Chapter Text
“Amélie?” Gérard shouted through from the bedroom, “Come to bed.” He had forgiven her, he had and he knew it in his heart that it must have been his fault. He had been selfish, he had gone away when he could have refused even if he was reprimanded, even if he lost his job he should have stayed with his wife.
She’d been kidnapped and abused by terrorists, the people he set out to destroy not a few days ago, who had sent him home in an emergency evacuation. They had her a few weeks ago and he had left her alone again.
He should have stayed.
And of course it was Angela’s fault too. The nerve of that woman, she was Amélie’s doctor. It went against every code of conduct. It was only for Amélie that he didn't report her, even though Angela didn't deserve protection. While Gérard wouldn't trust them together again, would walk his wife - His Wife - to and from her appointments, Angela was the best in her field, in medicines, and while she wasn’t the best in any sort of psychological field she was Amélie’s friend. And that was what she needed.
Amélie’s voice came from the living room of their apartment. “I’m thinking, Gérard.” He sighed and rolled his eyes, swinging his legs out of bed and padding naked through the hallway towards her, “I’m not tired,” she added as he walked through the door.
“Think in bed.” He’d come to stand beside her now, leaning on the arm of the chair she was huddled into, “Come on.” He reached out and tugged at her sleeve, wondering if she planned to sleep in the jumper as well as sulk in it.
“I told you I’m not tired.” She tugged her arm away from him quickly, still staring at the same blank spot on the wall, or maybe she was staring at the TV he wasn't sure.
“Alright, just… come to bed soon okay?”
“I will,” she promised, accepting his kiss on her cheek. “Soon.” Gérard walked away wondering if she’d only stared at the wall because she couldn't bear to look at him, if being with Angela the way she had been meant she wasn't interested in him anymore, or in men at all. He wasn't sure which would be the easiest to deal with.
He punched the pillow as he settled back into bed. That damn woman had got into her head and caused all this. He’d have words with her in the morning, but for now he would just have to try and sleep.
Angela knocked on the door. She hadn't wanted to come over, but there had been something in Amélie’s voice that forced her into action. Some tremble of fear that Angela couldn't work out. She had gone back with Gérard, they had made up after their fight.
Angela shouldn't be here. Not today of all days. She didn't deserve to steal another Valentine’s day evening from Gérard and his wife.
But she knocked again, harder this time.
The door clicked open, left only on the catch and not locked even at this late hour.
“Hallo?” she called through, pushing the door slowly open. The front hallway light wasn't on as she walked in, but there was a lamp on in the living room so she could at least see where she was putting her feet as she walked further into the apartment.
Part of her expected Gérard to grab her and throw her out, she’d deserve it well enough after all. “Amélie, are you there?” She heard a strangled noise from the living room, muffled. Walking in she saw Amélie, sitting with her back to the wall in the far corner of the room, her knees up against a pillow that she was holding in front of her face. Only her eyes were visible, streaming with tears.
“Amélie!” The woman hardly reacted as Angela rushed to her side, kneeling beside her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, just stared at something Angela couldn't see. Angela cradled her in her arms, rubbing a hand up and down her arm and planting soft kisses over her hair as she tried to calm her down. Nothing helped. “What happened.”
Amélie pointed to the opposite side of the room and Angela followed her direction.
The man Angela had been so wary of way laying face down on the stained carpet. “God, Gérard.” She left Amélie’s side tentatively, checking that she wasn't hurting her by going, and moved to his body instead, checking uselessly for a pulse even though she knew she wouldn't find one. The steel knife in his throat made sure of that.
She sat there, beside the corpse of the man who had hurt her lover, who had kept them apart, and she had wondered what she would have felt if something had happened to him while he’d been away.
She felt sick again.
She turned back to Amélie, wondering what she could possibly say to her. She barely said anything before she realised the woman wasn't there.
“Adieu, mon bel ange.”
She looked to the doorway where Amélie was standing, her eyes, once unfocused, now clear and sharp. There was something in the way she held herself, something in the detached way she regarded the doctor, her lover, her friend. Angela wanted to rush to her but found herself pinned in place by that steely gaze.
She watched as the woman turned on her heel and left through the open door, closing it behind her.
At the click of the lock Angela found herself running to the door on shaking legs and falling against the wood. “Amélie!” she shouted after her, knowing there was no way she would hear through the door. “Amélie!”
She could hear herself crying before she was aware it was her making that awful noise.