A/N: I told myself I wasn't allowed to post a new multi-chap until I had more time, but this is a reworked version of a story I wrote and lost a few years ago so a lot of the ground work is already done. I feel like the basic premise of the story is one which is done a lot in fanfic, but it is one which I saw as a plausible story for Nikki long before I knew what fanfic was. I hope I manage to portray it that way.
Please let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy the story.
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"Harry, I was called out at 3am. I'm exhausted!" Nikki sighed, balancing her phone against her shoulder as she stirred an extra spoonful of sugar into her coffee. She needed the extra boost this morning.
"I'm sorry, Nikki," Harry replied. "But unless you want me to projectile vomit all over the students, I'm afraid our options are rather limited."
He leaned back on the sofa, trying to find a comfortable position and groaned slightly.
Nikki was unsure whether the groan was simply for her benefit, or if he really was that miserable. Regardless, it was enough to make her feel guilty for her previous tone.
"Sorry, I'm just being grumpy," she replied. "I'll be fine after my coffee."
Harry felt his stomach churn at the mere thought of something so strong.
"Thank you. I owe you one," he told her, lying perfectly still and slowing his breathing as he pushed all thoughts of food and drink out of his mind.
"Don't worry about it," Nikki insisted. "Just look after yourself – make sure you don't get dehydrated."
He smiled slightly at her concern.
"I won't," he assured her. "Let me know how it goes."
She rubbed her eyes, and took a tentative sip from her mug, despite it being evident that it was far too hot to drink.
"I will," she replied, quickly withdrawing the mug from her stinging lip and setting it on the desk in front of her. "Oh, and Harry?" she added, unable to resist sharing her afterthought.
"Yeah?"
"I told you that Chinese take away was dodgy."
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By the time Leo arrived at the Lyell Centre, Nikki was immersed in the scribbles of notes which Harry called a "lesson plan" for the demonstration and lecture he had been due to give to a group of medical students.
"Nikki, what are you doing here?" he questioned, expecting that she would have tried to take at least part of the morning to sleep after her night on call.
"Harry has food poisoning," she explained.
Leo screwed up his face.
"Did he go to that place between the betting shop and the barber's again?" Leo asked, remembering Harry's favourite, but rather questionable, food establishment of choice.
Nikki nodded.
"I think he might have finally accepted there are better options out there," she replied, stifling a yawn.
"Are you sure you're okay to take his place?" Leo asked.
She nodded again, taking a gulp of coffee and ignoring the fact that it scalded her taste buds. The small sips weren't getting the caffeine into her system quickly enough to counteract the number of hours which had passed since she last slept.
"I'm fine," she insisted.
Leo looked unconvinced but let it drop.
"You know where I am if you need me," he reminded her.
She smiled and nodded her thanks, before returning her attention to Harry's notes-come-hieroglyphics. People like him were the reason doctors got such a hard time over their handwriting.
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The lab was becoming unusually noisy with the bustle of the arriving students and, luckily, Nikki had finally perked up. Her phone buzzed against the counter, as she tied an apron over her scrubs.
Knock 'em dead. H x
She grinned, not so much at the content of the message, but at Harry's style of texting. She'd tried to tell him that the initial was unnecessary, given that mobile phones had been capable of storing and displaying the name of the sender for well over a decade. Still, he couldn't break the habit.
Have just deciphered that you intended to demonstrate a dissection of the carotid artery and not dice some carrots. Please type up your notes next time you decide to pull a sickie. N x
The habit was contagious.
She placed her phone back down and turned her attention to the list of students, attempting to familiarise herself with the names. It should have been Harry's fourth session with this group and she didn't want to come across as the hopeless substitute.
Good to see common sense prevail. Watch out for fainters. H x
The speed of his response suggested that he was getting bored.
Better the students fainting than you. Get back to recovering and let me work. N x
Despite her tone, she still had some concern for him. To admit defeat and call in sick, he had to have been feeling worse than from the average dodgy meal. She'd check on him later. Once she'd done her part in educating the next generation of pathologists.
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"Where's Dr Cunningham?" one of the more confident students asked, as they gathered around Nikki and the cadaver, jostling slightly to ensure they could all see that was going on. The others seemed to have accepted their stand-in lecturer without question but she'd suspected Harry, with his well-timed jokes and laidback nature, might have a few die-hard groupies.
