Warning: Story will be a bit depressing at times. Alex's husband in this is not based on her real husband in any way, shape or form, and this is purely for the drama of the story. Matt Smith/Alex Kingston, love 'em.
She had known for months now that her marriage was breaking down, like bricks being pulled out of a wall until the foundations are gone and the whole house just collapses. Arguments had been spreading through their relationship like a wildfire for weeks, and there had been a very large storm brewing and it had just been the one tiny thing that she had slipped up on which had given him the perfect excuse to completely blow his top.
He promised that he would love her, cherish her, be there for her during good and bad times, and he would always forgive her. She should've learnt from the first time around that no one ever kept those sorts of promises, no matter how truthful you believed that person to be. She had never been vain enough to believe that their love would last forever, but she had kind of hoped that maybe it would've lasted longer than it had, if not only for her but for her daughter.
But it just felt so right that it had happened, in the most wrong and sick way possible. Not in the way that it had, but she knew that she didn't love him anymore. It had been a while since she had felt any kind of sentimental or emotional attraction towards her husband and it wasn't just that they had been married for a decade and everyone was just simmering down to a stop, but just that they had been so distant with one another. It wasn't her fault though, her schedule had been demanding her to fly to L.A and then back again, and so when they decided to all come to England and rent an apartment for the year to try it out, she had thought she could try and save her marriage. Even if she didn't really want to.
And so her second marriage had come to a spectacularly painful ending, and that was why she was slumped on her almost-new black leather sofa, pillow in lap being pulverized and squeezed by her shaking right fist, the other clenching onto a large glass of wine that had not yet been sipped at. Anyone looking at her would've described her expression as vacant and empty, but she was in too much surprise to even warrant changing her look.
The apartment was empty, apart from her of course. The television was on, but the sound was just like white noise to her and the picture was just fuzzy from her tears which were blurring her vision. None were fallen, none had yet dribbled and trickled down her cheeks, but she was having a difficult job restraining them for much longer.
Her flat had been absent of human voices, save those emanating from the telly, for nearly twenty minutes, or so she could tell. He had taken her daughter with him, and she remembered just screaming after him when he started storming down the corridor, dragging Salome with him, begging him to stop and come back. When he had finally disappeared from her sight, having ignored her desperate sodden cries, she had slammed the door shut in despair, stormed to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of red and then sat on the sofa.
Her evening dress was dark cobalt blue, and the edges were encrusted with small Swarovski crystals. It had cost her a fair amount, but it fitted her so well she couldn't prevent herself from purchasing it. And it was true; she did look quite stunning in it. It fitted tightly around her bodice, but the bottom half spread out around her legs, making it easier for her to pull her knees up to her chin and embrace them solemnly. Her magnificent locks of blonde curly hair were pinned back in a, now, messy bun, and several strands of her vivacious hair were hanging, ravaged, by the sides of her face.
She needed someone to talk to. She couldn't sit here all night like a desperate housewife and just wait for him to come back. But who was she supposed to call? All of her friends lived in America and there was no one here in London who she knew apart from the cast of Doctor Who – and all of them lived miles away. Well, apart from Matt, he lived around ten minutes away. But he wouldn't want to know her; he was probably busy tonight anyway.
She sat for about ten more minutes, before deciding that she had to do something. She gradually pulled herself off the couch and walked towards the chest of drawers in the corner of her dark living room. Outside, the sky was deep indigo blue, like a spilt pot of ink seeping through a single piece of parchment, and seeing as all the lights in her apartment had been switched off, there was a dark shadow casting over her. She riffled through many pages of paper in the top right drawer until she found the phone book. Flicking through pages of numbers and addresses and relatives she needed to phone and thank for her birthday gifts, she finally came to the "S" section. To call or not to call?
'Okay,' she muttered to herself, breathing in and out calmly before picking up the telephone and pressing each number, her uncertainty washing away with every button. But when the dial tone began to ring, just two bleeps over and over and over again, nervousness began to settle into the pit of her stomach and she was about to hang up before he picked up. He always did that – caught her just before she fell, like when filming The Big Bang and she had tripped over a rough paving slab in Amy's garden and he had run to grab her. She smiled fondly at the memory.
