There's a noose around his neck. The confines of his vest are slowly closing in, suffocating him, smothering him and beating at his heart with the words hidden near his soul a cruel reminder of all he's lost. It feels as though all the air has been sucked out of the world; it's cold and lonely and dark where he sits in the hard plastic waiting room chairs.
Try as he might to avoid it, his mind can't help but inform him of what'll happen next.
What's already happened.
His heart lays at her feet and when the muddled aftershock of panic and pain and fear dissipate, there's no stopping her from walking all over it.
He feels sick.
He feels the overwhelming need to run from the hospital and never look back until he is far, far away from Andy McNally and Sam Swarek and their everlasting love.
Mostly, he wants away from the woman he loves with all he has, the only person he can really trust these days. Because he knows what's coming; always has been lurking there while Sam's around.
If only he had moved toward her sooner.
If only he had shown her more often how much he revered every part of her.
If only he had finally worked up the courage to say those three little words aloud.
If only he thought she could love him the way he loved her.
If only.
Only's don't count for shit though.
There are tears, those betrayers, waiting on the fringes, for when he's alone and he can let himself grieve, but now they are held beneath a tight leash of rigid control and determination. Once word comes through on Swarek, be it good, he's out of here. But if it's bad, and here's the kicker, he knows he's going to stay, to make sure Andy at least as someone to lean on.
There's a pit of self-loathing just laughing in the back of his head.
He thinks back to when the doctor had first appeared, asking for one person. How he had nudged her ever so lightly foreword, afraid that if he lingered too long, she would notice the way his hands shook like waves on the ocean. It burns; it was the last thing he ever wanted in the world, to simply give up on her. But that's exactly what he did when he bolted his feelings into a box and told her to go.
He sighs and scrubs angrily at his not-quite-so-dry eyes with shaking hands.
They haven't stopped trembling.
Then the doctor is there and it seems as the whole of 15 is surging forward to hear something; anything about their downed detective. But Nick only has eyes for Andy as she steps into his line of sight, head bowed, shoulders hunched and face obscured. He nearly shoves his way through the mass of bodies, but resists, waiting for the doc to speak.
All he catches is, "he's going to be alright," before he's spinning away, that noose around his neck becoming shockingly tight as he fumbles to release himself from his vest. He doesn't bother to turn around and ignores the multiple exclamations of relief from the gathering of officers that wash over him, instead focused solely on finding an escape from his torture, even if it is only a few minutes outside.
Finally, the vest slips from his chest just as he pushes through the doors and he winces when he sees the stripes of silver on the inside. It's another punch to his already bruised chest. Finding a secluded spot along the wall facing the parking lot, Nick finally let's down his guard, let's everything rush out and ends up crouched, back to the rough brick, the vest on his lap and his head clenched in his hands.
Time passes.
How much?
Doesn't matter.
It's only when footsteps register, does he finally look up.
Wishes he didn't.
Because there's Andy, wide eyed and staring as she takes in the ragged expression and frantic eyes. At first, they stand still, frozen, each caught like deer in the headlights.
Nick breaks first. "It's okay; you don't have to worry about me anymore," he tells her, wincing belatedly at the harshness of his tone. His heart twists angrily in his chest when he sees the hurt flicker in her eyes and watches emptily as she takes a cautious step back.
Good; she's already moving away from him. It will make this easier.
"Nick, what's wrong?" she asks softly, eyes shining in the artificial light of the hospital as she takes in his hunched form. Her gaze darts between his face and the vest clutched resting on his knees - he'd been absently staring down at the letter since he'd finally collapsed against the wall – and she catches sight of silver lines written on the inside.
At this, he stands, a bitter laugh bubbling from his lips as he holds those traitorous words close to his chest.
"Nothing. It doesn't matter," he mutters, turning away, unsure if he's going to walk away or break down again. He bows his head, hands clenching and unclenching in the heavy weight of the Kevlar.
He doesn't expect it when she's suddenly at his back, arms wrapping tight around his waist and her forehead resting between his shoulder blades. Muscles tense on their own accord and he swears he stops breathing.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, words muffled by the fabric of his uniform shirt. If possible, he grows even tenser.
This is it.
Time to uselessly brace his heart against her words.
"I'm sorry," she continues, "that you thought that I was choosing him when I went into the emergency room."
This time, his heart really does stopped.
Along with it, his mind stutters to a halt as he struggles to process what has just been said.
"It's just, Sam's such a big part of who I used to be, that I know it would rip my heart if he died. But at the same time, I kept picturing you in that room and it was as if I couldn't even breathe," she heaves a shuddering breath and presses her cheek to his back. "I guess, being with you, I have moved on, fully. And I don't want what we have to change. So-"
Just as she was about to continue, Nick finally forced his body into motion, turning quickly in the circle of her arms and staring down at her, frantically scanning her face. The words she was about to speak die on her lips as she sees the very wild expression he sports. Realization dawns.
"Oh my god," she murmurs, "you really believed that I would just leave you, leave us, like that."
It's a testament how much emotional turmoil she's suffered through tonight by how she doesn't feel anything but shock at this realization. There is no hurt at the thought that he was unable to trust her more than that and there is no pain at the idea that he had already begun to try and sever what ties he could with her.
Just simple shock.
In that moment, he looks so apologetic, so forlorn and heartbroken that she feels tears rise in her in response.
"I'm sorry," he whispers brokenly.
She smiles hesitantly at him. "It's okay," she tells him, resting her hands against his chest, smile blooming when she feels his heartbeat thrum beneath her fingertips. "We both have had our moments, me more so, but whatever."
When a laugh barks out, she figures they've finally reached a level where they can understand each other again and that's a blessing.
I did another one. I don't care.
This is more centred around Nick's half of the story, where Empty Paper is more Andy.
Both are my ways of fixing 4.13.