah?" Sian asked, the bag in her hand swinging gently by her leg.

Her stuff.

"I have a few more...of your things. If you wanted them?" God that was an awful question, Sinclair.

"Oh...yeah, err now?" Sian asked, not looking forward to lugging everything home by herself.

"I can drop it round. You have my number...thanks to Perry," he joked, trying his hardest to make this less awful and awkward. "Give me a call?"

"Sure," Sian agreed then stood there feeling out of place. "Well...bye then and I'll call."

"Okay..." When? When will you call? Will you ever call? "Be safe."

Sian smiled and nodded. Before it became any more tense in the small space of the hallway she turned and left, opting to take the stairs.

Sinclair closed the door and nearly wept, his one hand holding himself up against it. What was he doing? Was he just going to let her go like that? With so much uncertainty?

Sian opened the fire door to the stairs, confusion wrapped through her fatigued mind. She had started taking the steps without much thought, just taking one step at time, listening to the echoes her feet produced. She looked down as she hit the first landing, where she needed to turn into the next flight of stairs and stopped. Her stained shoes, which Sinclair had tried his hardest to clean, stared back at her.

Just one step at a time.

Sinclair had forced himself away from the door after a few turbulent seconds; he was going to make himself tea, to calm down, but instead his hand had reached for the whiskey. The one he had shared with Sian the night before.

When he sat down on the sofa, it felt empty. The voice of the little boy had been stuck in his mind since earlier.

I think he loves her.

The thought entrapped his mind into scenarios that would never be. Taking him away from this life, his reality, to a much better place.

Sinclair jumped at the sound of knuckles rapping at his front door. He pulled himself up from the sofa, leaving his second glass of whiskey on the table as he passed.

Aggravated, he cursed whoever was interrupting his dozing as he unlocked the door and opened it sharply; ready to tell whatever Avon selling Jehovah's witness where they could stick their pamphlet.

"Sian," he spluttered, taken off guard; his irritation seeping completely from him.

Without a word, she entered his flat, heart pounding in her worrisome chest. She'd sat on the stairs for over half an hour, arguing with herself.

Sinclair shuffled back, confused, concerned. Had something happened in the short time they had been apart?

His eyes were pulled to the dropping of her bag on the floor and then she stepped to him. She lifted her hand, placing it on his chest, slowly coaxing a turn, until his back was against the wall.

Sian looked up to his amber eyes, unsure of what she'd find in them. And honestly, she couldn't be sure. Accepting but hesitant? She could understand that.

His brow was creased, his plump lips parted enough to see the tops of his bottom teeth. There was a distinct movement in his chest as her hand crept further up until the material of his shirt was replaced by the soft skin of his tanned neck.

She tiptoed, her body pressing closer until the warm scent of whiskey hit her lips.

"Sian," he whispered, his eyes losing focus, "Sian..." He wanted this, he did. But...
Sinclair's chest burned.

"Sian, I'm leaving," he blurted out in a panic.

The end, it would have to be. There was no going back now.

"I know," she whispered shakily. The hand that had been working it's slow way up his body, brushed through his sandy hair and pulled his lips to hers.

Chapter Text

I understand why storms are named after people.
Some swiftly pass you by, leaving behind little damage; as if they were never there at all.
Some give you warning, allowing time to baton down your hatches; some safety to weather the fall.
Some you hate. Others destroy.
Far off and close by.
Then,
with defiant courage,
there are those that make you want to shed your weak human layers,
and quench your thirst in it's rains.
I'll say it again.
I understand why storms are named after people.

Sian was a storm and Sinclair was like a man desperate for water, cupping his hands to catch imploding skies, in case they never returned.

"What do you mean you know?" Sinclair whispered, his splayed hands holding Sian's face a mere breath from his lips before selfishly kissing her again.

Sian tried to think coherently but was distracted by the feel of Sinclair's fervent reciprocation. Familiar but new. Exciting yet safe.

"France," she whimpered between the meeting of their lips. "You're...leaving."

Sinclair almost growled as he pried himself away from Sian, holding her steady against his yearning, awoken body.

"How?" he panted, already struggling to contain himself.

"I saw the things on your desk," she admitted, trying to step back but being stopped by the tensing of Sinclair's muscles.

"And yet you're back?" he questioned softly, his amber eyes on fire with love and lust. "What can I give you now?"

"Two weeks," Sian stated with a crease in her usually smooth brow. She was fighting the sticky feeling in her throat, banishing any quiver of unwanted emotion. "You've got two weeks to give me. If you want to?"

It wasn't a question that needed to be asked. He would give her his last weeks, without a thought, - but he knew when he left, and the droughts came, the cupping of his hands would be left dry. And he would undoubtedly want more.

So, like fading souls, they would have to drink while they still could.

Sian slipped her hands down from his hair over his neck, feathering his warm skin with the ends of her soft fingertips. Sinclair's eyes faltered, closing as her filed nails brushed along his chest.

"Goddd," Sinclair shook, "I've missed you."

With a sharp movement, his hand encompassed the back of Sian's neck, pulling her back to him before guiding her swiftly to the adjacent wall. His nose, still tender from its assault, twinged but he ignored any impediment to their long awaited union.

The thought that she was his, for a time, another short spell in his long life, would not dampen his unbridled passion for the woman who moaned so blessedly into his mouth.

His thoughts were ripped away by untamed touches, pushing into the muscles of his lower back, before delving to the curves of his buttocks. Her hands remembered him, as if Sinclair's body had always been available to her.

With kissed warmed lips now ravishing her neck, she squeezed and pulled, until their hips were labouring together, searching for more.

The barrier of their clothes was a frustration to both, impeding flesh that would only be satisfied by the others. Sinclair brushed down her body, sweeping sensation after sensation until his fingers met the end of her tank top. He nipped over her collarbone to the centre of her chest before pulling his head up to her closed eye.

She opened them as he began lifting her top, revealing paler skin that the sun had not yet had privilege of touching.

"Is this what you want?" he asked, his voice like thick honey.

Sian nodded, her brow lifting in breathless anticipation as her top continued to rise over her breasts.

"You know I do," she answered, lifting her arms above her head.

Sinclair stepped back, throwing her unneeded shirt onto the floor, then slowly began running a finger from her sternum, down between the valley of her breasts, before stopping at the waist band of her athletic shorts. It shot static chills throughout Sian's body, causing her to shiver delightfully. Sinclair was a daze in her reactions.

He wrapped himself around her, his hands travelling swiftly around her waist to her backside. With a push from his legs, he thrust her up into his arms, her milky cleavage bouncing temptingly in her white bra.

Sian gasped, her legs pinning around  Sinclair's lower back, her centre teased by the swift contact it had made with his own hidden excitement.

"I may not be able to catch you in a race but I can sure as hell carry you to bed," he affirmed before confidently manoeuvring out of the hallway and into his bedroom. With a swift kick, the door was closed on the couple. Never again would someone be privy to their acts of love. Sinclair was sure of that.

In their entanglement, lips met hungrily, both giving and taking in abundance. Neither wanted control, just equal, satisfying amounts of the other.

Sian's head lightly hit the grey pillows, her short hair splaying perfectly around her face, like an angel. Her thoughts were far from holy though, as Sinclair half sat, towering over her restless body, to swipe his t-shirt off. She immediately ran her burning fingers up him, tugging on the tuft of sandy hair on his chest.

Her lover hissed, excited by the ounce of pain that had come with the overwhelming pleasure.

"Do that again," he ordered, his head dropping, face covered from her view by his soft, much adored hair.

Sian bit her bottom lip and happily obeyed, digging her fingers in slightly this time.

It elicited an inspiring groan that had her opening in her mouth in wonder and squeezing her legs in frustration. The muscles of his neck bulged as he bared it to her sinful eyes.

She watched his long arm reach to his drawers, producing the protection that Sinclair knew would ease any of her worries. In all of his lusty haze, he wouldn't allow himself to lose sight of what she needed. He left it on the side.

"Sinclair...touch me.." she moaned, drawing his hand from the silver packet down her stomach and into her thin shorts.

When his thick fingers met the molten warmth of her, he near buckled, moaning in sweet delight at her goddess-ly nectar.

"Ahh..hh," she sighed as he teased his fingers expertly through the domain of her womanhood, giving particular reverence to her slick bud of nerves that pulsed through her body with every stroke.

Sinclair sat up further, displaying his slightly reddened chest, without removing his hand from it's pleasurable labour. He pulled down the sides of her short and underwear with his free hand, until she was bared to him.

Now his movements were unrestricted, Sinclair's fingers were relentless in their efforts. Dipping inside, dastardly curling into soft tissue, then drawing back out to hear her exquisite panting.

She grasped the pillow beside her, trying to bite down and shelter her long, drawn out sobs of gratification but Sinclair stopped her, throwing it aside.

"I want to hear," he whispered.

He ground his teeth together, his need to have her overwhelming him. But he wanted to see pleasure wrap around her body and take her first her.

Sian's arms moved above her sporadically, trying to find purchase on something as her hips began pushing greedily into his hand, soaking his luscious digits. She finally latched on to the junction of his knee and thigh, nails digging into his covered skin, muscles tensing in her arms, and back arching.

A low, long hum left her throat involuntarily as her eyes clamped and her feverish head forced itself into it's pillowy home.

Sinclair watched in splendour. Her mouth opening one last time before her body convulsed and gleamed in it's orgasmic satiation.

The tension of her muscles simmered, breath pounding through her chest like stampeding wild beasts. She wet her lips with her tongue, basking in the aftershock of her bodies earthquake.

It was only the noise of Sinclair's zipper that brought her back to the bedroom. To the man above her. Another garment was discarded to the floor, then another, leaving Sinclair free.

Wetted fingers perfumed her neck, as he took her lips fiercely, teasing the end of her tongue with his. He was magnetic, drawing her out of her post orgasm stupor, invigorating her aching core again.

She planted her hot, moist palm over his heart, pushing until he lay in the middle of the bed. Her full, slightly shaky thighs homed themselves at the side of Sinclair's hips as she hovered above him. Leaving his throbbing erection in torturous stasis.

Sian indulged herself in his body, running her hands up and down his chest. Letting her nail catch at his nipple as she did so. Sinclair could do nothing else but grab her hips until his fingertips left pink markings in her ivory skin.

