Work Text:
One evening, when they had been in Marrakesh for nearly two weeks, Lix told Freddie. A welcome thunderstorm had left the air rich with freshness, and they were sitting on the balcony of the tiny flat they had borrowed (on the first floor, because Freddie was still no good with stairs). The night before, Freddie had slept through without waking, blind and screaming, for the first time in weeks.
Lix was telling him some story of Spain, full of near-miss and impossible coincidence, when Freddie turned to her with a hint of his old impetuous abandon. 'Has your existence always been charmed, or is it something you have to cultivate, like rosebushes?'.
At once, he sensed her tightness, and himself shrank back. 'Sorry. Forget it.' The rattle of the whisky bottle against her glass as he poured with a shaking hand brought Lix back from her blinding anger. 'I had a letter from Bel this morning,' he continued, voice brittle. Lix, of course, knew this already. 'She says that Marnie is doing a fantastic job as co-presenter, and with Isaac back on home affairs and Hector on the foreign desk they're nearly at full strength, for the time being. She-'
His clumsy attempt at kindness broke her more than the original question had done. She reached instinctively for his hand. Silent immediately, he lifted his head to meet her steady brown eyes - two pairs of eyes that had each seen such extremes of the human passion for destruction. Wordlessly, he lifted her hand and kissed her palm, closing her fingers over the place where he had kissed like it was a precious gift.
'Freddie.' Her voice trembled, but her gaze was constant. 'Let me tell you about my daughter.'