Ships in the Night
You can tell when she's in a bad place. The dark place. The place which makes everything seem devoid of anything remotely resembling joy. Sometimes it's because of a difficult case. Sometimes it's because of her dad. Sometimes it's just hormones. But this time, this time is different. This time she's in the dark, dangerous place for another reason.
You know what's causing the bad place, because what's causing the bad place is you.
It's all your fault. All of it. Even Leo had said so. Because you just had to make some comment, an unnecessary jibe about the men in her life.
Maybe, looking back on it now, you can see how it might have been insulting. The insinuation that she sleeps around was woven through every syllable you had spoken. Perhaps intentionally, perhaps unconsciously. But of course it didn't matter which; all that mattered was that you'd said it.
She should have slapped you. At least you might feel a little better if she had slapped you. But she hadn't. All she had done was fall silent, her eyes sparkling with hurt, and then walked away and avoided you for the remainder of the day.
It's late, now. Dark, cold, raining. November. You're still at the Lyell Centre, leaning against the frame of the window overlooking the glittering city and just ... thinking. Hard. Which is unusual for you. Everyone else has gone home, hours ago now. So should you have. Yet, here you are.
Why did you have to go and open your big mouth and say anything? Why couldn't you have just metaphorically held your tongue?
You suppose the burning sensation of jealousy that had been clawing at your stomach at the time had something to do with it. But you shouldn't have been jealous in the first place. That wasn't a normal feeling for a best friend to feel.
You scoff quietly, your warm breath creating a small foggy patch on the window. You've been telling yourself that you shouldn't be jealous for the last god knows how many years. It hasn't exactly done much good.
She's such a pain in the arse, sometimes. She causes you more bloody stress for whatever reason than any other woman you've ever known, exact perhaps your mother. Yet you can't imagine not having her in your life, not even for a moment. It's why you can completely and utterly understand how she felt in Hungary.
But you decide it's best not to think about Hungary. That was nearly a year ago now, the physical scars have healed. You moved on a long time ago, and so did she. It's time to think about the future, not the past... Even if thoughts of the future do make you feel slightly nauseous.
An old university friend recently asked you, whilst rather inebriated, where you saw yourself at fifty. This proved to be a terrifying thought for two reasons. One: Your big 5-0 is only a decade away; and two: You don't have any idea whatsoever where you'll be when you reach that positively ancient age.
All your life, you'd imagined that you'd be settled down with a wife and a couple of cute kids by the time you were about thirty. And then thirty became thirty-five, and then thirty-five became forty and look at you now. Destined to be alone forever.
Except...
Well, you're not really alone, are you? There is Nikki, also apparently doomed to life as a perennial singleton. That's not to say that she doesn't get any offers; plenty, in fact. Too many, in your opinion. But something always keeps her from committing to them long-term.
Anyway, now isn't the time to dwell on such potentially dangerous matters. Forget the future; there won't be a future unless you fix things with Nikki. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and all that.
Pushing yourself away from the window ledge, you snatch the car keys from your desk and practically jog to the car park. The drive to her apartment isn't a long one, meaning you still don't know exactly what it is you're going to say to her. Which doesn't really bode well. The last thing she's going to want is to see you standing on her doorstep gibbering like an idiot, especially this late at night.
Oh god, what if she's asleep? You stop dead on the top step outside her building, index finger just an inch away from the buzzer to her flat. If you wake her up, she'll kill you. That's if she even hears the buzzer. You could be standing out here all night.
Your eyes fall to the numbered keypad below. She told you the code a while ago, wrote it down for you to use in emergencies. Well, this was an emergency. Hesitantly, you punch in the five numbers that you seem to recall her saying. There's a moment of panic when nothing happens, but it's quickly broken by a satisfying click followed by a slight hum as the door unlocked.
Slightly smugly, you step through it and climb the two flights of stairs to her apartment, grinding to a halt in front of her door. There's a dull glow from inside, suggesting that she's still up. All of a sudden, your conviction that this is a good idea seems to seep away until you're actually wondering whether to just give up and go home. You can tell her that you're sorry tomorrow, after you've both had a decent night's sleep and are a little calmer. And you've planned something to say.
But you hate arguing with her, and you know that you probably won't sleep anyway...
And so you knock on her door.
Her shadow approaches through the frosted glass and all too soon the door is tugged open.
She's wearing her pyjamas with an oversized jumper that you actually have a feeling might once have been left in her apartment by your very self. Her eyes darken as she frowns at you.
"Oh. What do you want?" she asks coolly, standing in the gap between the door and frame to prevent you entering.
"My mum always told me never to go to sleep on an argument," you say, regretting it instantly as she raises her eyebrows. God, you're pathetic.
"Really?" she asks, with an air of contempt. "Is that what this is? Because for an argument both of the parties involved usually say something they regret. But, in this case, it was just you. I don't think I actually said anything."
You sigh; you'd known that this wasn't going to be easy.