She unclasped her bra and watched rapaciously as Sinclair admired her. To indulge him and herself further, Sian leaned over, purposefully letting her full, swollen, supple breasts brush his face. He clasped one hungrily into his mouth, sucking hard until she sighed a shaky, hearty "fuck" above him.

The earlier delving of the drawers made it easy for Sian to snatch up the silver foiled packet, though Sinclair's vigorous supping didn't.

Protection could be mood destroying, she understood that, so she made it her duty to integrate it into the excitement.

Sinclair let go with a pop, the delicate skin around her glistening areola now a wash with his branding. Sian wore it with pride.

"That was very naughty of you," he hummed, now kneading handfuls of flesh as his hands surveyed her thighs, hips and arse.

"What?" Sian left the unfinished question hanging in the air as she ripped open the wrapper with her teeth, "Didn't like it?"

Sinclair watched her nimble fingers produce the condom, his heart racing, fighting against the upwards thrusts his hips so desperately wanted to make.

"I did..." he sighed as the coolness of the wet rubber touched the swollen tip of his cock. "Very...fucking..much," he edged as he was completely sheathed.

His mouth dried when she finally allowed him exquisite entrance to herself. Tightly gripping around every inch as she lowered farther down, until her bottom touched his thighs.

"Arhhh, fu..fffucking hell," he mewled crudely into the room, clamping his eyes shut at the exponential pressure that was rampaging into his lower body. If he were selfish, he'd have gone under, letting himself drown right there and then.

Sian leaned forward, kissing his face softly as she gently started to lift herself up and down rhythmically. She bit his bottom lip, enticing another sharp hiss from below. He held on tighter to her, bucking his hips to meet her, hitting somewhere deep and hidden inside of Sian. She moaned against his lips, embarrassingly honest praise falling from them as he continued.

"Don't you want to watch?" she whispered as his eyes had still not opened.

Of course he did.

With a guiding hand, he pushed until she was upright again, his cock throbbing desperately inside of her. His amber eyes planted on hers, content that she was happy for him to feast on her every sensual movement.

And God, did she give him something to remember. Bouncing and grinding. Her breasts rising and falling in the same delicious patterns. She cupped one, letting her nipple peak out through the slot of her middle and ring finger.

Sian's heart was combusting in her chest, her breath a pant and her thighs aflame due to her athletic ministrations.

She could feel him throbbing inside of her, pushing his fingers into her numbing flesh as she built up for another ecstatic explosion.

"Just a little...bit longer..love," she gasped between Sinclair's thrust. In her intoxication, she hadn't even registered what she had said, but Sinclair did. It caused a feral burst of energy in him, until he was pummelling himself into her, marking her body anywhere he could get his hands to stay.

"I can't..." Sinclair was going to say he couldn't hold on any longer but was interrupted by a sudden crying out of his name to the heavens. She tightened around him, vicing Sinclair inside of her until his body could withstand no more. He held her shaking hips down firmly, grinding like an animal until his release was done.

Sian, pushed back her sweat licked locks from her face and winced as she slipped off of him, feeling the lasting effects of his of girth and the power in which he had struck into her at the end.

She planted her elbows next to his ears and swept back his own sweaty mop. Keeping her palms planted over his hair. She kissed his forehead, then gently his nose and bruised eye. The light puckering sound mixing with their rasping lungs as Sinclair stroked loving fingers over her shivering back.

"Let's go take a bath," she whispered, sweet but sultry into his right ear before pulling the lobe with her teeth.

Chapter Text

Sian let her fingertips swim through the steamy, lavender scented bath water, the bubbles gathering over her knuckles as she did so. She took note of her naked body, still holding on to the traces of their love making with hues of pinks and purples. She had not felt so relaxed in months.

Sinclair sat behind her, cushioning her back with his chest whilst encompassing her legs with his own. He nuzzled a still somewhat tender face into the side of her neck, tracing her delicate skin with the end of his nose.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked into her ear, as he planted kiss after kiss around her neck. His hands caressed her bath slicked stomach, holding her as close as possible.

Maybe this was too good to be true, he thought, maybe he would wake up from this dream, alone in his shell of an apartment, soon enough.

"Not at all...well, not in a bad way anyway," she flirted back. She could not deny that she had thoroughly enjoyed his eager need for her.

Sinclair chuckled into her ear, nibbling behind it, dream or not, he was enjoying his moment in the sun. "Cheeky."

All the flirting in the world couldn't silence their thoughts though. In their own way, neither could forgive themselves because this is what they could have been doing for the last seven months. If only they hadn't been so afraid of the consequences of complete honesty. If only.

They sat with those regrets in the steamy bathroom for a while, whilst outwardly they enjoyed the feel of each other. Tender touches and unspoken emotions.

"Soooooo...the million dollar question," Sian began, interrupting their quiet.

"What's in France?" she asked, playing with the water awkwardly, thinking they may as well get the conversation over with as soon as possible. After all, they were short on time.

"A vineyard," he answered, his voice touching on hardness. Sinclair didn't want to think about it, he just wanted what was lying so contentedly in his arms.

"That...seems oddly you, actually," Sian expressed sincerely. She was almost relieved, in fact, knowing that Sinclair would strive in something a bit more freeing. No longer confined to an office in the city.

Sinclair chuckled into her ear, "Perhaps...but it wasn't my idea."

"No?"

"No. My father's latest business venture. He's been trying to get me to partner with him on something for a while...when he brought up the vineyard after Christmas..." Sinclair stopped, taking his hand from Sian's stomach and resting it on the side of the white bath.

"Sinclair," Sian twisted her head to see him, his face sullen, his amber eyes focussing deeply on the condensation that dropped down the blue tiled wall ahead, "you can say it."

He swiped his tongue over his top lip, producing a frown into his brow.

"I'm not sure why at 78 he's bought a vineyard really, except the money...but he wanted someone there to make it work. He's too old to be out  in the heat dealing with pickers and the actual running of the business, so...I saw it as...as a good escape. He asked and I couldn't think of a reason...at the time, to say no." He looked down at Sian, knowing she'd have been the reason to decline the offer at the time - if things had been different.

Sian smiled reassuringly, then kissed his damp lips, trying to soften his frown. Though she couldn't comprehend him leaving, or how that would have her feeling; she was strangely happy for him.

"It sounds exciting...much more...I don't know," she shrugged, placing her hand on top of his, "suited to you. I don't ever think you were meant to be crunching numbers behind a desk all day."

"Probably not, but...now I'll be crunching numbers in the middle of a crop of grapes whilst desperately trying to hide my English-ness from the natives," he countered sardonically with a huff.

The closer it was getting, the colder his feet had become; even before Sian stumbled back into his life. And he could speak French, of course, but there was no hiding the fact that he wasn't a countryman, so he knew he was going to have to schmooze his way around for a bit.

"You'll get an excellent tan though," Sian joked, still trying to cheer him.

And it did, if only a little, as he smiled without baring his teeth.

"I suppose that is the silver lining. But, if I'm honest...I'm a tad nervous. I've been doing as much reading up as I can, a few trips out there to meet with those that are keeping it ticking over until it's time to harvest. I...I have to be there for that. Organise schedules and the like."

Though he wished more than anything in that moment that he didn't. That he could take it all back, but he couldn't. His father was depending on him to make this investment worthwhile.

Sian nodded her head with keen interest. The wet ends of her hair sticking to his shoulder.

"Where will you live?"

"There's a little cottage...sorry a gite for me. My parents aren't too far away, thought I doubt I'll see them much during the day. Apparently, they're enjoying their retirement." He rolled his eyes, not quite understanding why you'd buy a vineyard if you wanted to relax in your old age. It wasn't even like his parents needed more money.

"Sounds idyllic," Sian sighed, closing her eyes, tired from the long day and the emotional toil that it had brought.

"You should come visit," Sinclair blurted, not really thinking about the mechanics of the suggestion.

Sian's head dipped back until she was no longer facing him. The idea, whilst lovely, and heaven knows she needed a holiday; it wasn't an ideal solution. If she went out there and saw him, it would just prolong their want of each other.

In reality it wouldn't work. Sinclair was starting afresh, his life would be in France, whilst hers would still remain in England.

"Maybe," she whispered, then rubbed her lips together. She knew she had to veer the conversation. "Will you wash my hair, please?"

Sinclair all but pouted. "But I like your shampoo better."

His puppy dog demeanour earned him a roll of the eyes as she sat forward and grabbed his shampoo.

"You'll cope," she sarcastically affirmed.

With a quiet dramatic sigh, Sinclair also sat up, sloshing water over the sides of the bath. "Oops. There goes the security deposit," he jested.

A shampoo bottle was passed over Sian's shoulder for him to take. She then made sure the top of her head was wet enough before letting Sinclair's avid fingers work their magic through her scalp.

"Have I told you I like the new haircut?" he commented, leaning forward until his chest was pressing against her wet back. When she turned her head, he tapped her nose leaving shampoo suds on it. "Adorable."

She rolled her eyes at him again before turning away, a little bashful at his compliment.

"Do you really? I wasn't sure at first."

"Of course. It's very...I'd say grown up but I'm not sure that's a compliment, I think I'll go with" he thought for the word, "sophisticated," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "sexy...and much easier to wash, too."

"Oh shush," she laughed, batting water behind her to hit him.

"You shush," he pushed back playfully, splashing water into her lap, "and pass me the shower head, please. Must rinse."

Sian leaned forward further, untangled the taps built in shower head, before turning it on. She squealed as the cold water spurted out, hammering the bath water below it. She didn't pass it over until it was a decent temperature just in case Sinclair got any wicked ideas. The way he had giggled behind her, she'd have bet good money on him wanting to hear her shriek again.

Once trusted, Sinclair rinsed the shampoo suds from her hair, massaging as he did so. The lather of bubbles gliding down her creamy skin had his fingers chasing them, tickling as they journeyed the bumps of her spine, over the little silver childhood scars and darker moles. She allowed him explore long past needing to rid her hair of shampoo, letting him memorise with as many senses as he could.

When his lips made contact with the nape of her neck she gripped the side of the bath tighter in an unexpected gasp.

Any further foray of her body would have to wait though, as the ringing of the telephone blighted the apartment. Sinclair wished in that moment that he'd unplugged it again. He rested his forehead on the back of her shoulder and sighed. 

