the Brownstone
Bobbie walked into the kitchen, yawning and heading directly for the coffeepot like an arrow shooting home. She stopped short at the sight of her daughter sitting at her kitchen table, coffee mug in front of her wearing a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, knees drawn up to her chest, her hair and makeup from the night before still on. She poured her cup of coffee, then walked over to the kitchen table, dropping a kiss on top of Carly's head before she sat down beside her. "What happened to you last night?" she asked, stirring her coffee and waiting impatiently for it to cool down enough for her to take a sip.
Carly started guiltily, and stared at Bobbie. "What do you mean?" she asked, carefully.
Bobbie narrowed her eyes as she looked at her daughter. She groaned inwardly; the look on Carly's face did not herald good tidings. "I mean," she said, slowly, "you skipped out on the Nurses' Ball pretty early last night, you and Taggert both. You missed the chorus line."
”What, did Lucy end up in her underwear again?" Carly asked, trying like hell to feign enough interest to get Bobbie off the track of her completely screwed-up life.
Bobbie started to laugh. "Of course! It wouldn't be the Nurses' Ball without Lucy sans clothing. Dara Ashton went into labor during the middle of the chorus line, and Lucy, being Lucy, panicked and jumped down from the stage, assuming, of course, that in a room full of doctors and nurses, only she should be the one to help Dara," Bobbie rolled her eyes, still laughing. "What she didn't count on was the nail sticking out of the edge of the stage. See, she was wearing this dress with a really huge skirt. Luke said," Bobbie snorted slightly, "that it was like watching a present get unwrapped!"
Despite herself, Carly laughed. "Dara and the baby both okay?" she asked.
"Both fine," Bobbie said with a smile. "The baby was a couple weeks premature, but with all the doctors and nurses in the room, everything was fine." Bobbie looked over at her daughter. "She was asking for Marcus, though; apparently, he's got a brand-new godchild that Dara was pretty anxious for him to meet."
Carly pushed back her chair abruptly, walking over to the sink and dumping out what was left of her rapidly cooling coffee. "Well, if she gets hold of him, I wish she'd let me know," Carly muttered, standing over the sink, her back to Bobbie.
"Honey?" Bobbie watched Carly carefully; she knew her daughter. And, Carly was on the edge of one of her patented crisis modes. "Carly, did something happen with you and Marcus last night?"
"You could say that. It would be a gross understatement, but you could say it," Carly said, her back still to her mother, her knuckles white as she clenched the edges of the sink. "Oh Mama," Carly whispered a moment later, turning to face Bobbie, tears in her eyes, "I did it again. Screwed up my whole goddamn life."
"Oh, honey," Bobbie stood up quickly, walking over to Carly and taking her daughter in her arms, "what happened? Did you and Marcus get into an argument?"
Carly shook her head, pulling away from Bobbie's arms and leaning back against the counter. "I wish. No, Marcus and I didn't fight; we didn't have time. He split when he walked in on Sonny and me," she looked away from her mother's eyes, "kissing." Carly dropped her head to her hands, speaking through her fingers. "Please don't tell me what an idiot I am, Bobbie; I don't need that, okay?"
Bobbie reached out, pulling Carly back into her arms. "I'm not gonna judge you, baby," she murmured, stroking Carly's hair. "That's not my job. I'm your mother; my job is just to try and make it better." She held her daughter a few more minutes, before settling her in a chair, and bringing her a fresh cup of coffee. Carly took it with what passed for a smile, wiping at her eyes. "Now," Bobbie said, sitting down across from Carly, "tell me."
"God, I don't even know how it--" Carly broke off and looked away. "Sometimes, I just -- I know how he's feeling. I don't mean to, I just, I do. He has these nightmares about Stone, sometimes," Carly spoke in a low voice, not mentioning Sonny's name. Bobbie never once didn't know who she was talking about. "And, when Emily started singing that song and dedicated it to Stone, I knew what it would do to him. I knew. And, so, I went to him." She lifted her eyes to Bobbie. "I didn't mean to kiss him, Bobbie, I swear it! I was trying to comfort him, make it better when it just -- happened." Carly closed her eyes, painfully. "And, because this is my life, that was about the point where Alexis and Marcus walked in."
Bobbie reached across the table, covering Carly's hands with her own. "Did you tell Marcus what you're telling me?" she asked, quietly.
Carly's eyes snapped open , and she shook her head. "I didn't get a chance! He walked out, didn't even look at me. And," she looked down, studying her fingers, "I didn't know what to say, anyways." Carly reached down, fishing in her pocket for a key and slid it across the table to Bobbie. "I borrowed your key and went down to wait for him in his apartment. Marcus never came home, last night," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes.
"Carly," Bobbie leaned forward, cupping her daughter's chin lightly in her hand, running her fingers over her cheek, "honey, what do you want?" she asked gently.
