“You did what?” Amy said in astonishment. She stepped out of the elevator, her arm linked around Face‘s. The wedding reception had ended and they were heading for their room.
She noticed the corridor was empty, so she could've released her hold on Face, but fearing she’d had a little too much to drink, she quite liked the support he provided. His strength.
“I told her about Murdock, said he’d be her kind of guy,” Face said, smirking.
“Oh, Face.”
“What?”
“So the next time she's in LA, she’s going to be hounding us to go on a double date or something.”
“So?”
Amy rubbed her forehead. “So, that means, if we went out, it would be another night of pretence, and to Courtney, who I hate lying to already. And won’t Murdock give the game away?”
“Nah, he’d be too happy to have a woman as nuts as himself to talk to.”
Amy laughed and then her expression sobered. “And what about you? Would you be prepared to play Sam again?”
He hesitated, fumbling in his pocket, not quite meeting her eye. Was he having doubts?
“Face?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course. I made you a promise,” he replied.
They reached their room
and Amy leaned tiredly against the wall and waited as Face got the
key from his pocket. They both heard voices
coming along the corridor, so Face leaned in towards Amy, placing his
forehead against hers, their noses almost touching. To a bystander, a
playful loving embrace.
She
slid an arm around him, under his jacket, savouring the feeling of
his physical presence. Was she going to miss this closeness they
were sharing? Because it had to end.
They both looked to see who the voices belonged to. They were total strangers, nothing to do with the wedding. Amy sighed and Face let go of her, smiling as he unlocked the door.
Amy flung her bag on the ground and slipped off her shoes, moaning with relief, rubbing her feet.
“We do have to go down for breakfast tomorrow. I need to say goodbye to some family and friends,” Amy said as Face took off his jacket and hung it in the closet.
“Of course.” Face nodded and Amy sat at the dressing table.
She started to take out the pins and flowers that were in her hair but struggled.
“Face.” She looked at him through the mirror. He already had the top buttons of his shirt undone and was removing his cufflinks, but stopped as she called him. “You couldn’t give me a hand, could you? I’ll be here all night otherwise.”
“Sure.” He stood behind her, and started to remove the pins. “Boy, how many of these things are in there?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Do they hurt?”
“No, I’m used to them now.”
It wasn’t long before Face had the final pin out; the rest piled on the dressing table. Amy shook out her hair. “That feels so much better.“
“I can imagine,” Face replied. “Do you mind?” He thumbed over his shoulder.
“Go ahead.” She grabbed her brush and started in, ridding herself of the hairspray that still held the curls in place.
She placed the hairbrush on the desk and reached for a cosmetic bottle, dabbing its liquid on to some cotton wool, and started to remove her makeup. Once satisfied with that, Amy stood up from the desk and stumbled. She placed her hand to her head and frowned, reminded that she’d drunk quite a few glasses of champagne.
She turned her back to the mirror and looking over her shoulder, attempted to undo her dress.
“Damn it,” she cursed, not being able to reach some of the buttons.
Face emerged from the bathroom, changed into his nightclothes. He chuckled. “Here, let me.” He dumped the clothes he held on a chair and moved to helped Amy.
As he undid the dress, Amy felt the slow release from around her ribcage and bust, allowing her to breathe, her body to relax.
“Thanks.”
She held it with one hand at the bust, to stop it from falling, grabbed her pyjamas from under her pillow on the bed and headed for the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
~~~
Face hung his clothes up and turned Amy’s bedside lamp on, turning off the rest of the lights in the room, before getting into bed. It gave enough glow in the room, but his eyes were starting to tire of the bright light. It had been a long day.
He stripped off his t-shirt, and laid down in the bed, pulling the covers up to his chest. He turned on his side, and watched the bathroom door.
What a day. What a weekend. If he'd known the whole truth he doubted he'd have come. Then again, part of him was glad he had. Amy really shouldn't have come to this wedding on her own with the shit that had been thrown at her. Jeremy. Helen.
He'd thought this weekend might be a good test for a new con between the two of them. Now he wasn't so sure. He thought of their last kiss on the dance floor. Were they enjoying this more than they should be?
Face combed his hand through his hair. She’d been in the bathroom a long time now, which didn’t make sense, as he'd seen she had removed her makeup at the dressing table.
Did he knock, check she was okay? She’d had quite a bit to drink. So had he. He should have savoured that kiss; he had a feeling it was going to be the last. Sure, tomorrow morning at breakfast he’d have to whisper a few sweet nothings, hold her hand and little gestures like that. But he didn’t think he was going to get an excuse to kiss her again, not like that. He shook his head again. Stop thinking like that.
He frowned, starting to worry. What’s taking her so long? Could she be sick? He shook his head; no, she'd seemed fine. He didn’t think she’d drunk that much.
Just as he figured he'd give her five more minutes, the bathroom door opened, and Amy emerged in her pyjamas. She slung the bridesmaid dress on the chaise lounge, and got into her side of the bed. She wiped a hand across her cheek.
“You okay? Had me worried there for a minute.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” She remained sitting up, but pulled the covers towards her.
“You don’t sound fine.”
“It’s nothing. I’m just being stupid.” Again she wiped her hand across her cheek. “Go to sleep.”
Face sat up. He hadn't liked her tone; she'd sounded upset. “What is it, kid?”
“Oh, Face, it’s going to sound so dumb.”
“Try me. I listen to Murdock a lot,” he said playfully. Amy let out a short laugh that died quickly.
“It’s just... and this is probably the alcohol talking,” she shook her head, sounding as if she wasn’t quite convinced herself, “I feel so alone.”
“You’re not alone,” he responded, frowning at her.
“I am, and pretending like this, ‘Sam and Amy’,” she emphasised, “shows me how much I really am. I’ve chosen a career, chasing around after you four, and even though I wouldn’t change it for the world, this weekend has made me realise how lonely it can be with no love.”
Face watched her, not knowing what to say. He didn’t love; he wouldn't go that route again. Being on the run didn’t allow you to love. But he had enjoyed this weekend. The show. Being close to her.
“I know it was all pretend, but it was nice. If I’m honest.” Amy looked him in the eye. He could see she'd been crying. “If I ask you something, you can say no to it. I’d understand.”
“Go on.” Face nodded.
“Would you hold me tonight? I just,” she hesitated, wiping her eye again, “don’t want to sleep alone.”
“Sure.” He gave her a gentle smile and moved across into the centre of the bed, stretching out his arm towards her. He didn’t like sleeping alone either. As she turned off the lamp, pure darkness swept over the room. She searched for Face’s arm, and as he felt her lay down, he curled his arm around her, pulling her closer to him. He felt her lay on her side, the heat of her body against his. She rested her head on his shoulder, easing into his neck and she gently placed her hand on his bare chest.
He worried for a moment, but it wasn’t as if it was flesh against flesh. She had her pyjamas on. This is two friends comforting one another. Nothing more. Relax.
As they both settled, getting comfortable, with his free hand, he took hold of her hand that lay on his chest and held it, with his thumb stroking over the back of it.
The last couple of nights' sleep had been good. The pair of them had slept comfortably, apart, albeit in the same bed. No nightmares of Lynch on his tail, or worse. No need to wake to take watch. Good solid sleep. And he usually slept well with a woman in his arms, but tonight he wasn’t so sure. This was Amy, his brown-eyed girl, thanks to Van Morrison, and they weren’t supposed to do this.
Was this crossing the line? Would Hannibal think so? Did Hannibal even have to know? Or was it enough, that Face knew?
But whatever, he wasn't going to let her go. Not tonight.