Second (and last) part, as promised. Actually, I'm not sure it ever was promised, but I'm remember thinking 'I need to write another chapter for the prom story', so it was promised in my head. Sometimes my head just has all of these ideas, and I have to let them spill out into stories, or something bad would happen… something worse would happen, anyway.
For those who are despairing about Bleeding Love and the lack of love between Tom and Nicki, here you go. But be warned, this is my first proper attempt at romance in a fan fiction, except for fluffy little hugs and flirty one-liners, so be prepared…
"Here you go," Nicki held out a disposable cup of coffee to Tom.
He didn't even notice her, didn't react at all to her presence, so she pressed it against his hand, and somehow his fingers clasped it. She could see the blotches on his skin; he was holding it tighter than he needed to, almost like he was trying to crack it. She closed her eyes, trying to rid herself of the images flashing through her head: blood all over her dress, blood all over Josh, coffee all over Tom.
"Thank you," he whispered, after a moment.
"You're welcome."
Why did they even pretend? Why did human beings have such weaknesses: why did they always somehow convince themselves things were okay, when they weren't?
Tom leant forward over the barrier outside the hospital. An ambulance passed them, a blur of yellow and orange stripes, the siren stretching out long into the hushed night. The doors swung open outside the accident and emergency entrance, and a couple of paramedics wheeled a stretcher out and straight through into the hospital.
A nurse stepped out of the shadows, helped someone else out of the ambulance. Someone huddled in a blanket, sobbing. Robbie, she was saying, over and over again. Robbie. I want my son, please, I want my son. Let me see him. Please, help him – he has to be okay.
The nurse mumbled some professional reassurances and escorted the trembling wreck inside. The silence left behind numbed Tom even more, if that was possible. He tried to sip his coffee, and realised it had burnt his throat, but didn't feel the pain.
Nicki shuffled up and leant beside him, their arms touching. At any other time, his heart would've leapt, and his arms trembled, because of the electricity between them. But his heart had sunk too low for it to get back up again.
He felt like a church steeple, beckoning the lightning towards him, pretending he was most vulnerable part of the town. But when it struck him, he had lightning conductors, so he still craved the electricity, but was left with nothing more than darkness, and a sense of belonging nowhere.
This was what happened when you were an English teacher. You dramatised everything, made it all into a story, a tangle of metaphors. It was easier than reality.
"Tom…"
Her voice was softer than he'd ever realised. He met her gaze, his own tone strangled when he managed to speak. "What if he's… he…"
"He's going to be fine, Tom."
Tom nodded, like a child might when they were told to put the carrot and mince pie out for Santa when they're too old to really believe, when they're starting to understand the lies, but there's still that flicker of doubt – what if it is true?
He knew, in the heart which currently sat deep down somewhere in his intestines, that Josh was really, really ill, and he knew that meant he might die. That was the rational thought, but he pushed it all away. He had to keep believing things would be okay.
"I think you should sit down."
Nicki had taken his arm and settled him in a nearby seat before he could object. He wasn't sure he would've had the strength to object anyway, though; his legs were trembling, as though his weight had been too much to bear. He was making indents in the cup with his nails. He shook his head, kept on shaking it, trying to shake away his tears.
Nicki crouched down by his side, took his hand in hers. She was surprisingly warm. So many things were new about Nicki tonight, as though he was only really noticing for the first time how wonderful she was, her beauty enhanced.
"It's okay. It's okay to cry."
"Yeah. I know."
"I know you know," she said. Smiled at the absurdity of the conversation. Sometimes, she just had to smile, or she'd cry. She couldn't cry tonight: she had to be the strong one, for Tom, and for Josh. She'd had plenty of time to cry.
Everything in hospitals was plastic, she thought. The plastic chair she'd helped Tom collapse back into, and the plastic gloves the nurse had been wearing. The plastic cups they both still clutched, as though their lives depended on not letting go. Or maybe Josh's life depended on it.
He sniffed. Wiped a hand across his face, in such a childish way that she had to smile again. He smiled too, for Josh, and for Nicki.
And suddenly they reached for each other, in the same instant, and she sank down onto his knee, and they were one person, sharing hands, their bodies fitting like a jigsaw. Exploring. Each engrossed in learning every little miniscule detail of their companion, every bump, every dimple.
They shared tears. Their lips pressed together. Kissing outside the hospital, under the stars, nothing forgotten, just perhaps irrelevant for a moment, because they were finally acting on what they'd both felt for so long, and everything was intensified, and it was just perfect.
He'll be okay, she seemed to be saying to him, with each second that passed, and their lips stayed connected. She smelled sweet; he couldn't place what it was, exactly. They shared in a silent, mutual prayer for Josh. They shared in a silent belief that he really would be okay.
"Look," she whispered.
He followed her gaze, looked at the sky above them. Nothing. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. There was no Bethlehem star glittering above the hospital; no shooting star either. Not that he expected them, although he hadn't expected this. To be doing what he'd been dreaming of for so long.
"What?"
"It's just… it's just so perfect, isn't it? It seems to stretch on forever. No matter how far apart you are, you can always look up at the sky, and soak up the darkness, and know that the person you're thinking of sees the same stars."
He held her close, "Yes. It's beautiful."
"I'm so glad I came to Waterloo Road."
"Because you met me?"
"No. Well, that too."
He smirked, and she gave him a playful shove. The plastic chair seemed to sink through beneath him, in slow motion, and suddenly they were both on the floor, her on top of him, lying in a pool of coffee, warm on the cool ground.
"Are you okay?" she gasped.
He sounded winded, but she could hear the laughter in his voice, "Perfect."
They rolled around on the floor, hands locked into each other's hair, clinging on, kissing. They didn't go further, because they weren't the sort of people to strip off, to mark their love in the bushes at the hospital, when they were both covered in blood and tears, when it would've been taking advantage to act on their feelings.
They just lay there, gazing up at the stars, at the beauty, and that was better than anything else could've been. Fingers locked together, so many unsaid things passing between them. For once in their lives, there was no need for words.
"Mr…" the voice trailed off at high pitch, "Mr Clarkson?"
He jumped up, helped Nicki up too, prepared himself, "Yes."
"Your son? Josh?"
"Yes. How is he? Is he…"
"He's going to be fine."
A long, long silence. "Thank you. Thank you. Can we… can we see him?"
"Of course. This way."
They entered the building, followed the doctor. Nicki ran a subconscious hand through her tangled hair, but she didn't really care about the soil, about the dirt. Not tonight. Their fingers locked together again, and they knew that there was something special between them without needing to share words, without needing to speak. Their eyes locked, and everything was still, silent, perfect.
The door pushed open, "There you go."
Tom took a deep breath and led Nicki inside. When Josh was better, they'd have all of the time in the world, all three of them, to be together. They didn't need any shooting stars tonight, or on any other night. Everything was perfect.
"Dad?"
"Yes, son. I'm here. It's okay. You're okay."
"Why… w-why…" he paused, forced himself up onto one elbow, managed to give Nicki a lopsided grin through the pain, because suddenly everything about his life had started to slot into place, "Why are you covered in mud and coffee?"
XxXxX
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