"I don't know!" The words burst out of Carly in an impassioned cry, as she looked at her mother. "I don't know," she repeated, more quietly.
"Well, that's the first thing you're going to have to figure out, honey," Bobbie looked at her daughter, speaking matter-of-factly. "Because you can talk to Marcus until you're blue in the face, but if what you really want is to be with Sonny," Bobbie shrugged, "it's not gonna do you a damn bit of good."
Marcus opened his eyes, just a slit, and groaned. There was light, and it was hitting his face, and that was bad. In fact, being awake and aware was bad. He turned over, grabbing for the pillow beside him, intending to remedy the situation immediately, when his groping hand encountered something that was very distinctly not a pillow, but a human being. His eyes snapped open, all the way, and he looked at the woman lying beside him. And, groaned again, this time loudly.
The woman beside him stirred, her eyes opening and her hand flying to her head simultaneously. "Where am--" She trailed off as she turned over and met Taggert's eyes. "Oh God," Alexis Davis whispered. She clutched the sheet that was barely covering both of their bodies tightly to her chest. "Tell me I'm dreaming. Tell me this," she gestured with a fist to him and the bed, "didn't happen."
Marcus shook his head, leaning back into the pillows, his arm over his eyes. "Sorry Counselor, I make it a practice not to lie to pretty ladies, 'specially when they turn up beside me in the morning." His words were exactly as light-hearted as his tone was not. "How much do you remember about last night?" he asked carefully.
Alexis was silent a long moment, and Marcus dropped his arm and turned his head to look at her, intending to apologize. Before he could speak, she did. "All of it," she whispered, softly.
~*~ "A scotch, neat." Marcus held out a hand to stop the bartender before she turned away. "Actually, make it a double," he added grimly.
"Sure thing, Commish," Jake nodded, then ran her eyes over him. "Is it black tie night here at Jake's and someone forgot to tell me?" Taggert looked at her, puzzled, and she jerked her chin towards a woman in evening dress at the end of the bar, empty vodka shot glasses lined up in front of her. His expression cleared as he recognized Alexis.
Marcus nodded his thanks to Jake, taking his scotch and walking down to Alexis. He slid onto the stool beside her. "Should we drink a toast?" he asked, as Alexis looked up at him. "To--" He looked at his glass, then set it down with a thump. "I can't think of a damn thing to drink to," Marcus whispered, his voice rough.
"To the end of lies," Alexis lifted her shot glass high, her hand unsteady. "To soulmates, huh, Taggert?" Her mouth twisted, and Alexis began to laugh bitterly. "'Cause come hell or high water or you and me," she gestured between the two of them with her glass, liquid sloshing out of it, "if it's meant to happen, it will. No matter how many people get run down, run over on the way." She lifted the shot to her mouth, draining the expensive Russian vodka in a very practiced move.
Marcus started to stop her as she signaled Jake for another, then stopped. Who was he to stop Alexis from finding oblivion tonight? He drained his own scotch, quickly, then looked at Alexis. "They're not soul mates, Alexis," he asserted, setting down his glass, hard. "Sonny's like a drug for her, an addiction, a sick attraction. If she could just break free--"
Alexis started to laugh. "Delusion-ville. So familiar, Commissioner. I lived there for a very, very long time. Almost my entire life." She shook her head, and her laughter died down. "She doesn't want to be free of him, any more than he wants to be free of her. Wake up, Taggert." She leaned forward, her voice intense, her eyes very dark. "I saw the way he looked at her," Alexis whispered, her voice cracking. "Don't you dare try and tell me there's nothing more between them than an attraction."
Marcus held her gaze for a long beat before dropping his eyes to the bar. He held up his empty glass, signaling for a refill and drained it in one gulp when Jake set it down, shaking her head as she looked at the two of them.
"You know, neither one of you should be drivin' tonight," Jake said, lifting an eyebrow at them. "I can call a cab, or if you need a place to crash, I've got an empty room upstairs. Normally, I wouldn't offer but," she grinned and shrugged philosophically, "never hurts to get in good with the police commissioner." She slid a key across the table towards Marcus. "First door on the right up the stairs. I figure I can trust you to get the key back to me." Jake refilled his glass, hesitated, then left the bottle of scotch on the table before walking away.
After a moment, Alexis spoke, pointedly ignoring the key on the table between them. "Scotch doesn't seem like your kind of drink," she observed.
"It's not," Marcus said, studying his glass. "But tonight didn't seem like a beer and pretzels kind of night. I saw it, Alexis. I saw the way she looked at him. And, the way he looked at her." He was silent a long moment before sliding, almost steadily, off the stool. He held out a hand to Alexis. "Jake was right; neither of us need to be driving tonight. I'll call you a cab."