"We should leave it, who in their right mind would be calling this late?"

He pecked her shoulder a few times, waiting for it to end.

Sian shrugged, jolting Sinclair's head, making it more difficult for him to continue his attentive affection. Then she suddenly panicked.

"Shit...it's probably Perry."

She sat up as quickly as one safely could in a slippery bath tub and stepped out, giving Sinclair a show of her dimpled bottom as she did. She grabbed a towel as she padded out, promising to be back in a minute.

Sinclair lay back with another sigh, his mind a little rumbled by the sight of her fully nude in his bathroom. Not that he hadn't seen her naked for the past hour or so. It wasn't just his mind either, as blood rushed to a certain appendage that so far he had been managing to control.

Almost slipping on the wooden floor of the hallway as she darted across it, Sian made it to the phone before it stopped ringing.

"Hello?" she answered a little breathlessly from her jog and near embarrassing collapse.

"Sian!" As suspected, it was Perry.  "Where the hell are you?!?"

She sat there for a second, dripping water around her in the dark office, processing the question with a slight confused twitch in her eyebrow.

"Perry I know it's late but you rang Sinclair's number...and I answered...where do you think I am?"

Perry tutted.

"Well..." She stuttered trying to correct her error, "you know what, don't be a smart arse, you knew exactly what I meant?"

"Did iiiii?" she drawled, knowing it probably wasn't a good idea as it would just irritate her fireball of a friend more.

"Yes. You did. Now we've established where you are, can we please establish why you're still there with knobface and not at home?" she barked like she was her mother. Sian wasn't going to pick her up on the slur, it was something that Perry had taken to calling him on the rare occasion he was brought up.

Sian sucked in air through her teeth, like that of a dodgy car salesman when you ask him to lower the price. Her eye was attracted by the light filtering out through the bathroom, Sinclair leaving it.

"That's probably going to take longer than a phone call but... we're kind of..." maybe having sex for two weeks, and then maybe never seeing each other again...for the second time "I don't know how to put it, it's complicated but we're..."

"Fucking?"

"Perry!" Sian puffed out a laugh, although she had wanted to be serious. From an outside perspective, it probably didn't look great that she'd fallen back into bed with the man that had left her.

"I'll take that as a yes," she sighed, Sian couldn't tell if it was from disappointment or tiredness but either way she felt bad. "Look, that better be some good sex because..."

"Very," Sian interrupted, blushing just thinking about how good it had been, and how Sinclair was likely naked in the next room. "Anyyyyyway, I've gotta go."

"Will you ever be gracing me with your presence again?" she asked dramatically. The actor in her not able to be stopped.

"Yes yes, of course. I'll be home tomorrow. And I'll explain and make up for it, I promise. Dinner on me."

"Good...somewhere fancy...I've been very worried," she articulated her words like that of a stubborn child. "And I want all the information."

"Alllll?" Sian asked cheekily, insinuating their earlier discussion.

"Ew, gods no! Like, PG, maybe a 12."

Sian burst out laughing again.

"Well, I'm at least happy you're laughing again. And I'm glad you're alive. Good night...if you're even going to bother to sleep."

Sian smirked into the receiver of the phone. "Probably not."

"Urgh. Bye."

"Wait," Sian shrieked quietly, trying to catch her before she put the phone down on. "Now that you've finished grilling me. Are you okay?"

"I'm good...just wondering where my little runaway had got to."

"Have you been listening to Bon Jovi again?" Sian asked with a smile.

"Always. Alright, I'm heading to bed. Be safe. Be good. And if you can't be good..."

"...don't get caught being bad. Got it."

"That's my girl. Byeee."

"Byeeeeee." Sian signed off cheerily.

Fuck, that's going to be a fucking ballache to explain tomorrow. Sian huffed as her damp body shivered on the leather office chair.

She walked in to the bedroom, towel firmly wrapped around her for the smallest bit of warmth it offered, hair still dripping onto her bare shoulders.

Sinclair was lying on the bed, a towel wrapped around his waist, a small one wrapped around his hair, his battered nose in a book. He peered over the top.

"Sorry...heard it was Perry. Thought you might be a while," he said sheepishly putting the worn paperback book on the side table.

"Sorry for what? Reading a book?" she asked in a perplexed tone.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she coaxed his fingers to join hers. He looked nervous. 

"It was a bit of a pet peeve of Natalie's," he said her name with an air of venom, "I'd pick up whatever book I was reading at the time, whenever I got 5 minutes free. It was probably a bit selfish but 5 minutes didn't come very often."

"I don't think it's selfish. Why don't we get dry...and then you can read it to me, or I can read it next to you...if that's weird."

Sinclair shook his towel ladened head, it wobbling comically.

"I'd love that," he grinned, his eyes creasing in joy.

And so, ignoring anything else that their bodies may have wanted to reconvene that night, they bundled up under the duvet, Sian's head on Sinclair's chest as he read to her. His deep, warm tones sent her to sleep before he'd even completed a chapter. Without guilt, he finished it, still reading aloud just in case she woke; she didn't and Sinclair didn't mind. The knowledge that she was content to do those small things with him swelled his heart more than he could have imagined.

Laying down the book, before turning off the bedside lamp, he studied her features. The intricacies of her face that would only be known by someone who had the privilege of being so close to her.

When he could keep his eyes open no longer, he pressed his lips to her forehead, holding them there for a moment, subsiding the tight feeling in his throat that may have produced tears.

Regardless of the ifs, buts and maybes, sleep came and took him away from all of it. Sleep came wrapped up with her. As it always had.

Chapter Text

The lively restaurant around the two friends drowned out their conversation from prying ears. Thank God, because it was long and slightly painful to tell, as Sian batted around the expensive food on her plate.

As promised, she had taken Perry out to dinner the next night, to a restaurant of her choosing and tried to explain what had been happening over the past few days. It was sometimes difficult without giving away too many secrets of a past that Sinclair would not want as common knowledge, therefore it was hard to make sense of.

Perry did her best to understand, though knew some facts were being omitted. Begrudgingly, though she had tried to coax more of the details, she accepted that she would have to trust Sian's judgement and decisions. Lord knows, Sian had done the same for her, on more than one occasion, so it was time for her to bestow that same grace in Sian's direction.

"So, what now?" Perry asked as the young, well dressed waiter left the table, having produced their desserts.

Here was the even trickier part, Sian thought, as she glided her fork through the decadent mango cheesecake.

Perry could see conflict run through her friend as she watched her take the first bite of her final course. The sweetness that hit Sian's tongue was in complete contrast to the bitterness of the words she was about to produce.

"Sinclair's leaving for France in two weeks." She said it bluntly, a little harshly, still not quite at terms with the idea. She was a smart woman, she knew this period of time would prolong her pain, but she didn't want to stop herself.

"And you're going with him?" she presumed out loud. "Some dirty weekend already?" Perry chuckled as she finally paid heed to her very elaborately dressed Eton Mess.

Sian shook her head, if only, she thought as tears threatened to prick her eyes. She promised herself she wouldn't cry about it, but how could she not? After everything, and after last night when she lay in his arms and fell to sleep to his reading, his fingers running lovingly up and down her bare arm. Nothing so ridiculously romantic and tender had ever happened to her before and she feared it never would again.

"No," her voice shook, she hid it with another mouthful of the cheesecake, forcing it down her drying throat. It was delicious but she couldn't find enjoyment in it. "Sinclair and his Dad have gone into business together, buying a vineyard in the South of France."

"Oh," she said a little shocked, "How long is he going for?"

Perry hadn't twigged what Sian was getting at. Thinking that Sinclair would be going there on a business trip and would be coming back in due course.

"Indefinitely." The word was tainted on her tongue.

"What?" Perry suddenly choked, a piece of meringue squatting in her throat. She quickly chugged back some water to save any further spluttering and embarrassment.
Sian handed her an unused cream serviette, which was taken gratefully and used to wipe tentatively at Perry's red painted lips.

"So he's...just what? Going? Never coming back?" Perry asked, confused. If he was leaving why was Sian letting herself get attached to him again? The red head could only see more heartbreak on the horizon.

With a sadness clouding her, one that only appeared once she had left Sinclair's apartment that morning, Sian shrugged her tense shoulders.

"Not for a while...if ever. Depends how it all goes, I suppose." She placed her fork down on the gold rimmed plate and pushed it away from her. Her sweet tooth could not overpower her salty gloom.

Perry sat silent for a moment, biting back the urge to just blurt out her first thoughts, which was her nature; something Sian loved about her. She didn't stand on ceremony for anyone and therefore you always knew where you stood with her. But she was trying to be tactful, even if her face wasn't quite caught up. Sian could see the questions.

"I know..." Sian sighed, looking around at the other diners enjoying their evenings, "I know it's silly. I know I should have just left after we'd resolved our issues, but it's not that simple."

"There's no chance...that he could stay?" Perry asked, now digging her spoon in and out of the meringue based pudding before her.

Sian shook her head, her short brunette hair skimming around her neck.

"He has to be there to oversee it all...he's sold his house...sold pretty much everything that he doesn't need."

Perry grimaced. She wouldn't forgive Sinclair easily for breaking her friend's heart but even she had to admit that they were annoyingly perfect for each other and this was a very large spanner in the works.

"I'm not sure I'm ready to be encouraging you back to him yet...but France isn't that far away, you know? You could visit...and I've read this whole email thing is going to be popular." She shrugged, trying her best to offer solutions. "It'd be easier than writing letters, maybe. You'd have to get a computer obviously but I'm sure Bruce Wayne could chivvy in for that."

Sian appreciated Perry's concern, especially considering her not so subtle dislike for Sinclair over the past months. She smiled for her sake.

"Who knows," her fiery friend continued, "maybe it'll all go to shit and he'll be back. There are things us English don't do well...one of those is make wine."

Sian snorted and shook her head. "I'm not wishing for that. I want him to be happy. It'll be good for him."

"And do you think he'll be happy without you?"

The question lead to an uncomfortable feeling in Sian's chest. She didn't want him to be miserable, never had, but selfishly she didn't want to be forgotten and she certainly didn't want to think about him with someone else. 

"He's done just fine without me for months." Though she said it, and a little petulantly - she questioned the idea, not fully believing it. "I'm not stupid enough to think that," he loves me, "Oh, fuck it, I don't know, Per."

