Barking Up Trees

"Thought about what you said in Budapest yet?" Leo asked as he handed Nikki a set of tox reports; they didn't belong to an interesting case, heroin addict, most definitely a suicide. Nikki glared at him and thanked him for the report, albeit through gritted teeth.

"Will you two stop it, please?" Harry said, looking up from his computer.

"Sorry," Leo had honestly thought Harry was ok with talking about it; it had been 10 months after all. "I won't bring it up again,"

"Oh god, no," Harry chuckled at the way Leo had retreated; he wondered if anyone else in the world had a relationship with their boss like he and Nikki did. "Budapest is an ok subject. Well, it's not ok, but...you know,"

It had taken him awhile -he was willing to admit it had taken him longer than it should have- but eventually, after weeks and months of sitting at home, playing back every moment in his mind, he understood that there was nothing he could have done; there was no way he could have known what would happen; he couldn't have prevented her death.

He was not to blame.

And that feeling of innocence, of being free from his own conscience, was that best thing he could remember feeling in a long time.

"Oh, ok," Leo was unsure of how to react at that point, now confused as to what Harry had objected to in the first place.

"I meant, would you stop the knowing looks," Leo and Nikki looked at each other. "Like that! You," He pointed at Leo. "Keep asking her," He turned his finger to Nikki. "About her thoughts on Budapest, usually in various cryptic ways, which, quite honestly, Leo, could be deciphered by a 3 year old." He then diverted his attention back to Nikki. "You never answer him and simply shrug it off." Nikki couldn't help giggling a little at his frustration. "Far too many things happened and were said, for me to ever possibly whittle it down to the one particular moment you keep banging on about!"

"Harry, it really doesn't matter," Nikki stated, flipping through the toxicology report. "Just some silly conversation me and Leo had, you weren't there,"

"Oh, so I'm no longer allowed to join in with your inside jokes? I'm wounded," He laughed and cast his eyes back on his screen. Leo let out a small sigh before returning to his office.

"Nikki," Harry ran a little to catch up with Nikki in the car park after work. "7 tonight?"

"No, I was thinking I'd just stop doing what we've done every week for the past 4 years. You know, on a whim," She grinned.

"Well, you know, I figured you might have finally found yourself a life outside of work and me, but pigs haven't flown yet, so..."

"Shut up," She hit him lightly on the arm, before rummaging around for her car keys.

"By the way," Harry called, just as she was about to close her door. "Don't think you've brushed aside the Leo-Budapest thing that easily, I'm going to be doing some detective work tonight,"

He let himself in with the spare key and the first thing that hit him was the smell; cooking. It was one of those so-strong-you-can-practically-taste-the-food-with-your-nose smells; he felt like he'd just walked into a curry house.

"You're treating me to a home cooked meal? How kind," He set the wine and DVDs he had brought down on the kitchen side and began hunting for a corkscrew.

"Your mother phoned and said she was worried you were going to end up dead at 40 and best friends with Mr Lok's delivery guy, so I offered to step in," Harry was pretty certain Nikki was only teasing, but he wouldn't have put anything past his mother.

"How hot?"

"Korma,"

"You wimp!"

"There's chilli powder and Tabasco in the cupboard if you're that fussed," She waved her hand in random directions behind her back, her body still facing the stove. Harry wasn't quite sure which cupboard she meant, so he looked through them all. Eventually finding what he needed, he sat down at the table, reminding himself of a scene from some incredibly sexist 50's film where the guy comes home from work to find his dutiful wife has made him dinner; although, he doubted middle-class England had Korma in the 50's.

By the time they had finished eating, they had already got through 2 bottles, and Harry swore to only having 4 glasses at the most, on the other hand, there seemed to be no stopping Nikki. As they sat down to watch the film she had picked out, she opened another bottle, and seemingly not wanting to waste time using glasses, she took a swig.

"Alright hillbilly?" Harry laughed as the opening credits rolled onto the screen.

"I don't think hillbillies drink," She paused and held to bottle out in front of her to read the label. "Domaine Arman," She repeated it a few times, each time with a different accent or emphasis. "Is that how you pronounce it?"

"I have no idea, let's just concentrate on the film," In most cases, she would have done what he suggested, but somehow she found herself more confident than ever before. Maybe it was the alcohol; maybe it was because Harry had been perfect normal for at least 4 months, no crying or screaming in his sleep (that obstacle had come once they'd managed to sort out the not being able to sleep problem) He was just plain, ordinary, teasing Harry.

She had long wondered if it was selfish of her to be upset that she hadn't been able to vent her feelings; that she hadn't been able to explain them to him. She wasn't the one who had been accused of murder, she wasn't the one who had been hunted down by gangs, nor did she have the pain and suffering of losing a girlfriend and unborn child. Why should she possibly feel upset? Why should her problems matter when they were so pale in comparison to his? Did she even have problems? Was it just her being melodramatic?

