Chapter Text
I never was ready so I watch you go
Amy Silva sat between Robertson and DI O’Connell at Blue Dog, nursing her third whiskey. She’d developed some sort of drunken sixth sense, connecting her with the front door, looking up every time it so much as swayed open or closed. Eyes searching for familiar red hair, a flannel shirt, bright eyes. There hadn’t been so much as a false alarm in the two hours she’d been at the pub.
The unit was celebrating DC Porter’s promotion to DS. Amy didn’t usually socialize outside of work now that her and Kirsten had ended things. Even after DS Longcare had been moved to missing persons, she found herself even less interested in the day to day office dynamics than she had been after Iain’s death. She kept her head down, headphones in. Drowning out the world through sad playlists, current events podcasts and of course, her caseload. Unfortunately it hadn’t been nearly time-consuming enough for her as of late, but she found ways to bury herself in it as much as possible. Even if it was just paperwork.
Still, in some dark corner of her mind, she longed to catch glimpses of Kirsten. In line at the coffee shop downstairs, in department meetings and debriefs – she kept her distance, but even though the sight of the one that got her way made her stomach sink in a way that left her consistently nauseated, overcome by guilt – she still found herself regularly counting back to when she’d last seen her.
So, when news of Porter’s promotion reached Amy, through Robertson of course, she surprised the boss by agreeing to come to after work drinks. Kirsten and Porter had always been close, she thought. Surely Kirsten would be there. Maybe, with some liquid courage, Amy could manage to mend fences. Forge something resembling a friendship, even. She knew it wouldn’t be enough for either of them, really. But she couldn’t help but hope for something more than the stiff disconnection of colleagues that they were currently masquerading as. Having Kirsten so close and yet so far five to six days a week was becoming too much for her.
But they were nearing a third hour at the pub and still, no Kirsten. Amy excused herself to the toilet but on her way, noticed Porter ordering another round. She approached him from behind, stumbling a bit on the way and leaning against the bar to hide it so that she was now looking at him face on.
“Congratulations, DS. You’ve really impressed everyone,” Amy said, patting Porter on the shoulder. He found it almost unnerving, DCI Silva being the most intimidating detective on the unit, even moreso than Robertson.
“Oh, thank you DCI. I hope I’ll live up to it.” he said, handing her a pint that she didn’t order but has no problem taking and sculling almost half before setting it back down on the bar, pulling a face. She wasn't usually one for cheap beer.
“Porter, just between you and I,” she said, nearly slurred, leaning in closer to the young detective.
“Mhmm,” Porter urged her to continue, watching her eyes carefully. Amy Silva is drunk, he thought to himself, slightly amused.
“Shouldn’t DS Longacre be here? I mean, aren’t you two thick as thieves?” she asked, lifting up the beer again and taking a long sip. What the fuck am I doing, she wondered in a less inebriated part of her brain.
Porter shook his head knowingly, Amy Silva having essentially confirmed what he’d been badgering Longacre about for weeks. They were? are? an item.
“She said she had something else on, gave her apologies. Owes me a pint or six! Here, we can send her a photo,” Porter offered, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone.
Amy came to her senses, sculling the end of the beer and shaking her head.
“Nooo, no, that’s okay. But make sure she makes good on that offer.” Amy said before walking off to the ladies. Porter watched; a bit bewildered until one of his mates distracts him.
Amy stumbled into a stall, pulling down her trousers and sitting for what felt like the longest wee of her life. She rested her elbows on her thighs and her head in her hands, feeling ridiculous. Out with people she’d never usually bother with, drunk even, and Kirsten wasn’t coming. She pulled out her phone, found Kirsten’s number and before she could think anything remotely sound, she hit dial.
She didn’t do this. Amy had made a point to give Kirsten space in the past few months. She had hurt her, she was to blame. It wasn’t fair to Kirsten to be wishy-washy. But the three whiskeys, drank in quick succession with very little food in between, they’d gone straight to Amy’s head.
She pressed call and put the phone on speaker, listening to the mocking sound of the dialtone as it rang once, twice, three times and then played Kirsten’s recorded voicemail. You’ve reached Kirsten Longacre, please leave a message. Amy mocked the voice, having heard the message many times before. She hung up and dialed again, unashamed and growing even more determined in her inebriated state. She reached the voicemail again, this time after one ring.
She tried one last time. Straight to voicemail now.