"What?" Perry asked, concerned at Sian's growing irritation.

"Nothing," she conceded, biting her bottom lip, "we were together for like two months...you've had rashes last longer." Sian said in jest, forcing a smirk to her features.

"Hey!" Perry protested as she laughed. "You're such an arse."

Sian smoothed out her knuckles that were in fists on her lap and placed them on the table.

"I just want us to end on good terms, and I want to...well...he is very good in bed."

Sian was going to rid herself of her sombre thoughts, one way or another. Forcefully, if she had to. Jokingly if she must.

Perry made a gagging noise as she pretended to stick her finger down her throat. It was mostly ignored by her dinner companion.

"Let's get drunk." It was an out the blue suggestion from Sian, one that she didn't often make. One that they both should have been concerned by but sometimes a woman just had to say, 'fuck it!' 

"On a school night?" Perry gasped, feigning shock. "Lead the way, rebel."

It wasn't the solution, Sian knew that, but she couldn't think about it any longer.

They ended up at their usual spot, so they could be surrounded by people they were comfortable with as they let loose.

With food in their bellies, they did not shy away from ordering shots, and as it was Sian's idea, she happily paid for them all.

As the women intoxicated themselves, they both avoided the subject of Sinclair, even as he lay on both of their minds. Sian in some confused longing, Perry just confused, entirely.

The bar filled up as the night grew older, the lights dimming as groups formed in small spaces around them. People were free to be what they wanted here, without fear of being scorned for touching or further intimacies. Sian wished Robbie was here, he'd pull her out of it, give the best and honest advice. But he wasn't.

It was over an hour before Jen joined the duo, on Sian's behest. They were now all flatmates, and though she was obviously far closer to Perry, she enjoyed Jen's company, too. And as she was trying to liven her spirits, the extra company would only encourage that. She wouldn't be pitiful around others, not purposefully anyway.

As always, liquid libations could do wonders. Sian felt light for the first time in days, her burdens drowned out by cheap tequila and laughter as a group formed around the women. People they knew well, distracting her with their own lives.

Then she saw someone who had helped her in a time of need. It lead her away from the distractions, dulling the tequila in her stomach.

"Rory!" Sian greeted ecstatically, holding out her arms to him.

"Alright, bab," he said loudly over the music, his Birmingham accent delightfully different to the Londoners around her. He hugged her closely, kissing the side of her head.

Rory, the kind friend who had driven her to Sinclair's house at Christmas, hadn't seen her for months.

"And where have you been hiding?" he asked.

All the alcohol in the world couldn't really get her to forget, could it? No, was the resounding answer.

"Oh you know...work, work, work," she answered vaguely.

"Heard you were arrested," he laughed, just at the thought of it. "Fuckin' pigs."

"Yeahhhh there was that," she joked. Perry joined them, pushing a drink into Sian's hand. "Perry enjoyed quite the fondle from them."

"Oooh are we talking about PC tightarse?" she slurred her words a little, the alcohol taking hold of her smaller frame quicker than it did Sian's. "She was a hoot...maybe I should call her."

"Behave yourself," Jen tutted cheerily from behind, before patting Perry's bum. They looked at each with a loving, hungry gaze, Sian had to look away, a pang of misunderstood jealousy taking hold.

This wasn't the night she thought it would be. It had been fun, at the beginning but it was quickly becoming too much. Sian watched all her friends chat and joke animatedly, joining in when it was appropriate and so she didn't look glazed over; which is how she was feeling. The noise escalated, the music seemingly growing louder as voices tried to overshadow it. She leaned back on the bar, struggling to focus on either. For all she tried, her plan had been a failure. 

Perry, the social butterfly she was, fluttered around, saying hello to everyone she knew. Some she didn't. It was of no concern to her either way. Sian tried to take pleasure in that, and she did, a little. Until she lost sight of her, only to find her again by her side.

"Go call him, invite him out for a bit." She nudged Sian's arm suggestively, having seen, if somewhat tipsilly, that she longed for something. Someone.

"Fairly sure that wasn't the point of coming out," Sian replied, rolling her eyes at her drunken pal.

Perry pouted, "I'll be nice...promise."

"No you won't," Sian shot back with a smirk, "you said yourself you don't want to be pushing me towards him."

Perry breezily swayed her hand in front of Sian. "That was sober me."

Sian rolled her eyes again and turned back to the bar. 

"Fine, I'll invite him myself," she said stubbornly, raising her hands to her hips. Sian turned but she was already going.

"Per.." she called but she couldn't be heard over the music. With longer, less wobbly legs, Sian caught up quickly, grabbing her arm. "I'll do it. Okay. But you better...you better be bloody nice, as promised."

Perry's pale face, only blushed by the heat of the club, and strobed by the lights, broke out into a grin. There was nothing like an intoxicated, strong willed woman to sort out the love lives of the clinically awkward. France or no France; they deserved a second shot at it.

Sian left the club, walking carefully to the telephone box down the street. She had to wait outside as someone sobbed down the receiver, the sight almost made her turn around. She didn't want that to be her in a few minutes. But that was a useless idea as Perry would just drag her back.

On leaving the phone box, Sian gave the woman a sympathetic look as she sauntered down the road to a group of waiting friends.

She didn't know Sinclair's new number off by heart yet, so pulled out the slip of paper she kept in her bag and although she was reluctant to call, she was hopeful of hearing his voice.

"Hello?" he answered with a yawn.

"Hi," she replied shyly, grazing a twenty pence coin on top of the phone, where people had engraved initials and phone numbers; a crude 'call for a good time' above one particular set of digits.

Sinclair suddenly felt awake. He wasn't in bed but he was tiring for the night, trying to fill the void with useless tactics until he'd be able to sleep.

"Did I wake you?" she asked, feeling guilty at the prospect, ready for him to reject her offer because of it. Maybe it would be for the best if he did.

Sinclair smiled, sitting down at his desk, just glad that she had called. He wouldn't have cared if it had come at 3am.

"Not at all. Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Just...just wondered...I'm out, there's a group of us now...but I just wanted to know if you wanted to join us." Her offer was broken by nerves, and some strange adrenaline running through her. Or was that the tequila?

Sinclair looked at his watch, the time had dragged on slowly in his lonely apartment. They'd left on good terms that morning, she'd even kissed him goodbye. It was silly to think she would never contact him again, but little doubtful demons took hold when he was once again without her. His heart felt full for the first time all night.

"You don't have to," she added when he didn't immediately answer, "you might only make last orders now but.."

He didn't want her to rescind the invitation, he was just shocked that she wanted him with her. That she'd be seen with such a foolish soul amongst her friends. Friends that probably knew of his woeful transgressions.

"I'll be there. Where are you?" He hurriedly replied.

Sian gave him the details. To save him time, he said he'd drive down and then he could make sure she arrived home safely at the end of the night.

A burst of energy had Sinclair rushing around his apartment, ripping off his comfy clothes, abandoning them to the floor.

In ten minutes, he was leaving the front door. An emerald green button up shirt, tucked loosely into casual black trousers, fixed with a belt was the best he could do in the short time he had given himself. It was warm out, so he folded the shirt sleeves up and left the top few buttons open. He was fairly sure he was going to look like a sore thumb, a man of his age, amongst a group of people in their 20s and 30s. But she wanted him, so he'd be there. 

With a slight struggle and a few wrong turns, he found the street and then the closest parking space he could. Sinclair practically leapt of out of the car before he could let the little demons come back.

As he walked down, what he hoped was the right street, he saw Sian talking to a bouncer outside one of the bars.

He couldn't help but stare as his footsteps slowed. Her long legs, bared to the night, thanks to a deliciously cut black dress with thin straps. All that beautifully soft skin on display, that he'd been allowed to kiss and touch the previous night. It set his body racing, remembering their passion. She had called him love, something that had probably just slipped out in the moment but it had filled him with much hopefulness. Perhaps they could endure the distance. Maybe not all was left to just two weeks.

"Sian," he called, grabbing her attention as she recognised his deep voice from up the street. All the noise and distractions in the world wouldn't stop her from hearing it.

She smiled, turned to the bouncer with a quick word then met him half way.

He looked very handsome, she thought, his hair touched by the evening breeze, his shirt temptingly open at the top.

Sinclair wasn't sure if he could bestow the same familiarities as they had last night and that morning, so he held back, only placing his hand gently on her arm as he kissed her cheek.

He was about to tell her how lovely she looked but before he could remove his lips from her cheek, she had veered him to her own, supple, willing mouth. The hint of alcohol on her lips was evident, and he hoped that it was not that, that emboldened her to kiss him as she did.

"Ready?" She asked, then rubbed her lips together, evening out her lipstick. She reached up and brushed away the little she had transferred with her thumb, and a sly smile.

"Is it not my colour?" he joked shakily, still a little off kilter.

"It doesn't match your shirt so well, I'm afraid," she sighed dramatically.

"What a Faux Pas I have made." He had always enjoyed their flirtatious quips.

"Good to see you practicing your French. Les locaux seront ravis."

Sian's accent was rusty but Sinclair was more than impressed; she'd never revealed this particular talent before.
Having lived in Paris for almost a year, it wasn't shocking but it had still taken him by surprise.

She snaked her fingers between his own and led him back to the club. Nodding to the bouncer as they entered.

The music pierced his ears immediately, the smell of smoke and varying colognes assaulting his nose all at once. His eyes darted around the darkened room as Sian continued to lead him through the crowd of people. There were those who looked at him oddly; he supposed that was fair, he was probably a little old for the place. Then there were those that eyed him curiously, winking in his direction as their bodies inevitably brushed against each others, due to the confined space. Sinclair smirked shyly, feeling quite abashed and rather satisfied at the compliment.

But it was when Sian's eye fell upon him at the bar, that his chest felt tight.

"What are you drinking?" she asked close to his ear, her warm breath tickling against his neck as her hand rested on his chest.

As a result he held onto her waist, so he could talk back in that same close manner.

"I'm driving, remember?" he politely reminded her, not wanting her to think he was rejecting her offer.

"You can have one...it'll be fine," she said, then kissed his neck cheekily, and swiftly so as no one would see. Not that she knew where anyone had got to in the time she was outside. They'd pop up eventually.

"Alright...but just a half," he relented, to please her and to loosen him up.

