To bring him home
All characters you recognise belong to the BBC, just borrowing them temporarily.
Dedicated to all those people who wanted 'Just Go Away Harry' to continue and Lilypad for her creative assistance. Thanks always to Charlotte and the YouTube resource bank.
Contains references to Bloodlines, The Prodigal and adult themes: guilt, death and mental health. This is not a fluff fest so if you're feeling in anyway depressed, this is probably not the fic for you. If not grab some tissues and head on in. (Otherwise, hang on for a while and join us for the last few chapters). I always love reviews!
One
"Is he alright?" Nikki asked her voice thin in the air. Her world only just recently patched back together, splintering and shattering in front of her as she looked at Harry lying on the floor of that bus. She caught her breath.
'When? When? She wondered. 'When had Leo become her reference point and not Harry?'
'Harry, he was right there, in front of her, wasn't he?'
But her question received no reply. The answer was obvious. There was no light in Harry's eyes; he didn't even seem to have noticed them. His face was spattered in blood, his limbs were visibly trembling, he was obviously in shock, but there was more than that. It had only taken her seconds to realise what it was. He was dead.
She had come to Budapest in order to bring the body of Harry Cunningham home. She would be doing just that. Looking at him lying there on that bus, she couldn't help but think that Harry Cunningham, her Harry, the Harry she loved in her own fractured, messed up way had died that day and life was never going to be the same.
When the police had finally finished with them, Leo called a cab and took them back to the hotel. Harry had refused to go to the hospital. So Nikki had made herself scarce whilst Leo put him in the shower and cleaned him up. When she returned he was sat bolt upright in the hotel chair. It almost looked as if he could have been staring at the view, only the curtains were still closed.
She'd never seen him sit so still, not in all the years she'd known him. Something was always moving, a pencil, a pen spinning around on his fingers, a foot tapping. His body, his being was characterised by movement and activity. For a man he was surprisingly limber, he could curl himself into the smallest of chairs. Even when he was stationary, the way he stood oozed action. She could see him in her mind's eye leaning back against the windowsill in Leo's office, his body curving into the angular shape of the windowsill but itself making a perfect arc.
And how many times had she caught him watching her at work? Leaning against the glass, arms folded, half smile on his face, stood on one leg, the other crossed in front with his hip stuck out to one side. He looked like a bow pulled taught, always alert, always ready for the next adventure.
But all that was gone.
He was still and quiet and angular and angry.
From somewhere unbidden the thought briefly flittered across her consciousness that she would have been better off if he really had been dead. She quickly suppressed it, but there was no stopping the feeling of dread that was creeping back into her being after yesterday's brief reprieve.
Leo noticed her staring, and sent her off to buy some analgesics. She suspected he had plenty already but she was grateful of any distraction and to be away from Harry.
She chided herself again, that sounded awful, she should be overjoyed at the possibility of spending time with Harry. After what she had just been through when she thought he was dead. That moment. That moment when the shadow behind Leo had moved and she felt sure she was hallucinating, or going to vomit and then he had been there. Smelling of sweat, fear and borrowed clothes but under it all, it was Harry and she had wept. She had looked into his eyes and seen the sorrow and pain and his desperation and she had responded in the only way she could. To cling onto him and to let the warmth of his arms melt the shock and regrets from her own heart.
But then too soon he was gone, she knew he was risking his life again. He was so focussed on finding Anna's killer. She hadn't needed to tell him to be careful. She hadn't needed to say anything. They both knew there would be consequences. So she had pressed her face against his, trying to leave an imprint. She had to leave him something to cling on to. Something to remind him that life was worth living and to keep him from the worst excesses of his own recklessness. But it had been no use. He had disappeared back into that world of hatred that she would never know and now he had gone and got himself lost somehow.
Her phone beeped, breaking her reverie and startling her into realising quite how far she had walked. It was a text from Leo.
"Taking H to embassy to sort out paperwork. Back as soon as we can. He will be alright you know."