"I'm so sorry, Nikki," you tell her, with all the honesty and sincerity you can muster.
Her eyes are fixed unwaveringly on yours for a moment, before she steps back to let you in. This is far from over, you know that, but being permitted into her apartment is a good start. She follows you into the lounge, making sure that a gap of at least ten feet remains between you at all times.
"I'm not a slut, Harry," she whispers suddenly, her tone a lot softer than before.
You flinch involuntarily at her words and it suddenly hits you just how cruel you had been to her.
"I know," you insist, but her eyes are trained on the floor. "I know you're not."
"So why did you suggest that I was? There must be some part of you that thinks I'm one of these tarts who sleeps around with a different guy every night."
Crossing the room, you place your hands on her upper-arms and say, "You have to understand that I don't think that. I know you're not like that. I know it. I just hate seeing you get hurt all the time. You think that's any fun for me to watch, knowing that you're just going to get let down again and again when it doesn't have to be like that?"
Finally, she looks at you. "But it does have to be like that. I don't see any decent, honourable men queuing up for me, do you?"
She's testing you. You're acutely aware of the fact that she's testing you. She's staring at you so determinedly, so resolutely, that it leaves you a little breathless. And all of a sudden, you know what to do. You don't even have to think about it, not really. It's as if the answer has been staring you in the face for a while, and yet you've only just noticed. Swallowing the nerves threatening to overwhelm you, you step closer still, lean in and –
Grab her in a hug. A slightly awkward, unexpected hug. And as soon as you've done so you hate yourself, for you've chickened out again. You weren't meant to hug her. You should have done anything but hug her. Her small frame is slightly stiff under your arms, and she quickly pushes you away so that she can look up at you.
"You're such an idiot," she says, but the corners of her mouth are twitching. Shaking her head, she steps closer until she's completely pressed up against you and coils her arms around your neck. There's a broad smile on her face as her head draws closer, until eventually her lips are pressed against yours.
It's a quick kiss. Brief, not nearly as long as you want it to be. You're a little disappointed as she pulls back and the terrifying thought that it was just platonic crosses your mind. But then she runs her fingers over your jaw and into your hair, her lips brushing against your earlobe as she whispers that she wants you, and there's no way you can consider it as platonic anymore.
You kiss her again. Slower, this time. Deeper. She moans softly and you wrap your arms tightly around her waist, pulling her as close to you as physically possible. Her whole body sags against yours and you slowly head towards her bedroom, your stomach clenching in a combination of apprehension and exhilaration.
Layers of clothing are peeled off and not a word is spoken between you. It's almost as if coherent thought has become impossible and suddenly there is only one thing in the world that you're certain of: you want to spend the rest of your life with this woman. Gently, you drop her onto the bed and then climb over her, torturously kissing her until she moans loudly into your mouth.
And then your fingers are woven through hers above her head, pinning her hands to the cool sheets with your palms. Your lips are gently caressing her neck, finding that sensitive spot in the crook just before her shoulder and taking advantage of her inability to repress a moan.
The heat radiating from your entwined bodies is almost overpowering, creating a sheen of sweat that glistens from every curve and line of your entwined figures; the chill is sharp against your warm skin, sending shivers crawling up your spine.
It's a level of ecstasy you've never reached before; earth-shattering, head-spinning pleasure and you're not sure that either of you are ever going to come down from the high.
But all too soon, it seems, it's over. And she's lying in your arms with the sheets tangled around your rapidly cooling bodies. Your fingers are tracing small circles across her bare back with one hand, for she refuses to let go of the other.
The silence is peaceful, calm, save for the gentle patter of rain on the window pane. You're both exhausted, but it's that lovely kind of tired which makes you just want to lie there forever.
"Can we make up like that after every argument?" she giggles, tilting her head up to press a kiss to your jaw.
You smile, too exhausted to say anything. Besides, you don't think you could really put what you're feeling into words right now anyway.
It's late, so much later than it was when you were standing at the lab what feels like an eternity ago, and you can feel sleep threatening to overwhelm you.
"Harry?" Nikki whispers through the darkness. "You'll still be here in the morning, won't you?"
"Will you?" you mutter.
She shifts almost imperceptibly closer to you, as if determined never to let you go again.
"Of course I will," she says, with a sense of vulnerability that you find so endearing.
"Right, well then ... so will I," you tell her simply, pressing your lips to her hair.
As sleep finally claims you, you realise something. You're fiftieth birthday? You know exactly where you're going to be. Here, with Nikki's soft, warm body entangled with your own. And you'll think back to your fortieth year and wonder how you could ever be so stupid as to consider that you'll end up alone, when really, that was never even a possibility.
This one shot is dedicated to Flossie (pinkswallowsun), because she's just incredible and managed to make my crappy day significantly better. Plus, her writing never ceases to blow me away.
Much love to everyone who reads and reviews though, it means the world to me. :)
Charlotte x