She had told herself it was selfish. She needed to be his friend. She needed to help him.

But she had helped him. He was better, back to the old Harry; he was happy and well and so full of life.

But she wasn't.

So now...now it was her turn. Now she had to help herself.

"We never talked about it." Her statement was entirely true. Somehow, throughout all the conversations about how Harry felt, how terrible what had happened to Anna was, Marina's child; they'd never managed to get onto the subject of Harry's apparent death or how Nikki had felt about it. "After Budapest we never talked about it. Everything but it."

"Talked about what?"

"It wasn't fair, you know?" He was about to interject, but she carried on before he could. "Letting me think you were dead and coming back and then just putting yourself in danger again," She said it slowly and calmly, attempting hide any emotion that might give her away.

"You seemed to have been hogging all the near death experiences," He thought back to the awful few seconds as he ran into her apartment, not knowing whether he was going to find her lying there, Naomi's fifth victim. In the car on the way there, he had promised himself that, if it was the case, he would make sure that, not only would Nikki be Silverlake's last victim, but that Naomi would be his first. "I figured you could stop being greedy and share the danger for once,"

"That's different,"

"How is it?" He sighed, deciding humour probably wasn't the best option in the situation. Drunk Nikki never did seem to appreciate his quick wit as much as sober Nikki- although sober Nikki didn't always appreciate it that much, but he chose to ignore that. "I know it's horrible, ok? And I know because I've felt exactly the same way when you're in trouble; numerous times."

"I was never actually dead,"

"Neither was I," He pointed out.

"But I thought you were!" She stood up and began pacing. "You let me think you were."

"What else was I meant to do!" He stood up and gently gripped her shoulders, holding her still. "What else was I meant to do?" He repeated, quieter and more composed than the first time.

"You weren't meant to go off and leave me." She stared into his eyes. "You didn't need to leave again; you could have stayed, instead playing bloody hero. I thought you were gone, and then I was so...happy. I was so relieved you weren't. Then you went and...and...you could have actually died. Properly died."

"Why are you so upset?"

"Why am I so upset?" She couldn't quite believe he was being so stupid. "Why do you think I'm so bloody upset?"

"It was months ago,"

"Doesn't change the fact that I...I..." She wanted to rip her hair out and throw herself onto the floor, screaming out loud, desperately hoping that he'd finally hear her, really hear her. Hear all the things that she kept bottled up for so long.

Instead she sat down on the sofa and attempted to avoid any eye contact – she couldn't bear to see his reaction when he realised that she was just a selfish and jealous, immature, little girl.

"When I thought you were dead, it was like there was this big thing that I had been waiting for and hoping for, and suddenly it was just gone." She confessed. "It was like I had to finally accept something that I should have admitted to myself ages ago." You were never going to be mine. "I...I kept kicking myself for not doing things and saying things, and I kept telling myself what I'd say to you if it turned out it all was just some horrible nightmare."

"And have you said it?"

"Said what?" She looked up in confusion. He'd interrupted her just as she was picking up the courage to actually admit everything to him; he always had the worst timing.

"What you told yourself you'd say to me," He sat down next to her. "If it all turned out to be a dream."

She simply shook her head and carried on trying to focus all her energy on stopping shaking.

"I'm sorry." He brushed a thumb against her cheek, wiping away the one tear that she had allowed fall. "I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry for going away and for making you worry and doing all that shitty stuff. I'm sorry for not saying sorry before." He rested his forehead against hers, so close to her that he could count each individual eyelash. "I'm sorry," She nodded slowly, attempting not to bang heads with him as she did.

And as he stared at her, noticing the way her eyes flittered around the room, trying to focus on anything but him, and how her hands shook, no matter if he clasped them as tightly as he could or rubbed them gently between his; he came to the conclusion that he would have to make a move, there was no way she was in a state to.

"You know, every single time you go and get yourself into one of those improbably dangerous situations, I tell myself that, if you're ok, I'll ask you out on a date." It annoyed him, that even when he had confessed to wanting to ask her out on a date, she still couldn't look him in the eye. Maybe he'd misread the situation. Maybe this wasn't what she wanted to hear at all. "I figure that, every time could be the last time, you know? Like, the last chance, to...test it out."

Harry couldn't bear it any longer. He wanted her to say something, for her quivering lips to open and just speak to him; for her to just do something to make it feel like he wasn't speaking to a brick wall.

"Niks," He sighed and pulled his head away from hers. "Am I barking up the wrong tree?"

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she lifted her eyes away from her knees and allowed them to focus onto his. She thanked God that she hadn't done it earlier, she would have either died on the spot or have melted and soaked into the sofa cushions.

"That depends," She made an unsuccessful attempt to steady herself. "On which tree you're barking up."

"The Lemon Tree," He liked to think that he was being suave, linking in her favourite restaurant like that. "8, tomorrow night. Without going halves on the bill."