Harry,

By the time you read this, I'll be dead. I hope it won't be you that ends up doing my PM – God, how weird would that be? But if it is, I'm sorry. I could tell you the type of gun it is that's being held to my head as I write, the name of my killer, but I don't think it would go down too well. I suppose I should be grateful that I'm being allowed to write this to you at all. Anyway, you'll figure out all the details yourself, and that's not what this letter's about anyway.

I realised… well, I've never told you, have I, how I feel about you? No, of course I haven't. I was too scared. I was scared it would ruin our friendship, ruin our working relationship. But I couldn't bear the thought of dying, and you not knowing, once and for all, how I felt – how you made me smile just by being there, how I felt nothing could go wrong if you were there beside me. It left me wishing you could always be there beside me – always. Then it wouldn't matter what happened, because it would always be okay.

I'd wish you were here now, except that it would mean you were in danger as well; but I wish I could say goodbye properly. No; I wish I could kiss you goodbye. To be honest, there are quite a lot of other things I'd like to do as well, but it's hardly appropriate in a farewell letter when you're about to be shot. Actually, most of this probably isn't appropriate, but, funnily enough, I've never done this before, so I'm not sure what the protocol is.

God, this is so weird, so surreal. Harry, does it hurt? When the bullet goes in? I guess neither of us really knows – probably never thought about it before. You cut up all those people, and do you ever really wonder what they were feeling as they died? I'm scared, Harry – not of dying, but that it'll hurt. I'm so scared, more than I've ever been. I can't help wishing I had your hand to hold onto, then I wouldn't be so scared.

I love you, Harry. So much – so much, it's got to hurt worse than dying. So much.

Nikki

P.S. tell Leo I'm sorry. N.

Tears streamed down Harry's face as he read her letter, and he dropped his head onto his arms, folded on his desk, the letter still clutched in his hand. Heart-rending sobs shook him, and he didn't hear the door open, the light footfalls coming towards him.

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder. "Harry?" the voice was soft, concerned, and he spun his chair round at the sound of it, arms thrown round her waist, holding her as though she were the most precious thing on earth. "Harry, what's wrong?"

Pulling her down so she was sitting on his lap, he tucked her head under his chin, tears still welling up. "I found your letter," he whispered, soothing her as he felt her spine stiffen, about to pull away. "And I realised how close I'd come to losing you, that I never told you, either, how I feel about you. How you could have died, not knowing… not knowing I felt the same way, I..." he swallowed back the tears, holding on to her a little more tightly.

She relaxed a little, and shivered with emotion. "It's okay," she said softly. "I'm here, it's okay."

His hold on her tightened, if anything, as if he never wanted to let her go. "Did you mean it? That you love me?"

She swallowed; it was a bit late now to deny it. "I meant it," she said quietly. "Did you?"

"Yes." They were silent for a moment, and eventually, she shifted to try to get more comfortable. "For the record," he said slowly, "yes, I think it probably hurts when the bullet goes in, but only for a short while. A shot to the brain is usually almost instantaneous death. And yes, I always wonder how they were feeling, even though I try not to."

She nodded, processing the information. "Me too," she said quietly. "I try not to think about it too much, though… drives you mad, otherwise."

"Mm." They were on safer ground, now, but for once, that wasn't what Harry wanted. "Can I take you to dinner?"

She squeezed his hand. "I'd like that."

A/N: I'm afraid I don't know how accurate the bit about being shot in the head is, as I'm not medically trained. I know this is a weird little fic, for which I apologise. But it wanted to be written.