Nick looks for an answer in the bottom of a Jack Daniels' bottle. Abby comforts him. Set after Stephen's funeral...
Nick Cutter really wasn't sure if he could take much more. Helen wanted to change the world, literally, and he'd been utterly appalled, she wanted to play god. Well, because of everything she had done, Stephen was dead. The friend he'd trusted through thick and thin but he betrayed you. Nick clamped down on that little voice, anyway it wasn't so much Stephen that betrayed me, but Helen, who took the opportunity to do me harm again. Dimly he wondered when she had begun hating him so much that she'd done all the things she had done.
Now he was alone in the house, surrounded by too many memories, himself and Helen was any of that ever really right..., arguing with Helen, arguing with Stephen, late nights, planning expeditions, doing endless research in the hopes of avoiding the tedious business of having to write all of it up, Stephen telling him to get on with it. Shit.
He reached for the bottle of Jack Daniels and poured himself a belter. Swigged most of it back in one swallow. Gasped slightly as the fiery sour mash blazed a trail down his gullet. Swigged the rest, poured another measure. Suddenly half the bottle seemed to have gone.
He went to stand up, and staggered. Well, that was good. He was definitely very drunk. But why wasn't he feeling any better. He sat down again and poured himself another one.
The doorbell went. Loud. Insistent. He was going to ignore it. But it went again. Even louder. Even more insistent.
He staggered to his feet and weaved down the hall to the door. It took three attempts to get his hand on the front door latch.
"Oh my god. CUTTER." Abby wailed in horror. "What in god's name are you doing to yourself." She took the bottle from his hand, stepped over the threshold and pushed the door shut. He wanted to argue, but somehow the words wouldn't come. He just looked at Abby with a blank frozen look on his face and didn't resist when she slid an arm firmly round his waist, pulled his arm over her shoulder and steered him back down the hallway, and sat him down on the sofa.
Abby dithered for a moment, she really didn't know what to do, Nick Cutter was a strong, thoughtful and intelligent man, and she had never seen him like this, defeated. Leaving him alone here was out of the question, she had no idea how much had been in the bottle before he started, but she suspected it had been nearly full. It's this place. It's Helen and Stephen... oh, bother... this is probably the wrong decision, but it's less wrong than staying here.
She took his arm and coaxed him upright, at least at my place there's less booze... guided him back down the hall, and out to her car. Getting him into the front seat of her little mini was a bit of a struggle, but less of a struggle than trying to get him into the passenger seat of his pickup, even if she knew where his keys were. At that point Abby was simply running on the lesser of two evils options.
Arriving at her place, she realised that she may have bitten off more than she could chew, Nick was a well built, athletic man in his thirties, six foot tall, and he outweighed her by a considerable amount, true she was fit and athletic, but she was also only five foot two and getting him up two flights of stairs in his current condition was going to be very hard work. But Abby was made of tougher stuff, she gritted her teeth, and grabbed his arm, "Stairs, Cutter..." he looked at her blankly, "Stairs." She jerked her head in the general direction of the staircase up to her flat, and to her great relief she seemed to have got through. She managed to push, pull and guide him up the stairs, then up the next stairs to her bed. He sat down heavily, and looked up at her, for the first time she saw some glimmer of comprehension in his eyes, together with something else that was gone so fast she couldn't read it.
"Thanks." His voice was a bit hoarse and the word was scarcely above a whisper but she heard it, smiling ruefully, she nodded. "Any time, Cutter. We zoologists have to stick together you know." Trying to make it into a joke, but she didn't really feel like laughing. The pain and misery she'd first glimpsed when he almost fell through the front door at her were back in his eyes.
