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Choking On Sapphires 80

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Title & Song: 505

Summary:  Genevieve comes home from the hospital. The journey to her recovery begins, but there are so many more things besides bruises and broken bones to worry about healing. Alfie tries to push back his own trauma from the event he's in denial over, and the whole house has to watch as things get worse before they get better. Song is 505 by The Arctic Monkeys.

Warnings/Tags: Language. Canon typical violence. References to assault and violence. Near death experiences. PTSD. Suffering/Physical Pain. Fluff. 

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Alfie had kept his word so far. Every time Genevieve would open her eyes to escape the mixture of horror and fantasy that kept circling in her subconscious in her sleep he would be there.

When the memories of what had happened would become less fuzzy, would creep into her dreams, he’d be there holding her hands as she fought out of the drug-induced slumber she felt held prisoner in to keep her from hurting herself. She’d make unsettling noises during her fits. Feet kicking and arms twitching and flailing as her face pained and winced, eyes rolling under their purple lids in the misshaped sockets for the violence she was reliving.

Sometimes the dreams would be pleasant though. An escape to another timeline where none of this had happened. She’d make hums of approval in her sleep, nuzzling into her pillow and it would make Alfie sigh with relief. She deserved some respite from this reality he thought, and he was happy she could find it. If she stirred his hand would always find hers. Even on the rare occasion, he’d be able to fall asleep, back aching and twisted in the chair by her bed he’d keep hold of her as if someone could steal her away without him knowing again. When she would wake from her pleasant dreams he’d be there with his ruffled hair and haggard face, a soft glance she’d meet as he’d stroke her swollen hands. She liked to touch his face in these tender moments they shared. The back of her hand, the knuckle of a finger lightly against his scaled features and wiry beard. She’d give him an affectionate smile, one he’d seen in the mornings before her eyes would close again, him placing her hand back onto the bed as it started to slowly lower when she fell back into her peaceful distraction.

Within a few days with no seizures or signs of internal bleeding, she’s given the go-ahead to be released. Instructions for her care are given to each Alfie, Claire, and Aggie as they were life-threateningly important. She was out of immediate harm from some things, but plenty could still go wrong. Alfie schedules home visits with the doctor ahead of time and even has Ollie hear the orders for her medicine. He was taking no chances at anyone that would be near her not knowing what the fuck they were doing.

With the state of her still being so very fragile, still multicolored from injuries and barely breathing without pain, although the morphine did help that part, she couldn’t exactly walk out on crutches for her twisted ankle. Alfie commandingly insists on being the one to handle her. She did admittedly respond best to him. He has her taken out of the hospital by a back entrance via wheelchair. He wanted all the details of her situation to remain a secret for now. No one that didn’t already know, needed to know how bad it was. He didn’t want word getting out to the community they were a part of, her students, here children at the home. He wanted to keep that ideal version of her alive and well, as he still had faith she would return to it one day.

Despite the fog she found herself in, she tried to keep her head up as they drove out of town. There was a distinct smell to the air and as they were on their way out of the city, the swirls of smoke could be seen in the rear view mirror.

He sees her focusing, her nose twitching like a rabbit. She raises her hand, a single finger pointed behind them with a subtle tilt of her head in question as she could still not speak.

“The smoke?” He asks.

She moves the pointed finger up and down as an indicator for her answer of yes so she didn’t have to nod.

“That was me, love.” He says with a noisy exhale, turning her head from it gently. “I had everything he owned burnt down and everyone in it killed.” He has no remorse and a fling of hunger for the day left in his eyes. “Seems me 'n Tommy’s men burnt down near half of fuckin London. For you, love. No one is gonna mess wif a Solomons. ‘Bout time us Jews started remindin’ these goyim what we’re capable of. Didn’t survive this fuckin long through slavery and oppression to lay down on the cusp of birth of fuckin' Nazi’s.” He shakes his head, brow low and lips tight as his mind only thinks of more things to worry about. He closes his eyes before turning back to her and kisses her forehead. “I’d set the whole fuckin' world ablaze for ya love. If I had to have ya live on a fuckin' island somewhere to escape the flames yeah? Nuffin else but you and ours matters now, eh? Now you lay your head down darlin' and have ya little lie down and I’ll keep ya steady 'til we get ya home, yeah?” He offers, having her place her head on his shoulder, his large hand cradling it and her hip like a baby in his arms. He rests his cheek against her hair and breaths her in, keeping his lips to her when he’d inevitably get emotional with her in his arms all small and helpless now. With the lack of sleep and the strain of the events of the past few days, he’d been a mess. He’d been moody, even more so than usual. He'd neglected himself entirely. Not eating or sleeping of his own doing, always thinking, always worrying. It was starting to take more of a toll on him than he would admit to himself. But he was blinded by his compulsion to protect his love. Following the advice to be delicate with her the best he could.