She tapped his chest with a smile and then turned to the bar, catching the barman's attention. If Perry insisted he be there, she was going to bloody well enjoy herself with him. Not that she didn't want him there; she was actually very happy about it.

Sinclair tried to pay for the drinks but his hand was swatted away as Sian handed the barman a note. The look of displeasure on his face was evident.

"What?" Sian chuckled. "I asked you here, therefore I pay. Wasn't that your rule before?"

She poked his chest, eyeing him as if she knew she had already won the argument. He couldn't argue with the logic he had set, as much as it irked him.

"Touche," he replied, sardonically.

Sian handed him the condensated half pint glass of lager, then took her own.

"What have you got?" Sinclair asked to make conversation, he hadn't been able to hear the order properly.

"Rum and Coke...want some?" she asked with the straw half in her mouth. It was suggestive, both knew it, as their eyes lingered for too long. Their bodies radiated towards one another, until they practically pressed together in the tightly packed bar area. The fabric of her dress left little to the imagination as his hand took to her waist again, this time he was able to concentrate a little better on what he was feeling. Inside his feelings were not so easy to distinguish; he was a tightly wound ball of emotions, ones he wished to tell her, show her.

"Hello, Judas," Perry exclaimed from behind Sinclair, breaking the couple's trance.

Sian's eyes widened as she looked round Sinclair's tall stature to her friend. What the fuck, Perry? Is that being nice?!?

Perry, however confrontational she had tried to act, quickly defaulted into laughter. God, she was drunk.

"Kiddin', kiddin', should have seen your faces though," she joked as she continued to laugh, not noticing her counterparts were only laughing out of sheer terror.

"Good to see you, Perry," Sinclair grinned, his heart still pounding in his chest from her "joke."

"Soooo, not too freaked out?" she asked, testing him further with a wicked, red grin. Sian sent her a warning look.

"At what?" he asked, turning slightly to the smaller woman, Sian touched his arm, and he was thankful of the support it offered. He knew these reintroductions wouldn't be easy...pleasant. When trying to be done over the blasting of Cyndi Lauper, it was even more difficult.

"Our little bar..."

The others had started to gather around as well, crowding them into a small space, one that felt too hot and claustrophobic.

Sinclair laughed. "God no...I went to an all boys boarding school. I've seen it all before and then some," he said confidently.

There was a few hoots amongst the group as they laughed and joked about his time there, and how it must have been "transformative."

"Get out off it...he's all mine," Sian joked back, but she meant it. Her defense was met with more whoops and cooes. Sinclair stood there, still, his pint static in his hand as he processed her words. All hers.

Perry nudged him back to reality. "It's...it's good to see you, too," she said so only he would hear, but Sian caught the moment. Not wanting to be too soppy, she then shouted, "Drinks on me!"

Sian laughed, she could be an arse sometimes, she really could but she couldn't help the love the little red head.

"About bloody time," Sian chimed in, her bank account was going to be sorrowful in the morning.

"Ah shut it you." She waved and grabbed her into a hug. Including Sinclair quickly. "Bloody love you bastards."

Sinclair looked over Perry's shoulder to Sian, who smirked and rolled her eyes, then mouthed she was pissed.

Sinclair smiled, indicating he understood.

Sian stayed close to him for the rest of the evening, as he turned offers of alcohol down from every direction it seemed. Perry even tried to pull him onto the dancefloor for It's Raining Men, Jen giggling behind her as he protested as politely as he could. It was only when Sian butted in and offered to dance with him that he would go up. Even then, he remained shy. He could work himself around a waltz just fine, a simple slow dance, no problem, but anything else and he felt like a fool.

But he'd be an even bigger fool to decline such a beauty as Sian. So he danced, or something close to resembling dancing anyway, he thought, as he let Sian lead. They both ignored the lyrics, as their bodies touched, and hands explored, but they were there, amongst the singing crowd, their joy, and the freedom.

What is love?
Oh baby, don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more.

Sian grabbed his face and brought it down to her lips. It wasn't the most comfortable kiss they had ever shared, with strangers bodies brushing against them, but it was heavy with something unsaid amongst the pair.

"Do you want to come back to mine?" she quietly asked into his ear after letting go, her breathy panting driving him a little mad inside.

Sinclair nodded his head, smiling just as she did. She continued to joyfully dance around him for a few more, thankfully cheerier, songs.

When last orders had been served and weary drinkers were ready to leave, Sinclair escorted Sian, Perry and Jen back to his Jaguar. The latter two cozied up in the back, while Sian sat next to Sinclair in the front passenger seat. She rested her head on the cool leather, kicked off her shoes and bunched her legs up. Sinclair was glad she could be so comfortable around him.

Once driving, she slipped her hand over the centre console and rested it on his leg then closed her eyes. There was a ringing in her ears from the music but aside from that, she was calm. Sinclair let his own hand rest on hers as he snuck glances at her. She was so sweet, so beautiful, he wanted to keep them in this moment forever.

The passengers in the backseat, nearly forgotten, watched their bittersweet romance play out in front of them, and it pained them both.

Not much was said as they all slumped tiredly up the stairs, even Perry was quiet and on entry to their shared flat, the two onlookers to their sweet moment in the car bid their good nights and made themselves scarce. Leaving Sinclair and Sian to the privacy they needed.

"That was fun," Sinclair chuckled quietly behind Sian, not wanting to disturb whatever the two love birds had run off into their room to do.

She led him into her bedroom across the hallway and shut the door, and turned the dimmer switch until the room was bathed in enough light to see each other.

Sian rested her back on the door, and watched as Sinclair surveyed her new bedroom. It was certainly bigger than her old one, her bed no longer having to be pushed against a wall.

"What do you think?" she asked, embarrassing him, he hadn't meant to be so nosey.

He wet his bottom lip with his tongue, and turned to see her gazing at him.

"It's very nice," he answered, walking the small distance between them, until he leaned across her, giving her ample opportunity to inhale the cologne he knew she loved. His fingers went to the lock on the door but he stopped himself, casting his eyes down at an excitedly expectant Sian. He cupped her cheek with his free hand, letting his thumb idly trace her thicker bottom lip. "How much have you drank tonight?"

Ever the gentleman.

Sian ran her hand up his chest, toying with the gap he had left in his shirt. "Not enough that I can't say yes." Her blue eyes flirted with his, her fingers releasing another button.

"And do you?" He inquired, he sounded sultry, like velvet to her ears. "Say yes, that is?"

Sian was fairly sure, that if he simply just spoke to her for a while longer as he was doing, she'd be a puddle on the floor.

She kissed the pad of his thumb, gracing it with the end of her tongue briefly before she spoke.

"I don't think I could say no," she admitted truthfully. She hadn't expected this, they'd been so flirty and hot towards each other night, she'd expected them to be ripping each others clothes off by now. But here she was, giving him more of her truth and soul, because he didn't deserve anymore lies in his life.

His long arms drifted down her sides to the hem of her short dress, inching it up until his fingers could feel the beginnings of her lacy underwear.

"Why's that?" he asked curiously. "You should know that you always can say no, I wouldn't do anything you didn't want."

"I know," she stuttered, "but...I'm not so afraid of what I want when it's with you. I..." She had words wanting to escape her mouth but she couldn't say them, even with the little alcohol still running through her. It would be unfair.

So she kissed him, slowly at first, until their tongues touched and their thirst for each other could not be tamed. They left a path of clothes from the door to the bed, shedding each other of their layers.

Both aware they were not alone as they had been last night, they stifled their moans into the others mouth, neck, anywhere they could on their slick bodies, hot with exertion, as they found their pleasure in one another. They peaked near simultaneously, Sinclair lamenting Sian's name into her lips as he lifted her soft buttocks to meet him one last time.

Tired, Sinclair lay his head on her breasts, finding his breath, his composure that he had willingly given to Sian's body. She played with his hair, which he adored; her sweet, simple loving of him. Pure, without expectation, that never asked him to be anything more or less than what he was.

Sian wrapped her a leg over his own, stroking his calf with the side of her foot, staring at the ceiling. It was hot, but she didn't want to lose the contact.

He shifted under her hand, resting an elbow on the mattress, looking up at her, with his head lying on his hand.
It was nearing 2am, the clock with its bright green numbers told him so. One should always remember the time of an important memory was Sinclair's philosophy, and he had many stored away in his mind. Ones that he would replay when he was alone.

"Sian," he whispered, drawing her attention away from the ceiling. He moved to see her better, so their chests met and he could brush his lips against her.

"Sian, I lo..."

Sinclair didn't get to finish. Sian had covered his mouth with her warm hand, firming holding back what she knew would be heavenly yet devastating to hear.

"Don't say it," she whispered, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.
"If you say it now..." She closed her eyes, releasing the salty droplets that tore down her soft cheeks, hitting the pillow. "It's not fair. To either of us."

She removed her hand from his mouth, his heart now reluctantly silent.

"Do you not feel the same?" he asked, choking back his sorrow. He'd never put anything on her that she did not want, but it wouldn't stop the rejection from hurting.

"I do," she assured him, kissing him, pulling him back to her in the only way she could think of in that moment. "Of course I do."

Chapter Text

Sian worked tirelessly, as ever, in the kitchen of La Croix. Keeping herself to herself. Staff changes had meant that she no longer was so friendly or at ease with her co-workers. She especially missed Perry, rushing in and out, working hard but having fun with it too. The working environment had soured greatly since Christmas last year.

To top it off, Andre had been having blazing rows with management of late, his grievances varied. His pay, shifts, the wait staff, and on the odd occasion, Sian had heard her name. She kept her head down, focussed on her work, refusing to get pulled into whatever bullshit he was playing now.

And for days, with the stress of work being heavy and the nights being long, Sian found herself with less time to dwell on Sinclair's impending departure. Once she left La Croix, he'd be waiting for her, parked outside in his Jaguar. And Sinclair, desperate for those precious hours with her would have all his business wrapped up for the day, so his time could be solely devoted to her.

They'd have a late dinner, sometimes watch a film, which they never seemed to make it to the ending of, take a bath, read pages of a book, lose themselves in each others bodies until the bath they took was redundant, and they needed to shower again. Whatever their hearts desired in those moments alone, they indulged themselves in. It only fortified the feelings they both held in their hearts, feelings they wouldn't speak of since the night Sian had told Sinclair it wouldn't be fair.

