Prompt 2: Alcohol

Muse: Harry (alt 11)
Fandom: Doctor Who
RS or Non-RS: RS
Word Count: 626


Harry was drunk. He did not drink as much any more, not since he left the Navy, but tonight he had a good reason to: he was drinking to forget. To forget what Sarah had found and how much he should hate her but couldn't, but most of all to forget Emilie and what she had done.

Everything had been going well until Sarah poked her nose in. She had been pleased with the announcement of his engagement, so he had not been expecting what she told him a week later. "I'm a journalist," she had said, in her defense, "I can't help it." When she told him what she had found she reminded him she had done it because she was his friend and wanted to make sure his fiancée was good enough for him.

At first he had dismissed her accusations as jealousy. He could not remember, through the haze of alcohol, whether he had voiced that opinion out loud. He hoped not. It would do no good for Sarah to know what his feelings for her were, since she was happily married and likely to remain so for a good long time.

Distantly, he heard the phone ring but ignored it and let the answer machine pick it up. When it beeped he heard Emilie's voice. He poured himself another glass and stumbled off the sofa, intending to unplug it, or something so that he did not have to listen to her voice. If he tried to turn it off he would probably end up talking to her, which would certainly not do him any good.

As he stood, he slipped on the papers Sarah had left him. From where he lay on the floor they were within reach, so he picked them up and looked through them, reminding himself why he was doing this; why he should not trust Emilie's words.

The evidence was clear: her visa was due to expire and she could not renew it. She had known about it since the day they met. Their relationship had been so fast, and he remembered it was she who prompted him into proposing. Then she picked a date: the day before her visa expired. There could not be any other explanation.

"Harry, I know you're there." Emilie's voice drifted into his thoughts. "I know you don't want to listen to what I have to say but I'm going to say it again anyway."

Which is why he had confronted her about it and then thrown her out. Shortly before working his way through a bottle of whisky.

"You're right, I did want to marry you so I could stay in this country. But if you just knew why, you would understand, I know you would."

He knocked back the contents of his glass and looked around for the bottle.

"I know I should have told you. I spoke the truth earlier, when I said I loved you. I never intended to but you're such a sweet guy." Her voice broke and she sniffed.

He closed his eyes and swallowed. He was absolutely not going to pick up the phone and forgive her.

"I'm so sorry, Harry, really I am. I... guess this is goodbye." She paused.

His fingers twitched but other than that he kept still. He would have congratulated himself, but he was no longer sure he could get up anyway, given the way the room was spinning.

When she spoke again, Emilie's voice was quieter. "Goodbye, Harry." With that, she put the phone down.

He sighed and decided passing out on the floor was just simpler all round. So he did.