Her home wasn’t exactly wheelchair friendly, but Alfie certainly didn’t mind carrying her back into the house, the chair brought in behind them as he keeps his eyes on her in his arms, anyone else not existing as far as he was concerned when she was within his eyesight. He has pillows brought and piled high on the bed for her, a little bell for her convince on her nightstand. He leaves his cane by the bed to aid her when she would inevitably need to use the loo.

The time spent with her unconscious he’d spent wisely with Ollie. Preparations of his own taken for the business to keep moving along without him. Despite the always nervous young man’s suggestion to keep his affairs as usual to keep up appearances, he was met only with a  smack to the face as he was reminded he needed to understand that Alfie's word was rule and the rules would be changing now. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about his business, the tracks, the money, he still very much did. But for now, there would be a noticeable lack of Solomons around. He’d had his close call and it wasn’t going to take another one to make him see where he was needed. Ollie was a big boy and had been his second for years now. Ollie could handle it. At least until the threat against Gen’s well being was passed. But as the doctor had said, it was one day at a time.

The first step was to get her comfortable again. The bath proves difficult for both of them. He wanted her to feel clean, to smell like she had before the hospital, flowers instead of sterile. Neither of them spoke, Genevieve still having much difficulty doing so, and Alfie not wanting to say the wrong thing. His usual approach with humor to serious situations with her wouldn’t work his time and he didn't want to confuse the poor dear. As it turned out it was very easy to do in her currently still unstable state. She only makes sounds of pain when he touched her and his hurt shows on his face. She doesn’t meet his expression as she feels varied, swinging emotions as she’s faced with her naked body for the first time since being rescued. The bath water helps distort it, but she can tell even with her blurry eyes that there was plenty of distortion without the filter of waves from the water. Her swollen joints and skin that held reminders of the events that were still hazy to her, they were both left with undeniable proof that even if they didn’t know exactly what happened, that it had clearly been worse than either knew. For the first time in their relationship, they sat alone together in a heavy, uncomfortable silence. The things unsaid about the events that had unfolded sat like an invisible barrier between them, neither wanting to share how it truly made them feel. For the first time there was a disconnect between them, even Gen in her hazy mindset knew he looked at her differently, just as she was looking at herself. With a confusing mixture of pity and guilt.

Alfie does his best as the gentle touch she needs doesn’t come first nature to him. He brings her one of her favorite gowns, all silk and lace and slight enough to be able to keep watch on her injuries. But she makes a small sad noise and pushes it away when he brings it to her. She would’ve said she didn’t want something so lovely on this body, that it would only remind her of how she was before, but she couldn’t, and Alfie's expression remained puzzled. She didn’t need to try to be who she was before just yet. That version of herself was so far away, possibly even unobtainable now she felt. She wanted simple, to keep her mind calm. She needed comfort to offset the pain. She tugs on his shirt, damp from carrying her to bed. His intuition has never been such a highly valued skill to him as he retrieves one of his shirts from a chest of drawers and puts it on her gingerly, limb by limb. It smelled like him, it felt like him rubbing against her skin and let her chest bindings breathe. This is what she needed, not her silk and frills. Alfie sees a calmness take over her face as she strokes the fabric over her thighs. His darling needed him, needed comfort now. He had to attempt to let go of trying to do things his way. But that was never his strong suit.

After getting her set up in bed, she falls asleep quickly from the full day she’d already had in comparison to barely moving in the hospital. She sleeps soundly, seemingly heavy as she lies in a nest of pillows like a little bird.

He’s called from the bed, a phone call from Ollie already. He’s hesitant to leave her, but he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. He’d had the phone removed from her room to make sure her rest wasn’t interrupted by it. He wanted her in quiet and calm with nothing that could disrupt or startle her. So he agrees to leave for only a moment.

When he returns, trying to shed his annoyance for Ollie’s tendency to panic and over question his own decisions he finds the bed empty and panics. Flashes of the night she disappeared come to him, his heart in his throat as all the hairs stand up on his skin, an anxiety attack on the verge of blooming like a boy after the war. He had his own issues from the abduction to deal with it seemed.