'Hello, this is Matt speaking.' Her heart jumped in her chest at his voice, how he sounded so casual and relaxed in a total contrast to her stammering persona. She was silent for a few moments, before she shook herself awake and internally scolded herself for being so weak. 'Hey Matt, its Alex,' was all she managed before her voice ran out. She thought she could hear him smiling down the phone, but she dismissed this and waited for his reply.
His voice immediately brightened and he sounded so much livelier when he replied, 'Alex, hi, how are you?' She didn't quite know what to say to that. What could she say; Oh hey Matt, I'm ringing to say my husband has just lashed out at me, stormed out of our apartment with my daughter and left me in a sad, sombre state of depression and I need someone to talk to? Before she could finish this thought and say something else, she accidentally choked out a small sob and the few tears that had been collaborating in her eyes fell down her face and travelled and splashed against the floor.
She hadn't intended to do that. She was trying to be strong, if only to preserve some of the little dignity she had been left with. But people cry not because they are weak, but because they've been too strong for too long. Now all that was to follow was evidently going to be questions. And he didn't disappoint. 'Alex, are you alright? What's wrong?' he asked worriedly, his voice flooded with concern and curiosity. And it was this uneasiness and his anxiety for her that made her really, really lose it. Her fingers trembled as she clutched the phone close to her ear, trying not to let it fall from her grip, and she quietly dropped into the seat next to her phone and tried to keep cool. 'Alex, tell me what's wrong. I'm here, you can trust me.'
'Matt, I-I don't know what to do,' she whispered before her breath hitched and caught in the back of her throat and she let out another cry, before the tears she had worked so hard to bottle up just leapt out and streamed down her cheeks like rain falling against a car windowpane. She brought her hand to her mouth and tried to bite down on her fist to stop herself but she couldn't do it. She worried he was going to hang up on her, but he was still there, murmuring small comforts and encouragements down the phone until she managed to capture her sadness.
'Alex,' he began tentatively, wondering if the sudden silence was good or bad, 'Is there anything I can do?' Her immediate response was to say no, of course not, but she couldn't bring herself to say it. She didn't want to be alone tonight. 'Matt, are you free now or later?' she stammered consciously, nervous of the outcome of her enquiry. To her extreme luck and relief he quickly replied, 'No, I'm completely free tonight.' She took another deep breath in and then sniffed back the remaining tears still wet underneath her eyes.
'Matt, is it okay if I come round for a bit?' she asked timidly. Before she could withdraw her offer, realizing that it was completely inappropriate thing to ask of him, he almost yelled his answer of 'Yeah sure, do you want me to come and pick you up?' down the phone. In that moment, Alex couldn't describe how grateful she was towards her co-star. She had always known Matt was considerate and kind, she had worked with him on many episodes for the past two years and he had been nothing but lovely to her, but she had never thought he would be so good to her.
'No, it's okay. I can get a taxi or something. I'll be there in ten minutes?' she suggested and he agreed instantly to this, and added, 'Whatever's wrong Alex, you know you can talk to me about it. I'm always here for you.' She mumbled out her embarrassed thank yous and hung up the phone. Well whatever happened now, she thought, at least she was in safe hands.
She didn't want to change her clothes, and she couldn't be bothered to take off all of her make-up which had evidently deformed her face when her tears had wiped off her mascara and left it to dry in streaks on her cheeks. But tears weren't the only things which had softened her imposing beauty. Looking briefly in a mirror before she left the apartment, she was horrified to see a harsh bruise covering all of her left eye, the black and grey and blood red diminishing the bright blues of her eyes. Next to her eyebrow, where the back of his knuckles had so roughly struck her, was a large but quite shallow cut which was oozing a thin trail of blood, but little enough that she could gently wipe it away and brush it on her dress so it was unnoticeable.
She had never thought it would happen like this, she never thought that her life would come to this. But then, it always happened to those who had everything going right; she had a great career, a beautiful daughter, brilliant friends, so of course her life was bound for trouble. But she wasn't going to stand in front of the mirror and feel sorry for herself, that wouldn't help anyone. Brushing one of the many stray curls behind her ear, she picked up her keys and a jacket and left the apartment, wondering what would become of her after this evening.