In These Arms
"I think about love, and oh what a beautiful song; and oh how it needs to be sung here, sing it so loud all the world can hear."
- 'Gone Away' by Safetysuit
It is a quiet night. Dark and cold, with the promise of rain in the air.
She's resting against the railings that border the rooftop car park of the Lyell Centre, gazing at the sleeping city.
It's late. But she can't go home.
A multitude of colours swim in her eyes as the tears rise unbidden, causing the lights around her to splinter and blur.
The tears roll slowly down her porcelain cheeks as she blinks them away, and her vision begins to sharpen again.
The darkness that surrounds her when she turns her back on London is almost compressing, but she finds it soothing rather than something to be scared of.
It had been a bad week; one of the worst. The images of those three little girls lying dead on three cold slabs are burned brightly into her mind.
And then there was Harry. He was still on leave after the events of Hungary a month ago, and she missed him. His absence left a gaping hole in her chest.
Harry would have known what to say this week. He'd have been there for her. Perhaps his presence would even have shielded her from the atrocities that she'd been working with.
But he wasn't, and she hadn't wanted to cause him any more pain by sharing her burdens with him.
She was all alone.
There was Leo of course, who was still inside working now, tirelessly devoted to his cause. But he'd been busy with his own case this week, hadn't had much time to spare for Nikki and her unprofessional attachment to the victims.
A sob escapes her lips and she slides past the railing and down the low wall until she's sat on the rough concrete, her knees pulled up to her chest.
She wants someone to tell her that everything's going to be all right.
She used to be so strong, so impervious to pain and grief and hurt. But the events of recent years have weakened her, softened her, caused her to feel everything on such a visceral level that it has left her heart criss-crossed with scars.
Some scars are deeper than others, of course. Some were fleeting, temporary, have already faded. Some are more profound, gouged so deeply that she doubted they would ever disappear. There are fewer of these, but they're more painful than any of the others.
Hungary. What happened in Hungary is probably the rawest, most excruciating scar. It's so fresh it's still throbbing, permeating every waking and sleeping moment with its constant reminder of the grief she felt.
All the others are overshadowed by the Hungary scar – even the wound that the death of her mother caused. She's had time to grow accustomed to those being there. They've softened slightly with age.
Yellow light floods the car park as a door on the other side of the space opens. Her car sitting beside her is blocking her view, but she knows that it must be Leo. He was the only other one in the building at such a late hour.
Sure enough, the footsteps momentarily pause and then quicken, coming to a halt in front of her. Leo sounds scared, worried, concerned as he asks her what's wrong, what's upsetting her so badly, what he can do to help her.
She hadn't even realised the intensity of her tears until that moment when she finds it difficult to answer him. Sobs punctuate her every word as she tells him that there's nothing he can do.
She doesn't want to push him away, but she doesn't know how to let him in. Her face is buried in her knees and when she finally looks up again, he's gone.
Nobody can help her.
She can't go home. She just can't. Because then she'd be even more alone than she is now.
Her small frame shakes as a combination of cold and of her tears. All she can do is sit there, because while she's sitting there she's not sitting at home on her own, or she's not sitting at her desk on her own, or she's not sleeping in an empty bed desperately craving some form of human contact, someone to just hold her and whisper that it's okay, that nothing can hurt her again.
And so she continues to sit there, and eventually her sobs begin to subside until she's crying silently, and the night is unwelcoming and cold and she wishes she was somewhere warm.
The door opens again in the distance. She'd known Leo would be back. He hadn't driven home because his car was still here. He'd gone inside to give her a while to 'calm down', she had presumed. Now he was back to check on her. And she found herself annoyed, because she didn't want to talk to him or see him or answer his questions.
The footsteps came to a halt again, a little further away this time.
"Oh, Nikki..."
Her head snaps up, because it's not Leo at all; it's Harry. Just the sight of him makes her cry a little harder, in shock and in relief and in the warm familiar feeling that's seeping through her body.
And it's heartbreaking, because not so very long ago she'd thought she'd lost him and now he was here, solid and real and gazing at her with an expression very much as if he was heartbroken himself.
He walks forward and slides down the wall beside her, taking her hand in his own and holding it tightly.
"What's wrong?" he asks her, in such a different way than Leo had done. And it's Harry, so of course she has to tell him.
Her throat feels constricted and so she chokes out her words. "Everything just hurts so much."
He releases his grip on her hand, takes his jacket off and drops it around her shoulders then pulls her against him.
No words are spoken after that. He knows what's wrong with her. Of course he knows. So he just sits there and holds her and whispers that everything's going to be okay.
Somewhere, in between her tears, she tells him that she loves him. He smiles and says that he knows. She wonders whether he really does know.
"Come on, let's get you home," he murmurs into her hair, just as the cold begins to reach her bones.
"No!" she resists, for so many reasons. "When I go home I'm all alone but here, with you, I'm not so lonely."
"Nikki, it's late," he says gently. "You can't stay out here all night. Look, I'll come back with you. I'll stay. I'll look after you."
Her lip trembles as she gazes up at him; he's smiling at her sadly. "Why?" she asks quietly.
"Because I love you, too," he whispers, his gaze so unwavering and so understanding it takes her breath away as she realises that he really does know.
Yet still, she feels the need to question it. "You do?"
He sighs, his sad smile fixed in place. "Yes," he says simply. "Now come on – I – what..."
Words seem to escape him as she places her hands either side of his face. They don't say or do anything other than look at each other for a moment, before he slowly brings his head closer. Her eyes flutter shut as their lips finally meet.
They kiss for a while, slowly, gently, getting accustomed to the whole host of feelings that have been driven to the surface. When they break apart, he runs his thumb across her jaw and wipes away the trails of her earlier tears.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, brushing his lips against hers again for a second. "I never have been able to take my eyes off of you."
A solitary tear slides down her skin, but this time for a very different reason.
There are the ugly scars, the painful scars, the horrible scars and the scars which will never go away. But, if you're lucky, there will always be someone to tell you you're beautiful, to ease the pain, to hold you and whisper that everything's going to be okay.
And on this night – this quiet, cold, dark night that holds the promise of rain – she found that someone. It was the same person she'd always known it would be.
This one shot is dedicated to everyone who reviews my fics, but in particular dinabar and RonnieAndJackForever-Chloe because you are both completely and utterly amazing. :)
I know it's a bit short and random, and you kinda have to pretend that 'The Prodigal' never happened, but oh well.
Charlotte
xxx