When Sian's next day off finally came, they woke lazily in her flat to the sounds of the lively street below them through the open window. It provided a pleasant breeze over their warm cuddled bodies.

"I'm going to take a shower," Sian mumbled, untangling her limbs from Sinclair's, who rested his head adorably on his hand as his mind pulled itself from sleepy dreams.

"Mmm," he hummed groggily, "I'll make the tea...just 5 more minutes."

Sian chuckled as she wrapped a thin, silky robe around her, so as not to shock her flatmates if they happened to pass through the hallway at the same time.

"I thought hibernation was for the winter months," she quipped, sweeping her dark brown hair behind her ears as she watched him so at home in her bed.

"It's winter somewhere...Argentina, Australia," he yawned and shifted until he lay on his stomach, the sheet only warming his legs and bum.
"New Zealand."

"I get your point, Yogi Bear," she chuckled, still quite taken with the sight of his bare back, and the slightly tense muscles of his arms around the pillow he was hugging. She'd like to remember this.

Sian padded to her drawers sneakily, opening the cupboard where she knew she had a camera. It was a few years old, and barely used. She flipped open the back of it, checking it still had film inside and hoping that it wasn't completely ruined by its disuse. A quick check of it made it seem operational, and it was all she had.

Sinclair hadn't moved an inch, thankfully; his 5 minutes being very liberal. She turned, looked through the little window to see Sinclair's body inside of it and then firmly pressed the plastic button on top to snap the picture. It was the scratching sound of resetting the camera that finally caught his half awake/half asleep attention.

Turning his head towards her, he saw the camera in hand and smirked, before rolling over onto his side.

"Did you just take a naughty picture of me?" His morning voice was deep and raspy, and did wonders to the sensitive nerve endings in Sian's body.

"Maybeeee," she drawled then quickly hid the camera behind her back playfully. Sinclair grinned devilishly as he ripped the covers off the lower half of his body, not batting an eyelid at the fact that he was completely naked and in a semi aroused state.

"My turn," he said provocatively holding out his hand for Sian to pass him the camera.

Sian gave him a fake sympathetic look, sticking out her bottom lip, and producing faux sad eyes. "All out of film, I'm afraid."

"That so?" he countered, his brow raising high as he made steps towards her. She backed up, keeping the camera behind her back.

"Mmmhm." She nodded, chuckles already falling from her mouth as he got ever closer.

"I think you may be fibbing."

He quickly tried bringing his arms around her back to grab it, but she moved just as fast, dodging his advances.

They laughed together, her keeping it from him as he tried to lay hands on it. He wasn't really trying, mind, very much enjoying tickling and teasing her. Pulling joy from deep within her. 

"Right, I'll have to take matters further, it seems," he said as sternly as his laughter would allow. Sinclair braced his arms around her waist and lifted her off the floor. She yelped in surprise and pretended to fight him off until they landed on the bed in a heap.

"Thannnkk you." He had a smug look on his face as he finally had the camera in his grasp. He flipped open the back and inspected it. "Tut tut, Miss Baker, would you look at that. Plenty of film."

"My mistake." She shrugged, smirking as she planted her lips on his, distracting him briefly.

"No, no, no," he protested between those soft, deliciously tempting kisses, "Those devilish lips won't fool me. Now smile for the camera...wait is this my best side?" He turned his head dramatically from side to side, vogue like.

Sian slapped his chest which made him stop and feign injury. "Every side is your best side, you dopey drama queen."

"Oh how very sweet." He nuzzled his face into her neck aggressively, meaning to tickle her further, as his fingers dug into her ribs.

She wriggled, howling in laughter, her stomach hurting from it all. "Do...you...want...this picture...or not?" She panted, fighting back, trying to tickle him but failing miserably.

"Of course." He desisted the taunting of her muscles and sat up, resting his back on the cool wooden headboard. He opened his arms for Sian to rest against his chest and turned the camera in his other hand.

Sian patted down her hair, and snuggled back, pulling the sheet up over their laps. Most of her body covered his bare chest.

"Okay," he cleared his throat, "one, two, three...smile," Sinclair chimed, the camera pointed at their faces, capturing the happy moment. Cementing the moment in a physical memory.

Sian, not the most comfortable with pictures, hence why the camera lived abandoned in a drawer, looked up over her shoulder at Sinclair.

"Got what you wanted?" she asked, enjoying the contented look he had about him.

The camera clicked again.

"Sinclair!" she moaned. "That is not going to be flattering."

"Nonsense. You look like some Roman Goddess in the morning...why do you think I always keep my curtains open?" He winked at her. "Sunlight on your skin...delectable."

She rolled her eyes, blushing when she turned away.

Sensing she wouldn't be happy if he did it again, he stretched his arm over and placed the camera carefully down on the bedside table.
"Thank you."

He kissed the side of her head, lingering as he enjoyed the dulling scent of her shampoo.

"For what?" Sian asked, now playing with his chest, his arousal still evident underneath the thin sheet over his lap.

"Indulging me," he purred. "I'd very much like to get a set of the pictures."

She was glad she could give him these little 'indulgences', small pockets of happiness. If she could, she'd give him more. 

Sian kissed him, taking his bottom lip between her own and suckling gently on it. Sinclair brought his hand to her hair, skimming his fingers through it before pulling her closer, so he could  lavish upon her lips the attention they deserved.

"You might have to wait a bit longer for that cup of tea," he groaned as they parted, breathlessly. "I seem to have a little predicament going on."

Sian bit her kiss swollen lip, sliding her hand down his chest, over the muscles of his stomach, until it could be seen no more under the sheet.
Sinclair's fist dug into the mattress as her silky hand took hold of his - as he had put it, 'little predicament.'

She kissed his jaw, tracing a path to his ear, basking in the sounds of his pleasure as her hand moved slowly up and down, applying the kind of pressure that had Sinclair squeezing his brows together.

"Doesn't feel so little to me," she whispered seductively into his ear. It produced a guttural noise of appreciation, one that made her abandon all ideas of showers and cups of tea.

"God, you really are a naughty little thing this morning, aren't you?" He was panting, his body heating up, wanting more but also enjoying all she was doing; her sweet movements, the wet kisses she was burning into his neck.

"Only for you."

Three words. Not the ones he wanted but ones that added fuel to a fire she had ignited in him already that morning. It was quite some time before Sian made it into the shower.

When she did, as promised, Sinclair made the tea and breakfast to go with it; they'd worked up an appetite after-all. The kitchen was empty when he entered but halfway through his morning breakfast efforts, Perry joined him.

"Mornin'," she chimed sleepily, rubbing her eyes and yawning. Her thick red hair was wild atop her head and she wore an old, large Bon Jovi T-Shirt. 

"Good morning, Perry. Can I make you a tea?" he offered with his back to her.

Perry found it very odd having a man in the house, especially one in a t shirt and loose shorts, and quite comfortably so, moving around her kitchen with ease.

"Sure," she answered, "milk, 2 sugars."

Sinclair nodded his head and set to work, placing the cup down in front of her within a few moments.

"Thanks."

"Very welcome." Sinclair was trying his best but he could feel that strange unspoken tension between the two of them. A tension that was to be expected between Sian's best friend and the man who had treated her poorly. He leaned on the other side of the counter, the cup of tea warming his palms. It felt only right that he should begin the awkward conversation Perry clearly wanted to have with him.

"I understand why you might not like me, Perry, and I appreciate it might not be pleasant having me around but thank you...for allowing me to be here..." Shit, poor choice of word. "I don't think that came out right." He hadn't exactly rehearsed a speech for her, which thinking about, should have been done, it would have helped his bumbling anxieties. 

Perry sipped her tea, a finger tapping the cup. "From what I understand, and I should say that Sian told me the bare minimum, so I'm definitely still a little confused, but from what I know, you were a complete and utter cretin."

Sinclair nodded his head at her sobering words, in complete agreement with her assessment, and he still felt it. A plethora of words existed in the dictionary for what he was, and none of them were kind.

Perry continued, whilst having a warring dialogue in her head on how much she should be getting involved. "And sadly, as much as she has tried, she let her fears get the better of her. I'll admit, I thought you were an absolute shit for months but...you make her happy, like I've never seen. I just worry about what's going to happen next week."

Perry raised her ginger brows and sighed into her steaming cup, already contemplating the emotional wringer this would put Sian through.

Sinclair worried too, at every moment he worried what would happen after he stepped on that plane. He eyed the door, and could hear that the shower was still running, giving him more time to speak openly. Even with Sian not in ear shot, he lowered his voice.

"I don't want to leave her! Believe me," his voice pleaded, "I don't but I can't see a way to back out of it...I've thought about it...looked at every possibility I can think of...and maybe I could be back, in a year...maybe two but I don't know for sure. I'd ask her to come with me if it weren't a completely selfish thing to do."

"You've thought about it?" Perry asked, surprised even though she shouldn't have been. Sinclair nodded as he drank, hiding the way his bottom lip shook. "Have you two discussed how you'll work it...when you do go?"

Sinclair sighed, putting his cup down heavily in front of him, gripping the handle still. "She won't talk to me about it. She just says that she wants me..." Sinclair's voice squeaked, his throat not dealing with the emotions, "...she wants me to go still."

"Yep...that's Sian." Perry confirmed sadly after fully taking in his words. Her friend wouldn't be an imposition on anyone, even if at her own cost.

"There's a party on Sunday, a going away thing. I didn't want it but a few of my friends are insisting on it. Sian wants to come...will you, and Jen, of course, be there? For her?" The question was raw with nerves, he knew it was a very large ask and probably insensitive, but if Sian wanted to be, which he also wanted, he needed to make sure she had support.

Perry nodded sympathetically, glad he was thinking of her. "Yes, I'll ask Jen, but...it'll be for the both of you. This can't be easy on you, either."

Sinclair was touched but he didn't care about himself, not when Sian was involved. And ultimately, this was his fault, he was leaving, not her.

"Thank you."

The door to the bathroom opened, startling both, knowing they shouldn't be caught having this conversation.

"Bathroom's free," Sian called down the hallway and went into her bedroom to dry and dress.

Sinclair's heart beat hard against his chest, subtle tremors running through his usually steady hands. "I'm going to go take her breakfast."

