note: lots of thanks for the only reviewer (lol) for my last episode tag, anna! if you read this (i hope): thank you so much. i'm very glad you liked it & i hope you'll like this one as well. i will very probably write missing scenes and/or tags for all the episodes (well up to 205 at least, then my story actually starts, lol), if i manage to stay focused long enough that is. i probably won't always post my fics here very fast (i almost forgot to put this here) - if you wanna be up to date, you can read them in my livejournal - tearful-eye (dot) livejournal (dot) com.
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characters. nick, abby, stephen (he's mostly unconsciuos though, so he doesn't really count)
genre. missing scene. angst, gen (maybe)
summary. 'he doesn't dare break contact. would he vanish if he did? like her?'
disclaimer. not mine, obviuosly. written for fun, not profit.
a missing scene for episode 102, which is one of my favorites - and because we were cheated out of the nick-at-the-hospital-angsting-over-stephen scene, which this ep really deserved (and because i couldn't find it anywhere on the web, damnit, so i had to write it myself again)
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Priority Rights
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"Look Abby, just go. Have a coffee, go home, sleep. Just - do something else for a while. Why are you even still here? You've been here since he was brought in." His voice is rough and it might have been callous, but he really doesn't care. Stephen - Stephen, for God's sake - is lying bandaged, shivering, not getting enough breath, in a hospital bed, looking far too young for his age and Nick's liking.
And Abby is still planted in the chair beside his bed, not letting Nick the time he needs, not letting him catch his breath while he feels for Stephen's heartbeat with two fingers. He needs - he needs to be in that chair.
"No way, I'll wait until he wakes up."
"Abby -" It's a warning. He is the one who has the right to sit there and worry. She's known Stephen for less than two weeks, he's known him for almost ten years.
"He was awake for about half a second, he didn't even know I was there."
Nick recognizes the weak protest and that she sounds scared. He still couldn't care less. Selfish. She and him, at the same time maybe even for the same reason - wanting to be the first face Stephen sees when he wakes up. But he's already seen Abby's pretty face and pouty lips through half closed eyes and a whirl of pain while Nick had still been running through underground tunnels and stinking puddles, chasing something elusive. A centipede.
Helen.
He has the right, he needs -
"Abby," almost breaking, he needs -
Her fingers are so different when they softly touch his shoulder, and her face is nothing like the annoying self assured grin, but it's scrunched up in sympathy and suppressed and half formed thoughts and feelings.
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When he leans forward - alone, finally alone with the unconscious body in the bed - he tries to take the hand that lies still - so freaking still - on the white sheet, but he can't. It's too unreal, too delicate all of a sudden - the strong fingers, the rough knuckles, the palm, strong, calloused. He touches the skin and it's cool and dry. He lays his palm flat against Stephen's arm, feeling the pulse and the soft skin on the inside of his wrist.
The wrist he'd bruised while dragging the lanky body through the stinking tunnels, screaming for a medic, feeling his side getting wet with someone else's blood - not that of a stranger though. Stephen's blood. God...
"Stephen..." He's surprised at how small his own voice sounds. As if the syllables don't want to leave the cavern of his mouth to face reality, to be chased away by air, light, movements -
"Stephen." He says it again, a bit stronger, gripping the arm tighter. The arm he'd slung over his own shoulder trying to keep Stephen from falling, to keep his knees from bruising when he would have fallen on the cement. His grip tightens, he can't let him fall -
A gasp - and he lets go. Tries to ease up his fingers, he almost can't.
They're in the hospital, he tells himself, they've got the anti-venom, Stephen will be all right. The wound did still look terrible but it would close, fade to a small, white scar - one he would stare at when Stephen would change shirts in front of him, and then he would remember.
The dank air, Stephen's hot breath, gasps for air, swallowing pain and fear and blood that trickled from the lip he'd bitten through. And the wetness against him, the red slowly drenching the front of Stephen's uniform. The smell.
The slurred words fading into each other. "Helen's alive. She was here." It always came back to her. No matter what they did, the complete void she'd left in both their lives connected them. It made them feel as if they weren't alone when they looked at each other."The survival rate can be as low as fifty percent."
His thoughts are like a caged bird. Fluttering about nervously in his head, frightened and all over the place. Fragile.
Fifty percent. That's what the doctor told Abby. And she told him. Eyes impossibly big and wet and teeth worrying at her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. She didn't look at him while he stared and clutched his arm, where he'd only just ripped off the bag with the centipede's venom. Fifty percent.
He traces his fingers over the back of Stephen's hand, careful not to touch the IV, to circle the blossoming bruises on the wrist and coming to rest at his fingertips. Scared to break the contact completely.
Would he vanish if he did?
Like Helen.
With her?
She'd been in that tunnel, Nick knew that much. Hallucinations or not, he'd seen her before. What had she been doing in that bug infested underground tunnel? What did she want with Stephen, why not come to Nick instead?
Feathers. In his brain. Soft, and covering his ability to think clearly.
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He's still touching Stephen's fingers. Nurses have come and gone, the doctor with an unconvincing smile and terrible lip stick, Connor with a stutter and a coke. Abby, hovering at the door and remaining silent, pressing her lips together and clearly clenching her fists to keep herself from shoving him out of that chair. She didn't. She didn't come further into the room, didn't speak, didn't shove, she just stared at Stephen for some time and disappeared again.
He didn't really care. Fifty Percent.
This meant every second person would survive this, and Stephen was strong and young. And being bitten by a centipede had never killed anyone.
Except the pest-controller. And the soldier he doesn't even know his name of.
But not Stephen.
Once more he slides his hand across dry skin and rests his palm over the pulse at the inside of the wrist. It's smooth skin and a strong heartbeat, and he can close his eyes for a while.
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It's completely dark inside the room now, except a couple of blinking, pulsing, fluttering lights, reminding him of glowing eyes in the dark. Soft yellow shines in from the hallway though, and it hides Stephen's paleness and the deep lines in his face.
Nick is resting his head on the back of the chair, which wasn't designed for people to stay there for long. His neck aches, his thoughts are still trying to claw their way out of his head. Helen. Living fossils. is it worth it - Is it worth the risk?
Living fossils!
A small smile, his fingers tighten on the arm he's still clutching, to keep it from sliding from his grasp. Why - ?
"...wha..." He freezes.
"Stephen." A sigh, as if everything is suddenly all right. It's not. Because he can see the confusion and pain in the familiar face. Still, he can't help the grin from spreading.
"Hey you." A whisper this time.
Stephen opens his mouth, tries to speak, licks his lips slowly and stems his eyelids open, half open at least. Turning his head slightly he stares through thick lashes at the blurred figure now sitting close beside him on the bed.
"...nick?"
Awake.
Eyes still half closed and in pain, but it's definitely been more than half a second.
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fin.
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so, does it suck y/n? i'd love to hear what you think - all kinds of feedback is loved to pieces!