Silver Paper And Sequins
He can't remember when it started. On an operation, maybe. Sometime when they were hanging between life and a lesser place. Sometime when they needed each other, when they hooked their fingers into each other and forgot to let go.
Or maybe it started like a hundred other secret relationships. Stolen moments in the office when everyone had long gone home; lingering looks over the water cooler or across the meeting table as they received their latest instructions. Maybe he took her to the blind spot, where he's snogged dozens of women before her, and one or two after.
She says it was in a pub. He was sitting at the bar, drowning his sorrows, after one of those days when absolutely nothing seemed to go right. She waltzed in, wearing shiny high heels and carrying a strange coloured cocktail. She cheered him up, left lipstick on his collar, and made him the man he is today . . .
It's a story, of course. A pretty story, wrapped in silver paper with a shiny ribbon. It's a story she saves for parties, for operations when they need to explain their origins. She says it with a smile and a glint in her eye, and everyone laughs when she finishes.
It's a story she's told so many times they've almost forgotten it is a story at all.
But somewhere, deep under the sequins and glitter, there's a real story. It will have sharp edges and messy kinks, and it might be difficult to understand. But it will be their story, a real story about real people with real beginnings.
But he can't remember it. Not even if her closed his eyes and put all his effort into remembering. He just can't remember a time when Fi wasn't in his life.
And maybe, just maybe, their problem lies right there.