Oh look, I've done something stupid and started writing again. A multi-chap, no less. But the idea has been bugging me for a few days, so this morning I sat down before work and churned this out. It's going to be angsty, I warn you now. While I haven't written much more than this yet, I know exactly where I'm going with it, so updates should be fairly regular (but this is me and you know what I'm like).

Also, I just want to take this opportunity to say THANK YOU SO MUCH for all your positive feedback for 'and still, the darkness comes'. I have never had so many reviews for a single oneshot before and it really overwhelmed me. So this is for you guys, for each and every one of you who continues to be amazing and supportive and wonderful. You sexy things.

Speed the Collapse

i.

Our story begins in a hotel room. A hotel room in Budapest. A hotel room in Budapest where two people, a battered man and woman, seek comfort in the mere presence of each other.

But we'll get to that.

First, we must journey into another room, one floor down and six rooms across. The room that Professor Leo Dalton checked into when this whole mess started. And we'll continue from there.

For some reason, Leo still can't stop his hands shaking. It's been hours since they got Harry back. Hours since he breathed a long-withheld sigh of relief that he wasn't sure would ever come. And yet, his fingers tremble as they put down the hotel telephone. Sitting beside him on the bed, Nikki Alexander asks quietly, "What did the Coroner say?"

For a second, Leo seems startled by her voice. As if he's forgotten she was even there. Then he relaxes, scrubbing a hand over his weary face. "She's given us another few days."

Nikki nods. "Good. That's good. Because I don't think he's ready to go home yet."

"I couldn't be more ready to go home," Leo mumbles, but his mind wanders to the room upstairs, Nikki's room, where he'd all but carried Harry after the police were done questioning him. "Was he sleeping when you came down here?"

"I wouldn't call it sleep, more unconsciousness. He's been awake for god knows how many days - I think it was more that his body physically couldn't carry on."

"It's late," Leo reminds her. "Maybe you should be sleeping. I could go down to reception and get another room?"

Vehemently shaking her head, Nikki says, "No. I'm going to stay with him. I slept a little on the plane, I'll be fine."

His eyebrows raised, Leo counters, "Nikki, that plane journey was thirty-six hours ago. Get some sleep."

So her departing words to Leo are a promise that she will (though they both know that's a lie) and an agreement to meet in the restaurant for breakfast the next morning, with or without Harry.

When she gets back to her room, she finds that Harry has consumed half of the minibar.

He's sitting on the end of the bed surrounded by miniature liqueur bottles, his head tipped back as he empties a Jack Daniels. Nikki's hesitant, not sure what to do. He's still wearing the bloody, torn clothing he stole from another man. The paramedics did little to clear the blood from his face, and the still-raw bullet wound in his thigh causes him to wince with every movement.

"Maybe you should have a shower," she suggests meekly. Her eyes dart to his suitcase in the corner that the police had dropped off for them a couple of hours ago. "Get that blood off, wash out your wounds. Put some nice clean clothes on."

But either Harry isn't listening or he isn't interested, because he does nothing except twist the lid off another bottle.

"Harry..."

"For god's sake, leave me alone!" he roars, and she freezes. He's refusing to meet her eye, but she can see anger practically radiating off him in waves.

Reeling, she tries and fails not to be affronted. "I'm trying to help."

"Yeah, well don't," he barks. "Does it look like I need your help? You should never have come."

And wow, that stings. She tries to remind herself that he's in shock, that he's been through so much, that he doesn't know what he's saying. As she gapes at him, her eyes swimming, he abruptly gets to his feet.

"Maybe I will take that shower. Anything to get a bit of peace."

He storms into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind him with a resounding bang that shakes the walls.

Nikki feels at a loss as to what to do. For a moment she considers calling Leo, but then realises that he might well be asleep by now. Autopilot kicks in and she tidies up instead. Collecting the empty bottles from the bed and the floor, dropping them into the bin. She straightens the sheets and the pillows; a pointless action that she knows is only going to be undone in a few minutes.

When she's satisfied, she crosses to the uncomfortable armchair in the corner of the room and curls into it, pulling her knees up under her chin.