He hears a pained sound, something like a hurt animal, and as he approaches swiftly he finds just that. His little kitten on the floor and struggling to breathe, the cane by her side. Her arms shook and failed time and time again to hold herself up as she cried with croaked grunts from her bruised neck.

He calls her name over and over, she keeps her eyes screwed shut, teeth clenched in pain as her hands cling desperately to his forearms. “Gen you stubborn thing.” he sighs. He shushes and coos, pulling her up against his chest and setting her back on the bed. His big warm hands on her face and hair, wiping away tears and he instructs her to slow her breathing. “That’s it love breathe slow. It’s only pain. Don’t let it make you afraid.” He says in a kind tone,  a hand to her wrist to feel her pulse.

At last she opens her eyes, her breathing wheezy and her posture slumped from the pain in her ribs. She opens her mouth and tries to speak and he shakes his head, putting his thumbs over the rough, broken skin.

“Don’t try to talk.” He instructs sternly. “Catch your breath and I’ll fetch the paper after. No rush now is there?”

She gulps and continues moaning with every exhale, feeling overwhelmed. Her hand reaches out and points to the bathroom as her head spins.

“You were trying to get in there, eh?” He asks, brushing her hair out of her face and she wiggles her finger to indicate he was correct. “I had a call and left for just a moment, thought you were deep asleep. You know better than to try to walk yourself in your condition.” He voice grows weaker with his pushing back of his frustrations, feeling another wave of guilt wash over him. “You wait for me to help you, yeah? Don’t go tryin’ so hard alone. We’re not there yet.” He plants a kiss to her forehead, lingering there as her hands move to his forearms. He feels her breathing steady, her hands stop trembling and her rest her weight against him. “That’s a good girl, yeah?” He says with an affectionate and very light stroke to her back. “Ya needed to take a wee love?” He says with a more playful tone, holding her chin up as she answers with her eyes looking to the bathroom doorway. “Well, we can manage that now can’t we? Right. Let’s get ya up. Ya ready for your Alfie to carry you?”

She mouths yes and raises her arms slowly to around his neck. The soft nuzzle into him as he grunts and lifts her, babying her the entire way makes her feel better in the moment. He was there. He was staying through every ugly bit of it and she didn’t need to worry about him right now, only herself. Whoever that was presently. She felt like a different person or no one at all at times. The mix of head injury and medicine leaving her confused, disoriented, bewildered and to say the least, spacey most of the time.

After settling her back into bed, he can tell she’s hurting badly, little whines with every exhale as he settles in next to her. He gives her another small dose of medicine to take the edge off. He couldn’t stand seeing her in pain and knew inside her was nothing but. It was only the first day of her being home, of the official start to the road of recovery and he knew it was going to be harder than he had initially imagined. But what he hadn’t expected was for it to be far worse before it got better.

Sleeps takes her quickly. She’s sucked into a dark undertow and deep into a very vivid dream. She comes to with a blink, as if she had been plunked into this new place. The first thing she notices is that there is no pain. A warm sun hits her skin which after inspection looked to be blemish free, her hands only wearing a wedding band and diamond ring and no bandages.

“Papa!” She hears, her head quickly turning towards the sound and having no dizziness from it. She’s surrounded by large green hedges that are dotted with flowers. They rise too tall for her to see over, but she can clearly hear the laughter of children beyond them. With fingertips dragging on the surface of the thick bushes as she walks, she follows the path before her and hears the laughter, sprinkled with the sound of birds throughout it. “Mama!” She hears called out, and she somehow knows the happy sound is for her. Her bare feet move quickly over the well-kept paths, a sense of happiness, of joy as she moves to a jog, her dress soft against her legs as she moves.

She emerges from the maze to a wide open garden of grass, trees and ivy wrapped lattice, bird baths and statues along the space that was nestled in the valley of a yellow-green rolling hillside the tall grass swaying in the distance. A young child runs in front of her, catching her attention.

She quickly hitched up her dress and chases after, running through the garden. One child disappears behind a corner, to reveal two as she rounds it as well.

“Mum!” She hears an older girl laugh, her long dark hair swishing and a crown of flowers atop of her head as she moves with the small child. Another corner, another child, all seeming to be different. All in their own little clothes, varying heights, hair colors, and styles. She chases around the hedge maze until there are five of them, then they move as a small herd, the older ones helping the younger as they fall and squeal.