“Well that isn’t any way to treat your DCI, DS Longacre. What if I had a case for you?” Amy scoffs into the phone after the beep. Then, overcome with guilt, she corrects herself.
“I don’t, sorry. That wasn’t fair. I just,” her voice cracks, which she didn’t expect. She finds herself on the verge of tears, and hideously embarrassed at the fact. “I thought you’d be here. I miss you,” she says, her voice quivering. She falls to the side, crashing into the toilet paper holder. With the creak of a door, someone enters the ladies room. Panicked, worrying someone may have overheard her, Amy tried to put her phone away prematurely and drops it, right down between her legs, into the toilet bowl.
“Fuck!” she cursed under her breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she continued, a bit louder now.
“Everything okay in there?” a voice asked, and after a moment Amy recognizes it to be DI O’Connell.
Amy opened the stall door, leaning against it as she takes a deep breath and tries to regain composure. She is suddenly feeling very sober.
“Uh yeah just, seem to have dropped my phone…” she looked behind her regretfully, eyes casting downward, into the toilet.
Emma O’Connell laughed as Amy blushed, both cracking up in a state of disbelief and alcohol-fuelled ambivalence.
“Do you mind ordering me a cab? I don’t think I can face Robertson,” Amy asked, closing her eyes and biting down on her bottom lip.
“You’re not usually like this, Silva,” Emma commented, but it was more caring than judgemental. Amy shrugged. “No problem. Are you sure you don’t want to fish that out, though? Maybe they’ll have something behind the bar we could use?” she offered.
Amy shook her head, “I’ll get a new one. I just want to get home,” she yawned, suddenly exhausted.
“No problem,” Emma agreed, pulling out her own phone and booking Amy a lift.
…
Amy made it out of the bar with a couple of waves and faked smiles, patting Porter on the back again on her way out. She rolled down the window in the Uber for fresh air, telling herself she’d have to find a way to save face with O’Connell next week. She could barely remember what she’d said on Kirsten’s voicemail, willing herself to forget it had even happened, which her drunken state was making surprisingly easy. She had one focus – getting home without spewing. Luckily, she managed, though it was the first thing she did upon reaching her front door. Right into the bushes, for all her neighbours to enjoy come morning.
…
At about two am, less than two hours after Amy had fallen asleep – fully clothed, on top of all of her sheets, she was awoken by the sound of someone walking up the stairs to her bedroom.
Instinctively she flipped over, reaching for something, anything on her nightstand that she might use as a weapon.
“Stop! I’m a police detective, I’ve called 999!” she called out, though it certainly wasn’t true since she didn’t even have a phone.
“Sorry, sorry, Amy. It’s me,” came the distinct voice of the last person Amy expected, Scottish accent hanging on every word. Amy breathed a sigh of relief, though it was almost immediately replaced with equal anxiety. What was Kirsten doing in her flat?
“What are you-“ Amy started, just as Kirsten made it to the doorway. The sight of Kirsten Longacre, her beloved, and her ex, in her house after months of nearly no-contact left her momentarily speechless. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, dressed in an oversized sweater and black jeans, and her usual forest-coloured coat. Her eyes were filled with concern as she flipped on the light, causing Amy to recoil.
“Sorry,” Kirsten said again, as Amy shielded her eyes, blinking several times.
“What are you doing here?” Amy tried again, brow furrowed. She was still tipsy, though it wasn’t as intense as a few hours ago.
“You called me three times and then when I tried to ring back, you didn’t pick up… And you left me a voicemail and it got cut off… I still have a key, and I was worried...” Kirsten walked awkwardly to the end of Amy’s bed, sitting down. She kept her eyes on Amy, studying her carefully. Wondering what her evening had entailed.
Amy winced as the memories of the voicemail, the bathroom, her phone in the toilet, all came rushing back to her. She swayed involuntarily, becoming a bit nauseous.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called,” she said finally.
“Oh,” Kirsten said, hanging her head and twiddling her thumbs uncomfortably. “Well, I just wanted to see if you were okay… Porter messaged that you were drunk... and you didn’t sound like you…” Kirsten explained, thinking of the way Amy’s voice had cracked on the phone. She’d never actually seen, or heard, Amy cry.