The next half an hour passes very slowly. Even the sound of the heavy stream of water isn't enough to mask Harry's sobs. She doesn't know if it's the pain or exhaustion or something else entirely that's causing them. Probably all three. It doesn't really matter; it still makes her feel like something is tearing her lungs in half.

Eventually the water shuts off and silence falls. A horrible, deafening silence that lasts for far too long. Nikki begins picturing things, terrible things, things she sees on a daily basis, and has just worked herself up enough to the point where she's considering going in there when the door opens.

Harry looks so much better when he emerges that she almost forgets why she is feeling permanently sick. But then she spots the little things and it all becomes real again. Despite his face being mercifully free from other people's blood, his eyes are red-rimmed and puffy. He's still unshaven, but there's nothing new there. His limp seems more noticeable than before, every muscle in his body taut with pain each time he moves. His thin grey t-shirt doesn't hide the bruises on his arms, the scrapes on his knuckles.

"Are you feeling any better?" she asks his back as he unceremoniously stuffs the clothes he had been wearing into the bin. But he doesn't reply, and she didn't really expect him to. Instead he climbs into bed, collapsing against the mattress and pulling the covers tightly around him. He doesn't even bother to remove his jeans. With a small sigh, she unfurls herself from the chair and flicks off the lights, leaving only a small, dim lamp on. Then she takes a blanket from the end of the bed, ignoring the way Harry's feet reflexively move away from her, and resumes her previous position.

She wants to stay awake all night. Even after Harry's breathing eventually evens out, she wants to stay awake. Her ears remain alert, listening for any signs of him waking, but none come. Occasionally he murmurs something indecipherable, and he tosses and turns a lot, but he doesn't stir.

Nikki's too restless to sleep anyway. Too hot with the blanket, too vulnerable without it. In the end she compromises, rolling up the sleeves of the thin long sleeved top she'd changed into before going down to see Leo and covering only her legs with the blanket. Inevitably, exhaustion takes her eventually. Leo was right: she hasn't closed her eyes in nearly two days and she feels it. Even her bones ache.

When she wakes a couple of hours later, she forgets where she is. Then she hears what woke her, and a gut-wrenching anxiety grips her very soul. Harry is screaming. Loudly. The sheer terror in his voice is plain, and it somehow infuses the same fear into her. In seconds, she's on her feet bending down beside the bed, trying to rouse him. He's dragged back into consciousness with a shuddering gasp that rattles his lungs and doesn't sound at all healthy. The dim light reflects in his wide, green eyes and for a second he looks manic, insane.

"Harry!" she calls, as he seemingly stares right through her, breathing heavily, still lost to whatever horrors had been pervading his mind. "Harry, it's okay. It's me!"

Finally, his eyes focus on her face. His brows knit in confusion. "Nikki?"

Gently, she places a hand on his arm. "You're okay."

Relief floods his face as he seems to realise where he is. "Nikki," he murmurs. "Nikki."

She gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile, but his fingers scrabble at her forearms, his nails scraping her skin painfully, and she falters. But there's desperation in his watery gaze, not malicious intent, and she realises that he's reaching for her, trying to bring her close. So she lets him.

With only slight hesitation, she climbs into bed beside him. Immediately his arms are bringing her closer still, pulling her flush against him from ankle upwards. He relaxes almost immediately, the relief noticeable in his posture, the way his arms go limp and heavy around her, the way his nose finds the crook of her neck. For a brief, terrifying moment Nikki wonders if perhaps in his inebriated confused state he thinks she is Anna, and the idea repulses her. But then he murmurs her name again, all breathy as his lips brush her shoulder, and her fears are assuaged. Gently, she presses her mouth to his hairline, whispering meaningless words and phrases of comfort that they both know aren't making the slightest bit of difference.

One of his legs hooks over hers, and while personal space (or lack thereof) has never been an issue with them, in this moment Nikki feels slightly overwhelmed. It's as if he's trying to be as close to her as it's physically possible to be. Every inch of their bodies is touching. They're both still wearing their jeans, the fabric rough as he scrapes his knee over her shin. The friction is enough to cause her to gasp quietly, although she's not sure why.