She calls out for them in her pursuit. But their faces stay hidden from her. Even she stumbles, the soft, dark auburn hair of a little boy in shorts moving just out of reach. She comes back into the clearing, a white house now at the other end of the stretch of grass and an easily recognizable man standing with his little glasses on his nose, cane in hand, and a lovely booming voice calling out for her.

———

“Genevieve!” Alfie shouts as Aggie rushes out of the room and to the phone. “Wake up love, come now, stay with me.” His voice breaks as he holds her in his arms, his panic pulsing through his exhausted body.

He’d noticed her fall so still, not resting himself as her little tumble earlier had shaken him up. As the night went on she grew far too still for his liking, he could no longer see her chest moving up and down and that had sent the shouting and panic throughout the house that they sat in now. Her pulse was there but weak, his eyes wild and voice so angry as Aggie told him the doctor was on his way.

————

“Chanah!” Alfie's warm voice calls out to her. A sense of rightness, of contentment, follow as the small herd of children also hear him and let out their various sounds of approval as they head towards him ahead of her.

“Ari!” She calls out with a beaming smile.

“Papa!” One of the boys responds as he stumbles on his still young legs towards the inviting outstretched embrace of Alfie.

————-

“Ari.” Genevieve’s voice is a whisper, if he hadn’t been holding her head to his he would’ve missed it. He chokes back tears as he kisses her face and holds her hand, once again not thinking about having to let her go once the doctor arrived.

———-

The five children like broken stair steps range from an older girl, probably a teenager to a young boy and girl who looked to be barely even 6. The girls had bows and flowers in their hair and the boys had grass stains on their pants and messy hair. They looked a portrait of perfect to her. They kept moving just out of reach of Genevieve’s hands, the dreamscape making the run to meet Alfie go on for so long, and her frustration grew. She began feeling desperate to touch them, to feel them and know they were real, to see their faces and tell them sweet, loving things. But they kept out of her reach and she kept stumbling towards them with now filthy feet from the ground.

With the edge of the back porch of the house reached by the kids, Alfie ruffles their hair and looks a picture of a proud father. A little girl in his strong arms, her face buried in his neck as he laughs at another small boy wrapping his little arms around his leg. For a moment the thought crosses Genevieve’s mind that this might be heaven.

With the thought the oldest turns, her face coming into view now. She was strikingly beautiful. With dark hair dotted with flowers, the same Genevieve had been chasing earlier, and similarly, as the girl just a touch shorter than her who stood next to her, face still toward her father.

“Mum.” The girl says with a sweet voice that came from lips that looked like Alfies, Gen’s large eyes looked back in their mirrored image over the same rounded nose with Alfie's stormy blue pupils looking back at her.

“Yes, cheri?” Genevieve responds with a fluttering of her heart in her chest as the girl steps closer.

“I’m sorry.” She says with a kind smile.

Genevieve is confused, their hands reaching out, just a hair's width from touching.

“Chanah!” She hears Alfie shout, her head whipping fast to him as he motions her to come towards him, children still swarming him.

She gives a nod and a smile and moves to turn back to the girl but as fast as she’d turned her head, she was gone. She could almost feel the heat from her hand when it had almost slid into her own. She looks around, startled and upset, wondering where the lovely girl had gone.

“She’ll be alright, love.” Alfie says, motioning her towards him, he's missing his usual assortment of jewelry. Only a gold wedding band on his aged hand with it's faded crown tattoos. The little girl in his arms puts her own around his neck and squeezes. “Not time to meet her yet.” He says with an almost cheerful disposition. “You’ve still got to meet the others.” He says, turning and bouncing the girl, the boy now sitting on Alfie's foot as he walks with a waddle. The older girl that was left now walks with the older boy under her arm, rubbing his back affectionately as they move toward the house. Gen turns to look around the garden, still worried about the girl who disappeared. “Chanah!” Alfie calls out and she ignores it, feeling her heart race and her breath shorten. “Chanah love, come back to me!” His voice sounds different now. More demanding. “Chanah!” He shouts again with anger and she turns to look his way, a sharp dizziness taking her over as it feels like an omniscient hand yanks her from where she stands.

Her eyes open back into the reality Alfie had been dealing with while she was having her most curious experience.

“Chanah! Fuckin ‘ell girl ya gonna kill me wif 'is.” He says bending over her body on the bed.