Perry watched him take her cup of tea, and a bowl of fruit and yoghurt out of the kitchen. She didn't know what to do, for either of them.

Chapter Text

"How do I look?" Sian asked.

She'd just left her bedroom to join Perry and Jen, who were waiting nervously in the hall, ready for Sinclair's going away party.

Perry didn't quite understand the premise of one, never had. Why would you want to celebrate someone you love or care for, leaving? More importantly, why the hell did Sian want to torture herself with it? When she'd asked her friend, although not in such words, Sian had simply replied, it was the right thing to do, to support him, and be happy for him.

"You look great," Jen replied, leaving her girlfriend to remain in an unusual reticence.

Sian had spent a little more time than was usual to get ready, for her hands shook when she applied her make up and her eyes teared when she buttoned up the front of her coral summer dress; emotions and their effects that she hoped she had safely shut away in her bedroom for the day. When she closed the door, no one was any the wiser to the state she had got herself in. Today, she was going to put on a brave face.

Sinclair waited outside for the three of them. Even in his summer linens, he felt hot and uncomfortable, and although he could blame it on the weather, he knew it wasn't the sun that burned him today. It was the wretched inferno of guilt and shame that pricked his skin, binding himself down to a personal hell of his own making.

His index finger tapped rapidly on the leather steering wheel, the only outward indication of his woeful nerves. When he saw Perry leave their building, he ripped his hand away and exitted the car. Before the trio made it to his Jag, he had opened the back door for Jen and Perry, then the front, for Sian.

She lingered as her flatmates slid into the back, placing a soft touch to Sinclair's chest, then an even softer one to his lips. He surveyed her, his eyes tender and full of everything she wouldn't allow him to say.

"You look lovely," he whispered.

Sian smiled then dipped her head in a shy manner. "Thank you."

It took just over an hour to get to Jane and Sylvester's house, and just like Sinclair's old home, it was large and beautiful. An old Edwardian residence, with flowers bordering the property and perfectly trimmed grass around the long gravel driveway.

Perry's eyes looked a little wide and Sian nudged her elbow into hers as they walked from the car to the front door.

"Everything alright?" she asked quietly.

Perry chuckled, a hint of wariness about her. "I think I've underdressed."

They sniggered together behind Sinclair and Jen, who were continuing a friendly debate that they had begun in the car.

Under any other circumstance, this would be quite lovely Sian thought; her, her best friend and their respective partners, so different yet so alike, enjoying each others company. But the circumstances loomed over her, and she wondered if it did the same to the others.

Their accommodating hosts opened the door, all smiles and cheers and greetings of hello and welcome to our home. Jane fondly hugged Sian as she entered, her bump feeling a tad more prominent than it had a few weeks ago.

They were quickly shown around to the areas they may need to frequent throughout their day there. Then onto outside. It was stunning; they surely paid their gardener handsomely for the work they did.

A large patio area fed out of the house, tables and chairs set out ready for their guests and then a small marquee that housed the food and drink that was being set out ready. Beyond that was acres of beautiful manicured green lawn with borders of varying, richly coloured flowers. Far off their was a summer house, that had its doors open, as another place for guests to take some shade.

"Wow," Perry gasped behind Jane.

"Yeah...it's what sold the house to us," she replied, just as in awe as she was the day she first saw it. "Anyway, get comfortable, get a drink. Guests will be arriving any minute."

And they did. The door bell didn't stop chiming on and off for an hour, as friends and acquaintances turned up to see Sinclair off with a bang.

Sian had taken a step back, not wanting to draw any questions or concerns about her presence with Sinclair's guests. She stayed close to Perry and Jen, enjoying their company and distraction as they walked the garden. Only looking back every now and then to see Sinclair in some animated conversation, joking and laughing.

She was only half listening to what Perry was saying when two little boys came rushing past her, hitting each other with plastic toy swords whilst adding their own sound effects.

"Sian," Sinclair called and was walking up the garden towards her. He took her hand as he stood in front of her, smiling at Perry and Jen.

"Mind if I steal her for moment?" he asked cheerily to her friends as he gave Sian's hand a gentle squeeze.

Both shook their heads, Perry tipping her champagne glass to decanter the fizz into her mouth. "Not if you promise to bring me more champagne."

"Oh I see," Sian chuckled.

Sinclair kissed the top of her head and began leading her back down to the patio. There, Jane and Sinclair were stood with two people she vaguely recognised - which was exciting considering she didn't know anyone else except Mandy, Sinclair's former secretary. She'd said a quick hello before disappearing to put her daughter down for a nap upstairs.

Sinclair introduced them, in that awkward British way that people always did. "Jess, Dave...this is Sian. Sian...Jess, Dave."

They then proceeded to offer awkward hugs and kisses on the cheeks, which Sian reciprocated.

"We've met before, obviously...very briefly," Sian jogged their memory, though it didn't need jogging, especially as Jess had been Sinclair's go to whenever he needed an opinion.

"We have," Jess said kindly, "glad to see you again."

David, her husband, didn't say a word just looked away into the garden, his eyes skirting over the other guests. He was less than impressed about the circumstances but had been told to keep his mouth shut, by his wife. So he was doing just that.

"Those two rambunctious little boys belong to Jess and Dave," Sinclair informed Sian, noticing the awkward feelings resonating in the small group that they stood in. "Impressive sword skills."

Jess sighed, then raised one brow at her husband, who was paying little attention to her. "Yeahhh, I'll give you one guess who bought those?"

The group laughed, and Jane placed a hand over her yellow dress, stroking the small bump below it. Sian couldn't help but look; Jane caught her eye as she raised them. The warm smile she gave Sian made her blush, like she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't. She wasn't sure why she was so interested, in all honesty.

"The boys love those swords," David defended himself once the laughter died down, then took a drink from his glass. "They need a bit of manning-up."

Jane tutted, as did Jess, who ripped her eyes away from her husband in a less than impressed look.

"Don't start with that nonsense again," Sylvester chided.

"You say that again when you have to go watch your son dance around in a pair of tights." Dave drank again, subtly taking a step back from the group.

Sinclair frowned at him, shaking his head as he looked back at Sian, who desperately bit her tongue. These weren't her friends, and it certainly wasn't her place to be giving parenting advice; even if their father was total idiot.

Sylvester wasn't going to give up easily though. "If I have a son, and if they want to dance or sing, or whatever bloody else, they will."

Jane put her hand in his, giving it a little squeeze. She was proud of her husband, as ever, but she didn't want him to cause an argument on what was meant to be a happy occasion. He looked down at her, smiled and understood the message. David and Sylvester had been butting heads for months.

"We'll see, mate. Happy for you two, either way." He looked away again, and then made his excuses. "I'll go check on the boys, they've disappeared behind the hedges I think."

When he was out of ear shot, Jess, who had remained quiet, and had been looking embarrassed, apologised for him.

"Don't say sorry for him," Jane reprimanded in a friendly way. "He's a grown man..."

"..apparently." Jess interjected with a huff. "I'm really sorry Sian, that's not exactly how you want to be introduced to someone."

Sian waved her hand in front her. "Oh god, I agree, don't apologise for him."

Jess still looked embarrassed and Sian felt incredibly sorry the poor woman. She looked tired and fed up.

"Right come on," Sylvester chirped, trying to raise spirits amongst them. "Thought we were having a party. Let's get the music on."

After a bit of jigging with, the speakers that were set up outside began playing music, giving life to the afternoon.

Sinclair and Sian began meandering around after breaking off, leaving Jane and Jess to speak privately.

"She's not happy, is she?" Sian asked, lacing her arm through Sinclair's.

He shook his head, his hair falling naturally to one side. "Not at all. It's only getting worse as well. She told me on the phone last night that he's been coming home late...making excuses. I can't help but think he's..." He didn't finish his sentence, but clenched his jaw at the thought of David two timing his wife. A wife who had always been faithful, essentially given her life up to make him a home and give him children. And how was he repaying her?

Sian stroked his arm. "You're a good man, Sinclair."

"Am I?"

"Mhhm. I like that you have old school morals...with a twist."

Sinclair chuckled.

"I like that description."

"Unnnnncle Sincc...helppppp!" The smaller of the two brothers yelped as he pelted at full speed towards the couple, strawberry blonde hair a mess. "Captain Blackbeard's after me."

Sinclair took his arm quickly from Sian, and saluted. "At your service."

The older boy, came running behind him, trying to seem menacing but giggling between frowns.

"Captain Hook, we meet again. Now fight me like a man." The older boy proclaimed and though it was funny, Sian couldn't help but feel that was his Dad's influence that made him speak those particular words.

She'd heard things to that effect before, from her own Father's lips, aimed at Robbie.

"You'll have to go through me first, Blackbeard," Sinclair continued, joining in the play. Sian stepped back, giving them ample space for the duel that was about to begin.

"Hook, your sword if you will?" He held out his hand to the younger boy, who gladly passed the plastic toy over.

Then he turned to his rival, the sword being pointed at the imaginary pirate in one hand, his other resting behind his back. "En garde!"

They broke out into a fake sword fight, Sinclair dramatically flinging himself around the boy as their swords met. They both produced faux metal on metal sounds as the plastic met.

Sian was giggling away, soon joined by Jen, then Perry, who watched on with amusement and laughter. A few others started to pay attention as well, though not as avidly as Sian was.

It was a delightful thing to watch. His tanned forearms tensing, his grin wide and a little wild as he continued playing with the boy. His younger brother had come to stand with Sian, and gasped and jiggled about as he watched.

Then the older brothers sword made contact with Sinclair's chest, he stopped dramatically, clutching near his heart before falling to his knees.

"Have mercy, Blackbeard," he pleaded, pretending to struggle for breath, his hair sticking to his damp forehead.

"Booooo," Perry chanted, "kick him off the plank." She sidled her face next to Sian's ear, "He'd be good on the stage, you know. Great in a panto."

Sian shook her head and continued chuckling, waiting to see what the boys decision would be.

"Never!" He shouted and then plunged the plastic between Sinclair's chest and arm. He fell to the floor with flare before his body stilled.

The little boy in front of Sian gasped. "Is he really dead?"

Sian leaned down and whispered. "Go tickle him and find out."

He looked up at her, a deep frown in his youthful skin. "Really?" He whispered back.