What she is sure of, however, is that Harry's rough, calloused hand should not be making its way under her top like that. An irrepressible shiver tickles her spine as his fingers come to rest on the soft, warm skin of her back, just below the fastening of her bra. She murmurs his name in warning, maybe, but his hot breaths (is he crying?) have travelled to below her earlobe now and his intent couldn't be any clearer. They're impossibly close, yes, but what's the one sure-fire way of getting even closer?

Nikki makes several attempts to stop him. Weak, half-hearted attempts, but she tries nonetheless. This is wrong and inappropriate on so many levels. Harry isn't okay, and you know what? Neither is she. Both of them have been unimaginably screwed up by the past week, both of them are sleep-deprived and hungry, and Harry's more than a little bit drunk.

"We can't do this," she murmurs, and how the hell did her hands find their way into his hair?

His response is to nuzzle into her neck again, nipping slightly at her collarbone, his stubble scratching her skin. There's wetness there, too, and she's certain now that he's crying. And her resolve that this should be stopped is even stronger.

"Harry-"

"Please. Please, Nikki, I am begging you. Let me, let us, have tonight. Please?" His voice is rough and unexpected. The desire in it, the unyielding anguish, the edge of conviction, is all it takes to convince her. Convince her that yes, this is a fucking terrible idea - but they're going to do it anyway.

When he rolls his hips against her own, she forgets how to breathe. Which is a stupid thing for a scientist to say - breathing is innate, it can't be forgotten. And yet here she is, unable to do so. It isn't until Harry's hand strays a little further, around to her front, that she gasps.

There is something about this so wrong, so forced and unnatural. But only slightly. Because mostly it feels so right, so very long overdue. It's maybe not how Nikki imagined it - certainly she pictured less tears, and his groans wouldn't be mingled with quiet sobs, and he wouldn't be clutching at her so desperately to the point where it almost hurts - but she's so overcome with relief that he's okay, that he's here and he's alive, when she thought he was gone forever, that she doesn't mind the roughness.

It takes a long time, but finally his lips find her cheek, inching ever closer to her mouth. She senses his hesitation, almost as if he's scared that the difference between using her to get off and actually kissing her is too great. But she needs this as much as he needs the former. She craves the emotional connection of a kiss - and then it occurs to her that maybe that's what he's afraid of.

His lips chase hers with butterfly-light pecks, and if she thought he had it in him she might suggest that he was teasing her. But finally she can take it no more and grabs his head, angling it down towards her, crashing her mouth into his. His moan is low and guttural, vibrating through her entire being. It's only then that she realises they're both still fully clothed. But the rubbing of denim against denim causes her to ache with a kind of longing she hasn't felt in a while, until she becomes too impatient and uses fumbling fingers to pop open the button on his jeans.

What happens next is all a bit of a blur. An imperfect, messy, confusing, dizzying blur. And yet it's so wonderful, she can't keep the grin off her face. And afterwards, when Harry's slumped against her, his weight comforting rather than restricting, he actually smiles too. Just slightly. It's a smile of thanks, a smile of apology, a smile of lust and satisfaction all rolled into one. But the simple fact that he is able to smile at all is encouraging.

Nikki's eyes are already starting to close, her fingers lost in Harry's newly shortened hair, his breath warm and gentle as he noses into her neck again. They're still wearing all their clothes, having simply removed what was necessary for as long as was necessary. It's a little strange, seeing how they were so intimate such a short time ago, but she guesses that the removal of clothes is a wall he just isn't ready to let fall yet. She knows he won't sleep tonight, that he needs this closeness too much to simply sleep through it, but he's more relaxed and at ease than he was, and for that she's grateful.

Should she have said no, resisted his advances? Probably. But for now she doesn't even care.

What she doesn't realise is that in a simple matter of days, she'll be wishing to god that this had never happened.

I guess you could call this AU, in that I'm pretty much ignoring everything that happened immediately after 'Bloodlines' that doesn't fit with where I'm going with this.

Oh, and this chapter is positively FLUFFY compared to what's coming. You're not going to like it. I'm going to be so mean to Harry. And Nikki, actually. Probably Leo, too. Maybe I have some unresolved Silent Witness feels...

Any thoughts/comments/opinions?

Charlotte xxx