She tries to say his name and only gets out “Ah-“ as is standard.

“Shhhh catch your breathing up love. Ya medicine put ya a bit too far under. Had to pull ya out of it dinnit I?” He holds her like a child as her eyes with their mixed pupil sizes loll around in her head.

“W-wuh-“ She grunts out.

“Hand us the paper there Agatha.” Alfie instructs, holding the ice water they’d been applying to her skin for past few minutes. “Ya need somethin'?” He asks, putting the pen gently into her hand.

“Ch-chi-“ She stutters and rasps, writing ‘children?’ On the pad.

“What are you on about love? There’s no children.” He doesn’t hide the confusion on his face as he turns to the doctor for answers.

“She’s most likely having trouble distinguishing real life with dreams as she comes out of it. Fairly common occurrence.” He says with a flat delivery.

“There’s no children, love.” Alfie whispers softly.

She whimpers, writing ‘where are the children?’ again as Aggie starts to cry at the state her lovely Genevieve was in. She thought of her as her own and seeing her suffer in any way, especially in a way she could not help hurt her deep down into her soul.

“There’s no children, love.” Alfie says with a more stern delivery, as she sweats and groans in his arms, wanting to struggle to get back to that lovely place but she’s so weak. Each toss of her head sends nausea flooding over her, her eyes showing white as the room spins. Nausea gives over to actual vomiting as Alfie leans her over the side of the bed where a bucket sat just for such an occasion. He shoots another questioning glance to the doctor.

“Also very common.” He nods. “Could be her stomach rejecting the excess medication, could be from the head injuries. Severe dizziness is common in cases such as these. It will pass.” His bedside manner wasn’t the best, but his reputation was and Alfie could easily forgo a  sugar-coated delivery for fast facts.

“Let it out, love.” He says softly, rubbing her back and keeping her hair out of her face. This was worse than any other time he’d seen her sick whether from drink or violence. The sounds that escaped her were gruesome and churned his stomach just as much as hers was.

But the sounds faded, she passes out again, limp in his arms like a classical painting of tragic lovers. He holds her close, keeping her warm as she chills, speaking to her as she groans and shifts in her unrest. All this was reminding him of the war. The constant feeling the other shoe was going to drop at any moment, the tension and paranoia. He couldn’t sleep, he could barely allow himself to blink, lest she take a turn for the worst. Deep sleep and shallow breathing were part of the new medication she was on. He could’ve been told that one hundred more times but it didn’t make the terror that shot through his core when he thought her dead any easier to handle. Or the frustration he felt at the strong rise and fall of his own emotions he was not accustomed to.

She sleeps, but it is not peaceful. Her mind trying to rewire and heal, skipping and making missed connections, leaving her in a disturbing mix of memory and dream inside her own head. He stays up, swearing to himself she would not fail because of him. He kept watch like an ancient guardian relic over her. A slumped and bent, red-eyed and scaled skin gargoyle over her in the dark of the room, the fire casting them in uncanny low light. The sight of them was frightening, and only Agatha and Claire dare enter the room.

The two women, shunned by Alfie in his slow descent into madness it seemed watched on helplessly. Claire was by far the most optimistic of them all. She recalled Gen’s brother after the war and knew things like this happened. Setbacks were all part of the road to progress.

“Although you might think it insensitive of me to say so, I can’t help but look upon this scene as she would if she were us right now.”

“What do you mean dear?” Aggie says with a wrinkled nose.

“The lighting, the love, the tragedy. She’d be a big enthusiast of this would she not? The drama and aesthetic. I only wish I could capture it for her.”

“Why on earth would you want to recall this hellish night?” Aggie’s confusion clear in her voice.

“Because I know she’d think it would make a lovely painting,” Claire replies with a sigh, an almost happy look on her face as she watched on from the darkened hallway. “Gen would find the beauty in this madness. Since she can’t...we must.” She says confidently with a nod.

“That’s a beautiful point dear. We would all be best to keep it in mind the coming days. I fear this is not the end of the ugliness of recovery.”

“It is not. And we will. We will tell her of this when she’s better. And she will be. But healing from this will be unpleasant. She’s strong but not inhuman. We know what those men did to her, and when she remembers I don’t know how she’ll respond. We could be looking at another wave of rebellion again like last time.” Claire’s lips pursed.

Agatha sighs and slumps. “I hope for everyone’s sake you’re wrong.”

“Oui. So do I.”

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