"I'm afraid Dr Cunningham is unwell today," she explained. "So you will be stuck with me for the next hour and a half. I'm Nikki Alexander – one of Dr Cunningham's colleagues at the Lyell," she introduced herself.
Around her she could hear a few pens noting down her name and spotted a few disappointed looks. It seemed a lifetime ago that she had been in their position, eager to learn and with certain lecturers and tutors that she worshipped. And others who caused her to dread their classes.
"Who can tell me where to begin with this gentleman?" she asked, immediately aware that she sounded like one of her archaic professors.
The open question was met with silence and she cringed. Not the best start.
"Check for a pulse?" someone to her left muttered, causing a small chorus of sniggers to erupt.
"Well actually, when attending a scene there is always a need to confirm that life is extinct," she responded, noting that she quickly had a hold of the majority of the students' attention. "Even when it is apparent that there is no possibility of survival. In fact, I once had to confirm a headless man had no hope of resuscitation."
The anecdote wasn't her own and she wasn't even sure if it was true. Sara had told it when she'd arrived, fresh-faced and eager, but slightly nauseous, at the morgue in Johannesburg. Her eyes had grown wide, just like those currently facing her.
"So now that we've confirmed our body is deceased, what comes next?"
This time a few hands reached into the air, at varying speeds which reflected their owner's confidence.
Nikki smiled to herself. This was more like it.
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Around an hour into the class, Nikki had hit her stride. The students were responding and she had their attention, for the most part at least. There were a few, lurking at the back who were either bored or, she suspected, trying not to succumb to the nausea and dizziness which could come with an unfamiliarity to the sights and smells of a post-mortem.
One girl caught her attention. She was fidgeting too much and her face had grown pale almost as soon as Nikki began to speak.
"Is everyone still okay?" she asked, directing the question at the whole group, though her eyes tried to meet with those of that one girl.
The girl looked away, some of the others nodded and no one took the opportunity to take a seat or leave for some fresh air, so Nikki continued.
As she did so, the student who had been the object of her attention glanced up at the clock and calculated how much longer there was to go. Twenty-five minutes. That was doable. She counted in her head as she breathed in for four seconds, held it for seven, and breathed out for eight. The smell of chemicals and decomposition reduced the efficacy of the exercise but it still served its purpose of keeping her standing where she was.
Nikki took another glance in the girl's direction, noting that her eyes were looking anywhere except the demonstration. She remembered how hard it was to admit that something was tough to stomach during medical school. In such a competitive environment, weakness was not something she had ever wanted to show. Now, she wondered if it was her place to tell her queasy student that it was okay to take a few minutes for air every so often.
/
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"Thanks, Dr Alexander," the same student who had queried Harry's whereabouts smiled, as the class started to disperse.
"You're welcome," she responded, appreciating that she seemed to have been accepted as a reasonable temporary replacement for the great Dr Cunningham.
At the front of the group heading towards the door, and already tearing off her plastic apron, was the pale brunette.
"Would you be able to help the technicians clear up?" she asked two boys who had made the mistake of lingering to close to the slab.
Before they'd even given an answer she was weaving her way through the crowd to the girl, catching her just before she stepped into the corridor.
"Hey," Nikki called, finally matching her pace.
The girl turned round with a startled expression, forced to slow down by her lecturer's greeting.
"Are you okay?" Nikki continued. "You looked a little pale in there."
"Fine," the girl shrugged, her deer-in-headlights impression continuing despite her apparent nonchalance.
"What's your name?" Nikki asked.
"Imogen," she answered. "I'm sorry, I'm running late," she added, overtaking her unwanted companion and making a break for the nearest exit, before Nikki could ask anything further.
Nikki watched her leave, simultaneously making a mental note of her name and realising she now seemed like some sort of crazy busybody. Thinking back to a conversation she'd once had with Harry, she knew that a twenty-odd year-old version of herself would definitely have wanted to punch her in the face by now.
/
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It was five o'clock by the time Nikki managed to get away from work. She was only intending to finish some paperwork but then Leo asked her opinion on a suspected overdose before she could leave. Before long she was sucked into the vortex of tying up loose ends and the day disappeared. Bed was now calling to her but there was one last stop before sleep.
"Oh, Harry," she gasped, hiding her laugh with her hand as a particularly scruffy and exhausted doctor answered the door.