"But I'm not ready to leave," Alexis said, pointedly ignoring the hand he was holding out to her. "I don't want to go home to my empty apartment; I don't want to hear the message, full of excuses, that I'm sure is waiting on my machine; I don't want," she lifted her eyes to his, "I don't want to be alone tonight." She slid off her own barstool, somewhat less steadily, and Taggert reached out his hand to brace her. Alexis took a step into him, holding up the key she'd snagged off the bartop. "We don't have to be alone, tonight," she said, her voice low.
"Counselor, Alexis," Marcus's slipped around her waist, as Alexis almost stumbled, "you're drunk," he said, flatly. "And, so am I. Trust me, this is something we'd both regret."
"I don't care!" Alexis snapped, her eyes flashing. "Morning's a long way off, Taggert. And right now, it's night, and it's dark, and I don't want to be alone. And everyone keeps. Leaving. Me." She closed her eyes, determined not to cry, knowing that if she did, she'd never stop. "Please," she whispered, as Taggert lightly touched her cheek, her eyes still closed, "don't make me beg."
Marcus made a noise deep in his throat, and pulled Alexis to him, dropping his lips to hers. His intention was just to make her stop talking, make her stop giving a voice to his own pain, but when his lips met hers, sweet and soft and damp with the tears she had tried to keep from shedding, he groaned, sliding one hand into her hair, as he pulled her closer to him. "Alexis," he moaned lightly, then lifted his head, looking in her eyes for a long, long moment. "Let's go upstairs."~*~
"Oh God," Alexis moaned, closing her eyes, her hand to her head. "Marcus," she didn't look at him, instead turning away, "I'm so-- Embarrassed doesn't even come close to covering it."
"Alexis," Marcus leaned over, ignoring his own pounding head, and gently turned her chin towards him, "you don't have anything to be embarrassed about. Last night was," he sighed, searching for words, "it was the two of us hurt and upset and drunk, but it wasn't -- it wasn't anything to be ashamed about."
"Maybe not for you," Alexis reached down to the side of the bed, fumbling for her clothes, "but I don't do this sort of thing. One-night stands, no matter how drunk the two participants, are not acceptable behavior, not from me." She paused and turned to him, a look of horror on her face. "Were we-- I mean, did we use--"
Marcus nodded gently. "We were safe. You don't need to worry about that."
Alexis turned to face him, her face softening. "Marcus, I'm sorry. You were, from what I remember, very kind last night. Before, during," she flushed slightly, "and now. And no one could accuse you of taking advantage; I practically hit you over the head and drug you up here. You were a gentleman, and a gentle man. I was," she shook her head sharply, "the exact opposite."
"Alexis. Don't beat yourself up," Marcus reached out, touching her face gently. "We're both here, in this bed, and we both chose to be here. Was it a mistake?" he shrugged. "Yeah, probably. We both have people in our lives who could be hurt by this. But," he traced her lips with a finger then dropped his hand to her shoulder, "it could've been a lot worse. No one has to know about this; it doesn't have to hurt anybody."
Alexis leaned forward, slowly, and deliberately brushed her lips across Marcus'. "You're a good man, Marcus Taggert," she said softly. "You deserve better than Carly Benson in your life."
"I could say the same about the company you keep," he responded, turning away from her, and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, starting to get dressed. He stood up and looked at her, his shirt in his hand. "You going back to him, Alexis?"
She met his eyes, then turned away, pulling on her own dress. "I don't know," Alexis said, finally. "I need to see Sonny, to talk to him. I certainly can't judge him, not after last night. That would be rather hypocritical, to say the least." She stood up and walked over to Marcus. She looked at him a long moment, then smiled, very slightly. "Would saying 'thank you' be inappropriate?" she asked.
Marcus looked at her, and shook his head. "You saved my life last night, lady. If I hadn't run into you, I don't know what I would have done. If there are any thanks, they're mutual, Alexis."
Alexis' smile became slightly wider, and she stood on her toes to press a gentle kiss against Marcus' cheek. "Take care," she whispered, then turned quickly, and left the room, not looking back.
Sonny strode to the door, still wearing the pants and shirt from his tux the night before, his hair mussed and his eyes bloodshot. After Alexis had run out, he'd gone to her apartment, to his place, he'd even sent one of his men to Wyndemere. And, when he hadn't found her at any of those places, he'd found himself heading over to the Brownstone to see Carly. Of course, he'd stopped himself half-way there, realizing what a brilliant idea that one wasn't, and had returned to the penthouse, to contemplate his ruin of a life. He pulled the door open, "Alexis?" dying on his lips as he saw the woman standing at the door.
Carly stood there in jeans and a simple tank top, her hair pulled back into a low ponytail, a light fading in her eyes as he called out another woman's eyes. "Nope, guess again," she said, trying for light irony. "Can I come in?" she asked, her voice devoid of all inflection. "We need to talk."