He flopped backwards "So tired..." He muttered. Abby sighed, he was going to feel like death in the morning and sleeping in his clothes wouldn't help. She knelt down and unlaced his boots, yanked them off, did the same for his socks, and hesitated. Go on, it's not as though he is likely to remember exactly what happened tonight. She reached for his belt buckle and undid it, popped the button on his cargo pants and slipped the zip down, hesitating again oh god, this is awkward, she gently tugged his trousers down he'll be more comfortable under the covers like that, you're a big girl Abby, why are you so embarrassed, get a grip girl... She leaned over him again, dragging the duvet out from under him and covering him with it, stripped off her own boots and jeans, and was about to lie down next to him when a thought occurred to her.
Five minutes later, she slipped the washing up bowl on the floor next to him, and not a moment too soon. The alcohol on a mostly empty stomach came back to haunt him with a vengeance. Abby sat down on the edge of the bed, and held his head as he threw up into the bowl. Greater love hath no woman for her boss than this.
Nick Cutter groaned. He didn't know which was worse, the crushing headache, or some rather dim memories of making a complete fool of himself, something to do with bottle of Jack Daniels, and strangely it was Abby and not Helen or Claudia/Jenny that filled his dreams, visions of being extremely sick, while resting across a pair of slim shapely knees, while a gentle hand stroked his back and fingers gently ruffled his hair. Then there was the vague memory of someone divesting him of his boots, his socks and his trousers, he slid a hand under the covers and checked, yes, definitely his trousers. The idea occurred to him that if he opened his eyes, his brain might fall out, but there was the vague chance that he might be able to make sense of last night.
Something chirped, and Nick frowned. That wasn't right. He had nothing at home that chirped. He cautiously peeled open an eyelid, winced at the shaft of light which came through the curtains and attempted to focus on the object in front of him. It was a lizard, a lizard he recognised. "Rex..." his voice sounded old and worn out, "what are you doing...here." He prised the other lid open and squinted, this definitely was not his own bed. He was lying in a bed that he'd never seen before, wearing only his t-shirt and his briefs. Nick closed his eyes and groaned again, the vague memories of last night were obviously not dreams...
"Cutter." He peeled open an eyelid and desperately tried to focus. "You're awake then." She sounded a bit disapproving, and he wondered why Abby should sound disapproving, then it occurred to him that since Rex was there, and Abby was there, that he was there too, in her flat. The realisation that the gentle hand stroking his back while he lost whatever lunch he had eaten must have been Abby's made him wince and groan again. Oh god Cutter, congratulations... you've really done it now.... "My head." He put up a slightly shaky hand and rubbed his forehead, as though trying to rub his brains into some sort of clear functioning, because nothing was making much sense, and the little that did was stuff he would prefer to try and forget.
"Well, last night you did try to Jack Daniels your way to oblivion." Abby's voice softened, he was clearly suffering, "I couldn't leave you alone, and I couldn't leave all my lizards to fend for themselves, so I brought you back here." She was proud of the way she covered her motives. Truth is, he looked at you all wrecked and broken last night, and your heart turned over, that's why you brought him back here.
Nick tried to sit up, and discovered that the queasy feeling that had been accompanying him while he returned to land of the semi living, was not quite finished with him yet. He nearly fell out of bed, as Abby grabbed him and shoved the washing up bowl under his nose again. This time there was no alcohol induced oblivion to get in the way of the memory of lying across her knees while she supported his head and rubbed his back in slow comforting circles. When he was done, he lay there a minute, eyes closed, even the crushing headache felt better when she was touching him like that... why, he wasn't sure, but it felt good.
Abby sighed, he'd finished throwing up, she should really be pushing him back under the covers and getting on with her morning, there was a report to do, which was late, and Lester was already in a mood about it. Shit. Lester. She looked down at her boss, semi conscious across her knees, having already disposed of what she assumed was yesterday's lunch, yesterday's breakfast, the night before's dinner and...now...she assumed the day before's lunch, he didn't seem in any condition to go into work. Quite what she was going to do or say to keep them both out of trouble seemed to be an insurmountable problem. Right then, Nick Cutter needed her, not as the lizard girl, but her, as person, and that made her feel good in a way that surprised her...