Sian nodded her head and patted his shoulder. It was all he needed. He sprinted to Sinclair's body and immediately dug his little hands into Sinclair's sides, causing him to squeal and laugh heartily. He grappled the boy, tickling him back.

"Ooof, careful now. The way you're looking at him, you'll be impregnated by the morning," Perry joked once again into Sian's ear.

She slapped her friends arm, telling her to be quiet. This was unfamiliar ground for Sian, she'd never really envisioned her life with children, but seeing Sinclair so natural and loving with them. Well, that seemed to prick at something buried deep inside of her. She thwarted it as soon as it had arisen though, she couldn't get hung up on a future she wasn't going to have.

After much guffawing around on the floor with both boys, Sinclair trotted back to the group of women who had been watching. Covered in grass, and his clothes stained with grazes of green. He was slightly out of breath, and a little redder than before.

"Need a drink?" Sian asked.

"Just some water, I've got to drive later," he panted.

"Why don't you let me drive back. You enjoy yourself."

He eyed her for a moment but then smirked. "You sure?"

"Definitely."

"Okay. Thank you." He pecked her lips and then took himself off to where the drinks were being served in the marquee.

"You're driving us back?" Perry exclaimed, her brows raised comically high. "God help us."

"Feel free to walk," she replied sarcastically.

Jen giggled. "I'll take the lift."

"See..." Sian pointed at her new flatmate, "this is why I like her better."

Jen sent Perry an over the top grin and tapped her bum. "I'm the favourite," she goaded.

Perry just rolled her eyes and walked away to follow in Sinclair's footsteps; the drinks table.

More people seemed to arrive as the time wiled away and the sun tired. Many people remained outside but others had taken themselves in, and got themselves comfortable in the kitchen or one of the living rooms.

Sian hadn't seen Sinclair in a while, so after a catch up with Mandy before she had to leave, she went in search of him. Glancing through the rooms downstairs didn't produce him, so she checked over her shoulder before taking the stairs.

She found him, his shoulder against the cream walls as he looked down forlornly at his feet.

"Everything okay?" Sian asked and he immediately snapped his head up and forced himself to smile.

Sinclair appreciated the thought and effort his friends had gone to throw the party but it didn't feel right. He'd felt strange all day. The last time he'd had a going away party, he already knew he wasn't leaving; now he only wished that were true. But by the end of next week he'd be gone. All of his friends and loved ones would remain here, together and he'd be alone, bar his parents, in a new place.

And the one person he wanted most of all was standing right in front of him, celebrating and supporting him. His darker thoughts made him question why she wanted him to leave so much, why she constantly told him it would be good for him.

The door to the bathroom opened and the woman smiled, embarrassed, and told Sinclair what a lovely party it was and quickly disappeared down the stairs.

Sinclair grabbed Sian's wrist and pulled her into the bathroom, locking the door behind them.

"Sinclair," she laughed as he hugged and nuzzled his face into her neck. "What if someone had seen?"

"So?" he purred into her skin.

"Maybe I shouldn't have offered to drive." She could tell he was a little tipsy. "Are you having fun?"

"I am now," he breathed into her neck before kissing it. His hands skimmed down the sides of her dress, before snaking around her and grabbing her bottom.

"Woaah," Sian panted, the quiver in her voice giving away that she was enjoying this far too much. "Darling, slow down."

She cupped his cheeks and raised his head until his hazy amber eyes met hers.

"Sorry." He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in this throat. He needed to get a hold of himself.

Sian smiled softly, "Don't be...it's okay. I liked it but...I think Jane would kill us. She's very houseproud."

Sinclair did his best to laugh.

"Is this too much?" she asked him sincerely.

Sinclair nodded, looking resigned. She knew he wasn't exactly looking forward to today.

Sian kissed his forehead and let him rest it against her lips for a few seconds. "Why don't we go find a quiet spot in the garden?"

Sinclair's chest ached terribly. Like his heart was breaking one tendril at a time. The feel of Sian's tender hands running up and down his arms were the only thing that kept him from crying.

They exited the bathroom and made their way down the hallway when they heard the two familiar voices of David and Jess in another room. They were staying the night so must have been putting the boys to bed, Sian surmised.

Sinclair stopped once he heard his name. Sian tried to pull him away, knowing the consequences of eavesdropping, but he wouldn't budge.

"I'm heartbroken for him," Jess said in reply to David, but what he said previously had not been properly heard. "We both know he's wanted to get out for some time but he looks so torn about it now. Just thank God he didn't end up going to America with Natalie."

"Yeah, dodged one hell of a bullet there," David quickly followed up. "You know all she'd have to do is ask, and he'd stay. Flash those eyelashes at him and...whatever else has got him feeling young and stupid."

There was a pause, and Sian's eyes met Sinclair's, pleading for him to stop listening. He squinted maliciously, and balled his fists at the way David spoke about Sian. How dare he? When he was likely off fucking someone else.

Sensing his rising annoyance Sian tried to pull him away, but was met with resistance once again, their bodies pressed together, breathing as shallowly as possible. It felt completely wrong. 

"Don't be an arse, David, Sian's great...but...maybe he would...I don't know though, it's a lot more complicated than just staying isn't it? Last time he hadn't sold half his stuff and started shipping things over. He didn't have contracts looming over his head. But...he's been so tight lipped the past week and a half I don't know what's going through his head. I'm really worried about him."

"Yeah, well last time wasn't really going to happen, let's face it. But, he was set on the vineyard 'til she came back." David said with a tone of condescension.

"You really are a dick sometimes. That's our friend. Do you have no feelings?" Jess' voice quivered. Even from a distance you could hear it.

"Apparently not," he tutted.

Sian couldn't listen to it anymore, she snuck to the staircase as quietly as she could and made a swift departure down them. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, uncomfortably so, at having overheard what they were saying. No wonder David had been so cold towards her all day, he thought she was ruining Sinclair's chances. He had no clue what Sian was fighting inside herself to do the exact opposite of that.

Sinclair hurried after her, down the stairs before grabbing her arm and pulling her into the corner of the hallway.

"I'm sorry," he whispered close to her face. He kissed her cheek, "I'm sorry," he kissed her again, "I'm sorry."

Then his tears fell, hot and heavy down his face. Sian glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching, and then veered him out to the front of the house.

Out of view she hugged him fiercely. Trying to encompass his body with her own smaller one, to give him stability and safety when he was probably feeling like he least had it.

"I'm sorry. I.." he sucked in air through his nose, trying to stop the dam he had just let break. The shoulder of Sian's dress took the brunt of his weeping but she didn't mind. "I don't know why I did that." He finally croaked.

Sian stroked his back and kissed his hair, she'd been whispering nothings into his ear to calm him. "I don't know either."

She let her silent thoughts wander. All she'd have to do is ask and he'd stay. It was something she wouldn't do. She wouldn't put Sinclair in that position.

After a few moments, Sinclair lifted his head, his puffy eyes scanning Sian's face, trying to decipher what she might be thinking. She had been crying too, but holding it back, it seemed.

"I'm done with Dave...he doesn't...he had no fucking right to speak about you like that. I'm sorry...I'm sorry for listening."

"I could have left at any time. It's not entirely your fault." She stroked back his hair and straightened out his linen jacket. "Don't listen to him, you'd have been brilliant in America...and you're going to be the same in France. Who knows," she bit back the last few tears she had left, laughing awkwardly in place of them, "maybe in a few years I'll stock your wine in my own restaurant."

Sinclair shook his head. "Sian."

She raised to her toes and kissed him gently, slowly sucking his bottom lip between hers. His hands clasped around her hair, letting themselves get far too carried away for their rather public location.

"Come on," Sian sighed as she parted from him, "this is your party, everyone will be looking for you."

Sinclair was beginning to believe that he was going to leave England none the wiser to how Sian felt.

Much later on, when the food was near gone, the last champagne bottle had been emptied, and their goodbyes were said, Sian dropped Perry and Jen back to their flat and then got Sinclair to his apartment. He had sobered up after overhearing David, who he avoided for the rest of the night.

Sian's feet ached and she kicked off her wedged sandals the moment she entered the apartment, sighing at the feeling of freedom. They both showered, separately, taking their time to mull over things under the warm water.

There was an awkward silence as they got into bed, one that they didn't often find themselves in.

"Good night." Sian smiled and pecked Sinclair's lips.

"Good night." He switched off the lamp then lay down on his back, staring at the ceiling as his eyes adjusted to the dark.

Sian lay in a similar manner but her eyes were closed, the rims stinging, trying not to play over and over again what she had heard David say.

The city around them seemed to still, every rustle of the sheet could be heard, and every breath that they breathed between them set a rhythm. Sinclair honestly never remembered a time where it had been so odd to be next to her.

"Sian." His deep, weary voice broke through the quiet of midnight.

"Yeah?" She remained still, eyes still closed.

"The thing David said?" His voice rode a wave of emotion to get his questions out. "You...you're not going to ask me to stay." It didn't even come out as a question in the end, it was a statement. One he knew to be true.

Sian didn't speak for a moment, letting the weight of the words sink in until they stung every nerve.

"No, Sinclair, I'm not." The silent tears were back, burning her cheeks, rolling onto her pillow.

Sinclair sat up, leaning his elbows onto his covered knees and running his hands through his hair.

"Why won't you?" He asked, doing a miserable job at covering up his pained tone.

"For the same reason you won't ask me to come with you." She shuffled and sat herself up against the headboard, placing a tender hand onto his bare back as she wiped away her errant tears.

"You have everything tied up in this vineyard now, you hate the city, hate the lifestyle...and I'm a woman, in a profession that is full of men, my competition is hard enough. I specialise in French cuisine, and love it...but I'd be the lowest of the low over there and I've worked hard to get where I am. Robbie believed in me enough to sacrifice for my career, I have to honour that and the belief he had that I would make it. I can't do that in France.You know that. And that's why you won't ask me to come with you." She took a breath, steadying herself before she wrapped her arms around Sinclair and rested her cheek against the cool skin of his back. "And I won't ask because I won't be the one who holds you back. I won't see you held back again and keep you in a place you hate, I just won't. Not like last time and I don't care what David said about that either."

"I'd never want you to sacrifice your goals." Sinclair held the hand that rested over his heart. "What if I just decide myself. Just call it all off."

He could feel Sian shake her head. "You shouldn't."

"I want to."

"I know," she sighed, "I know."