"Thanks for the sympathy," he muttered, stepping aside to let her in.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, following him through to the living room, where he took up his previous position on the sofa.
His response was a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan.
"I brought some supplies."
She emptied the carrier bag onto the table lining up the cream crackers, rehydration solution, white bread and peppermint tea.
"Do you want some tea and toast?" she asked.
"I'll stick to small sips of water for now, but thank you Nikki," he replied.
She had been planning to take a seat in the armchair opposite, but she paused for a moment, placing her hand against his clammy forehead.
"It's a good job your patients are dead," he remarked. "Your hands are like ice."
"I've been outside and you have a temperature," she replied, defensively. "Have you been drinking plenty of water?" she frowned.
"Your face will stay like that if you're not careful," he quipped.
"Harry!"
She shook her head, irritated that he wasn't taking her concern seriously.
"Yes, I have," he assured her. "I'll be fine in another day or so."
"Good," Nikki smiled, settling down in the armchair. It would only be for five minutes and then she'd be satisfied Harry wasn't about to keel over from dehydration, and would finally be able to go home and sleep.
"How were the students?" Harry asked, clocking the dark circles under Nikki's eyes. He suspected she'd have done enough work for both of them today.
"Fine. Though I think some of them were rather disappointed by your absence."
She hadn't been planning to tell him this ego stroking piece of information but he looked in need of cheering up.
"Really?" he responded with a pleased smile.
Nikki laughed.
"A tall, rugby player type, with sandy blonde hair asked where you were before I'd even started to speak."
"Lewis?" he questioned.
She shrugged.
"I didn't ask the names of your fan club."
Harry didn't need to know that she had tried but given up on identifying the students by name around ten minutes into the class.
"And no fainters today?" he enquired.
"One girl looking a little peaky but nothing dramatic."
"Who?"
"Imogen. She was very quiet."
"That's odd," he puzzled. "She's normally right down the front. I didn't have her down as the squeamish type."
"Maybe she wasn't feeling well today," Nikki suggested, knowing that the girl she had seen and spoken to did not show any sign of interest in the class. "Or maybe she has the same taste in cheap Chinese food as you."
Harry feigned hurt at the dig but laughed weakly.
"Probably hungover," he concluded. "I would have been at that age."
/
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She sighed, slamming shut her laptop and turning to gaze out the floor to ceiling glass at the view of London. It was a beautiful sunset – the same kind of fiery sky which had been on display the night he convinced her that the flat was more than an overpriced bachelor pad. It was cold too and turning into the sort of still and quiet night that could take your breath away.
"What's wrong?" he asked, leaning over the back of her chair and wrapping his arms around her from behind.
She leaned in against his shoulder and kissed him hello.
"I didn't hear you come in. How was your day?"
"Same as always," he replied, moving his hands to work on the knots in her neck. "You seem stressed. Did something happen?"
"It's too late to change my elective," she replied. "I'll need to speak to someone at the university tomorrow to see if they can make an exception."
His fingers rubbed hard and deep over a particularly tense area and she let out a small moan at the combined pain and pleasure.
"I thought you were dying to do the pathology elective."
He started to laugh at their tired joke but stopped and sighed as he saw her face remained unchanged.
"What happened, Imogen?"
"I changed my mind, okay?" she snapped, jumping to her feet and in the direction of the kitchen and a glass of wine.
"There's no need to be such a bitch about it," he muttered, as she filled two large glasses with the deep red liquid.
The room was silent for a moment, except from the glug of the bottle. She took a sip from one glass and pushed the other across the smooth, black counter towards him.
"Sorry," she apologised. "I just want to do something different."
He accepted the glass without a thanks.
"Fine," he responded. "Do whatever you want."
The liquid warmed his throat, calming his urge to say or do anything more.
She stayed on her side of the counter, opening the fridge to inspect the array of ingredients on offer for dinner. There wasn't much but she didn't feel like going out.
"Will pasta be okay tonight?" she asked.
"That's fine," he responded, disinterestedly, taking the chair she had occupied and settling down to check his email account.
She took a controlled breath, tapping out the beats on the stem of her wine glass and repeating the familiar pattern until the scream dissipated from her chest.
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A/N: Like Nikki, I borrowed the anecdote in this chapter. It may or may not have happened, but the lecturer who told it also showed pictures of baby animals to break up the worst topics, so I hung off every word she said!