Being Alive

There, just a kiss on his temple, as if it would all go on as before, best of friends. Why couldn't he tell her, for God's sake? Harry gritted his teeth, holding her in a hug, not wanting to let go.

Nikki tried to pull away, as if realising this wasn't the most appropriate course of action in the office, but was stopped as, unusually, Harry didn't let go. She wondered briefly if the whole bomb thing had got to him more than he was letting on. Did he really need comfort from her so badly that he couldn't let go? She hugged him back tightly, and remembered what he'd said about… oh, what was it? Something about, if her children were like her, they'd be very lucky? Sweet. She blushed a little, unable to help herself. She wondered if he realised she'd had a sudden flash, a vision, of having his children. Her blush deepened, and she was suddenly grateful he couldn't see her face.

Say something, you prick, Harry berated himself. All those sweet things Nikki had said when he'd been down on himself about his father – about always going to him for comfort, having film plots explained – going to him when she was in trouble… did she really mean it? Was she just being nice?

No, he thought to himself. She's nothing if not honest. Brutally honest, sometimes, but honest to the core. He wondered if she realised that, when he'd responded that if her children grew up to be like her they'd be lucky, he was wishing that their children would grow up to be like her.

God, he was screwed up.

"Harry?" Her voice was soft, concerned, questioning. "Are you okay?"

"Not really, no," he muttered.

"Do you… look, why don't we get out of here? It's late. Why don't we get a takeaway, or something? Take it back to my place, bottle of wine, film? Chill out a bit?" she coaxed.

Yeah, definitely the best friends thing again. "Yeah. Okay."

"Come on, then. I'll drive."

He sat moodily in the car as she drove back from the Chinese round the corner, noting that she was sending him anxious little glances. But, being Nikki, not saying anything. She was good at that, Nikki: saying what needed to be said, when it needed to be said, and not saying the things that didn't need to be said when they didn't need to be.

Suddenly, that bottle of wine seemed like a really good idea.

He opened the bottle deftly as Nikki manoeuvred the takeaway cartons onto a tray, balancing a couple of plates on the top. She always manages to look graceful, somehow, mused Harry as he followed her with the bottle in one hand, glasses in the other. He poured the wine, handing her a glass in silence.

"Here's to being alive," she said, lifting her glass. He was silent a moment. "Harry?"

"Sorry."

There was a heartbeat of a pause. "Deathwish?" she asked lightly.

"No. No, not really. What I said earlier…" he trailed off, unable to finish.

"I know," she said quietly. "I wondered, too. If I died, would it be so bad, really? For me, not for those left behind. And then I thought, but who'd miss me? And I didn't have an answer. And perversely, that was what made me want to live all the more." She took a gulp of wine; her hands were shaking. "Sorry, I'm rambling."

"I'd miss you." It came out blunt, stark, not how he'd intended it to, but her glass had frozen half-way back to the table, and there was a look of… something… on her face.

"Yeah, who'd you bitch at?" she replied, trying to regain her composure. We're best friends, idiot, of course he'd miss you. It's not a big deal, she told herself sternly. And you are not some silly schoolgirl with a crush!

"Who'd drag me up by my bootlaces when I can't manage it myself, more like," he retorted, with a touch of humour. He felt better, though. "I would miss you," he repeated softly. "Don't ever think, ever again, that you wouldn't be missed. Promise."

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. "Promise," she said, hoping her voice didn't sound too quavery. She didn't go in for shows of emotion, but that didn't mean she didn't feel them – and she certainly felt this. "I promise," she said again, more firmly.

He smiled, and lifted his glass. "To being alive."