So I know I'm slow; I only got to watch Domestic at the weekend…I know I know anyway…here's my little take on some of the loose ends of Death Shall have no Dominion. It has Harry in a pretty dark place, but that seems to fit the season so far as I've seen it, (has he cracked a joke yet? Did I blink and miss it?) The Director/producer whoever also seemed to have a thing for 'balconies' in these episodes, I'm sure it's supposed to be significant being on the edge etc. so I've kind of tried to carry on the theme… It comes in 4 bits, it's as close as I get to a oneshot… Let me know, as always I adore your feedback.
All Characters belong to the BBC
What Are Friends For?
Harry leaned over his breakfast bar and stared down at his mobile on the table; he really should call her. The case was over and he knew exactly how she would be feeling; that sense of relief coupled with that sense of emptiness. The sense of loss; strong enough to take your breath away and destroy your defences. He knew she would feel it, because he felt it too.
She would need him.
He should phone her.
But Harry did not pick up his phone, he too was exhausted and this was no excuse he realised. But he needed time.
'Why had he done it?' he wondered to himself; why had he gone to the hospital with Connie? It wasn't as if they weren't busy. Did he want to keep out of Leo's way that much?
He had had a moment of panic as he sat down; that this had been a really bad idea and that it would only open all the old wounds, and he had been surprised when it hadn't. Actually he had felt nothing more towards that little bundle of cells with half of his DNA dividing and multiplying for eight short weeks. Connie's baby was real; it was there, head, legs, arms and that visible whooshing heartbeat in the fuzzy black and white picture.
It was Connie's determination that had shocked him, knocked him completely off balance, not thinking about Anna and what might have been. Connie had teased him and he had pretended to be 'cool' but he knew he wasn't. It wasn't a one parent family that bothered him; there were plenty of success stories on that front. He had been shocked by her audacity and her total emasculation of the father's role and her trivialization of everything male.
He had been shocked.
Shocked to his core.
How could a selfless act like becoming a mother suddenly become so selfish?
He hadn't known what to say to her after that, and so reverted to his default mode of trying to crack jokes. He was glad the case had ended and their paths would be unlikely to cross again.
He had come to realise a while back that there was a pattern in his relationships with women. There were those he wanted to help, to protect, the ones he could save just like a Prince Charming riding up on a white horse. There had been plenty of those; Rebecca, Marina, his mother to a certain extent, although it was only recently he realised how much he had failed. No, try as he might, the Prince Charming role never ever lead to a happy ever after for him and it really wasn't worth all the heartache it caused.
And what about Connie today, is that what he had set out to do, help her? Save her? She made it clear she didn't need saving. She didn't need anyone's help except of course the sperm from Mr High IQ and Good Cheekbones.
Then there were the other women, his other pattern; what was the polar opposite of Prince Charming he wondered? The big bad wolf? That's what he was with them. The string of girls he had devoured, shagged and shoved out the door as quickly as possible. That certainly didn't lead anywhere and he had grown weary a long time back of that game.
This left him with a dilemma. What was the point? DI James was one of the nicest women he'd come across in a long time. If Connie could just take what she wanted, when she wanted without a care for anything male then what was the whole relationship charade actually about?
He thumped his fist down on his table, surprising himself by the sudden force of his temper.
How had he done it? Why? What could have possessed that man to give up his child like that? He paced up and down in his flat. Who could do that? And what kind of a friendship was it that could ask for that? What are friends for?
As he paced the one friend he did have came to his mind; his one exception to his rules about women. She had never fitted either of his categories; he didn't have a category for what she was. She was Nikki; she was a category all to herself.
He should have made a move on her earlier and then they would never be dangling on this ledge now. He had had his chances too, but he had been too self-obsessed to even notice. She'd even handed it to him on a plate that time he had asked her out, all those years ago.
He could remember it perfectly, he was leant over the rails in the stairwell and she ran after him, her eyes wide, her voice breathless, eager.
"My car or yours?" she had said. She might just as well have asked 'my place or yours?' and he had really blown it that time. Stuck in some story from long ago, desperately trying to fulfil his role of saviour to a lost princess one last time. He really had to sort his priorities out. He always let the dead take precedence over the living.
That was his continual mistake.
And now she was out there, alive and needing him. He knew; he just knew she would be stuck somewhere crying her eyes out and wanting him to comfort her. And he wouldn't even pick up the phone, because it just wasn't enough. That couldn't be all he was good for; 'fairly good in a crisis,' it had the ring of an epitaph about it and it certainly wasn't the one he wanted.
He really should call her.
He spun round again; maybe he did try the Prince Charming act with her. He thought of all the times he had come to her rescue; the feel of her buried in his chest, or just taking his hand at times that had made everything seem worthwhile. The knowledge that she was safe, she was still there, they were still together. But what happened the next day, and the day after that? What about all those days when it was his fault, the days he let her down, the days he didn't call when he should have. The days she was left on her own with her pain, pain that he had probably caused or at the very least exacerbated. No he wasn't Prince Charming and even if he was he didn't know how to get beyond the saving to the happy ever after end. He had a grave suspicion that happy ever after did not exist. Certainly not for him, and not for her either. She seemed to have an even worse track record than he did.
He was so angry with her. He flew round again and stomped towards his kitchen, his temper rising all the while. All that stuff about death having no dominion. It was all crap; even the critics couldn't decide if Thomas meant there was an afterlife or not; or if it were some cruel joke on Christian belief and a vaguely twisted misquote from the New Testament. Why had she chosen to read that poem?
In his experience death meant death and it had scarred his life from the time he was 11 years old, it might not be a dominion but it had a damning legacy. And she had had her father, he was alcoholic, dishonest and disagreeable but she had had a father and he hadn't. He would have traded anything to have his father back. He would have made an effort to be reconciled to him despite his faults if he were in her position. How could she just ignore him like that? How could she disregard that input into her life? He hoped she missed him now he really was gone.
Harry stopped pacing for a moment. That's not really what he thought; he didn't want to inflict that pain on her, did he? Now he was being selfish and childish.
He should ring her.
Check she was ok.
Go over.
He peered down at his phone again.
He could still hear the blood rushing through his ears.
He reached down and picked it up.
He shouldn't talk to her when he was this worked up.
It wouldn't end well.
He threw the phone back down on the table with a clatter.
But that was when he heard it.
The knock on his door.
"Your car or mine," from Body of Work (which I also only watched all the way through recently...so sue me!)