Amy went to open her mouth but a sudden wave of nausea hit and she found herself rushing to the bathroom instead. Kirsten followed; she couldn’t help it. As Amy scrambled for the toilet, hanging onto it by the sides as she threw up one beer, three whiskeys and a handful of chips that she’d consumed, Kirsten found herself squatting down to Amy’s level. Rubbing her back, sweeping her short, straight strands of hair away from her face.
Amy hovered over the toilet until she was absolutely sure she had finished, then sat down criss-cross on the cold tile, leaning to one side, towards the bathroom wall. She couldn’t bring herself to look up at Kirsten, but she brought her hand up to where Kirsten’s was, now on her shoulder. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and sighing it out. She wanted to apologize, right then and there, for everything she had done. Everything she had gotten wrong, every way that she had hurt Kirsten. How she was still hurting her, calling her and leaving her voicemails that sent Kirsten running over in the middle of the night, forcing her to take care of her drunk and cataclysmically fucked up ex-girlfriend.
Whether it was the whiskey, or the exhaustion, or the way she’d be running from everything she’d felt for Kirsten and it finally seemed to be catching up with her, Amy wasn’t sure. But she uncontrollably she began to shake, cry, sob. “I’m-“ she tried, but she couldn’t say it. All she wanted was to tell the beautiful, patient woman in front of her was that she was sorry and she couldn’t even manage that.
Kirsten came down to Amy’s level. She put her own complicated feelings aside, her sobriety allowing her that luxury. She took both of Amy’s hands, squeezing them tightly.
“Shh, I’m here…” she said softly, releasing one hand to reach up and stroke Amy’s hair. She pressed a kiss to the top of her head. It was disarming, seeing Amy like this. Rawer and more vulnerable than she’d been in perhaps their entire relationship, she found herself thinking. But that frustrated her, so she pushed that thought aside too.
“C’mon, let’s get you into bed…” Kirsten encouraged, and Amy nodded, resigned. She allowed Kirsten to pull her up and guide her back to the bedroom. She unbuttoned her trousers and pulled her top off, Kirsten turning away slightly as she did so. It was almost physical, how much it hurt her to see Amy so intimately when things between them were so fucked up.
“Please don’t go…” Amy said once she was horizontal again, reaching up to Kirsten with both arms. Kirsten reached out with one of hers and squeezed her hand, interlocking their fingers.
“Cannae now, eh? Surely I’d be complicit if I leave now and you choke on your own vomit in the night,” she jokes weakly, her usual sense of humour having evaded her for weeks, since they’d broken up. “I’m just going to get you some water…”
Kirsten went down to the kitchen, uncomfortable with how familiar and yet distant the memory of when it was all-but her own kitchen. She found some plain crackers and filled a glass with ice water, carrying both back to Amy who she was surprised to find sitting up in bed.
“Was listening to hear if you snuck out…” Amy explained to Kirsten’s confused expression, sinking down further into bed now. “Thank you,” she said as Kirsten placed the water and crackers on the bedside table.
“My word’s never been the one in question here,” Kirsten muttered, though she immediately regretted it. It stung Amy but she knew she deserved it. She just nodded.
“I know,” she said softly, watching as Kirsten took off her coat and lay it at the end of the bed. She took off her shoes next, then crawled onto the bed, laying stiffly on top of the covers in her jeans.
“You can take those off,” Amy suggested after a moment, nudging Kirsten and gesturing with her head towards her jeans.
“Oi, has this all been an elaborate ploy for break up sex, Silva?” Kirsten offered a small grin. She shifts around a little, pulling the comforter back and tucking her legs beneath it, leaving her pants on.
Amy reached for a cracker and ate it, willing her stomach to stay settled though butterflies overcome her at the mention of sex. She’d missed Kirsten so much, in so many ways, one of them of course being intimately. She met Kirsten’s eyes sheepishly.
“Don’t get any ideas, you haven’t even brushed your teeth,” Kirsten made a face, rolling over onto her side and propping herself up on the pillow and her elbow beneath her, looking up at Amy. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t die.”
Amy nodded, still embarrassed. She certainly wasn’t expecting sex – she wasn’t even sure she’d ended up with Kirsten in her house, let alone her bed, after over a month of not so much as making eye contact. She stared down into her water, taking a short sip and then returning it to the nightstand.
“I think… Er, actually. I know I dropped my phone in the toilet… At the bar…” Amy said finally to break the silence, closing her eyes and grimacing at the memory. She shuffled down a bit further so that the comforter is over most of her face, just her eyes peaking out at Kirsten.
“Well…” Kirsten shakes her head, stifling a laugh. “That explains why you didn’t pick up when I called back.” She raised her arms over head, tucking her hands behind her head and leaning back into the pillows.
“I’m surprised you called back…” Amy said quietly. “I don’t deserve that…”
“You don’t.” Kirsten agreed, though her tone wasn’t harsh. She dropped one of her arms, wrapping it around Amy’s shoulders and pulling her closer so that Amy was now curled up against her right side, in the nook between her body and the inside of her arm. “Sleep now, please.”
“You’ll stay?” Amy asked again, still in disbelief that Kirsten is in her house, her bed. Too intoxicated to be embarrassed that she'd now asked again and again.
“Until I’m certain you won’t croak.” Kirsten confirmed, her hand finding the small of Amy’s back and brushing her fingers over it. Amy nuzzled even closer into Kirsten, cherishing the feeling of their bodies being pressed together, being able to inhale her scent. They had ended so abruptly, there were so many things Amy hadn’t realized were happening for the last time.
Maybe they wouldn’t be? she found herself wondering as alcohol and exhaustion started pulling at her consciousness. Kirsten was here, after all. She’d come. But what had Amy really done to deserve that? And what, if anything, did she feel like she could do differently if she somehow could find it in her heart to forgive the way things had ended. Kirsten felt beyond her reach, a love that she couldn’t have. Didn’t deserve. She was too irrevocably fucked up and Kirsten too perfect, too pure. And maybe she’d moved on, Amy realized, remembering that for whatever reason, Kirsten had been too busy to attend her best mates celebrations.
“Where were you?” Amy mumbled groggily; afraid she wouldn’t get the chance to ask in the morning.
Kirsten rolled her eyes, far from sleep herself.
“Shagging my new girlfriend,” she quipped, but regretted as Amy’s face crumbled.
“Shhh, no. No. It’s my Mum’s birthday, I was at family dinner,” she explained, and Amy nodded, though tears had already again begun to fall from Amy’s eyes. She wiped them on Kirsten’s shirt by shaking her head back and forth. She almost felt worse for the fact that she didn’t know Kirsten’s mum’s birthday, had never met her Mum, or anyone in her family for that matter. Here she was, hopelessly in love with this woman and she hadn’t even tried getting to know her properly.
“Amy,” Kirsten said, reaching down with her hand to tilt Amy’s tearful face up towards hers.
“I’m not interested in anyone else, and I don’t suspect I will be…anytime soon... maybe ever,” she said, though she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like it mattered anymore. Still, it was an unusual situation and despite that she was remarkably sober, especially in comparison to Amy, the intensity of their situation inclined her towards the inadvisable. She craned her neck down, capturing Amy’s lips in a slow, loving kiss. Tears threatened to well up in her own eyes, but she had become a master of her emotions these past few months, she forced them back.
Amy accepted the kiss, willing it not to end, but of course it did. And too soon for her liking. She lay her wet cheek back down against Kirsten’s chest when it did. Tell her you love her, a small voice in her head said. It will fix things. It will save them. But she couldn’t even in her inebriated state. Something was still stopping her.
They fell asleep without saying anything else. Kirsten watched Amy for nearly an hour before drifting off herself, gently tangling her hands in Amy’s soft, short hair, absentmindedly twirling it as she wondered about how’d they’d gotten here.
Kirsten dozed off for a couple hours, sleeping better than she had in weeks with the weight of Amy against her. Still, she woke before sunrise. The sight of Amy was sobering, though she hadn’t been drunk to begin with. She sucked in a sharp breath, carefully wiggling out from underneath her. Once she was sure the woman was still asleep (like a log when she was drunk, luckily), Kirsten made her way out of bed and started to gather her things.
She pulled on her coat, her shoes, all while watching Amy to make sure she didn’t wake. She didn’t want her to have to watch her leave. Doing the leaving was unbearable enough.
Once she was fully dressed, she made her way to Amy’s side of the bed, leaning over her and pressing one final kiss into her hair. She inhaled, taking in her pheromones, tearing up as they tugged at her heart, all but dragging her back into bed.
“I love you. I miss you, too…” she whispered, knowing Amy wouldn’t hear or remember.
"I love you." Amy exhaled, but only once she heard the deafening sound of her front door closing and the lock flicking over. Kirsten was gone. She'd lost her all over again.