Chapter 2

He's not sure what to do, and when he explains the situation to Sam, he isn't either. When he arrives, Harry fills Leo in. They both stand with their backs to the body, facing the window, unable to look at each other. After 5 minutes, Leo kicks into action, and begins phoning other pathology departments – friends, people who owe him favours – anyone. Few answer at this time in the morning, and those that do don't have the resources. And not for the first time, he curses the stupid bloody Government cuts.

Whilst Leo does this, Harry goes back to Sam.

"You need to send some men to this address," He scribbles down the sight of his Friday night movie viewings on the back of one of his business cards. "It's Dr Nikki Alexander,"

"She's your colleague?"

"Yes,"

"The girlfriend?" He can't help thinking how odd it sounds to his ears. The girlfriend. He was having enough trouble acclimatising himself to the idea that she was a girlfriend. Now she is the. He knows it's a silly, pathetic, tiny distinction, so he doesn't bother sharing his thoughts out loud. Though he doubts the young detective would understand what he was going on about, even if he did.

"You need to inform his ex-wife too. And children." The young man looks down to the floor; he had been half-heartedly hoping that the pictures that lay in smashed frames on floor were of nieces – somehow, he thought he would have found that easier to deal with. "But I don't know their address."

"Would you like the be there when we…I…?"

"Tell her?" No, the answer is no, he definitely would not like to be there when her world comes crashing down. He wouldn't like to see her face contorting into a display of pure horror, or her body shaking as she attempts to calm herself. He wouldn't like to listen to her desperate questioning as she tries to make sense of the situation. Yet he knows maybe he should be there. But he can't.

He tells Sam he needs to keep his distance, for now, just until they know what's going to happen. Sam leaves the two pathologists alone.

Neither of them proceeds with their job – unsure whether they are actually allowed to. More importantly, whether they physically can.

Sam returns from a phone call with a senior Detective – they'll have to continue as usual by themselves. Someone will meet them at the Lyell Centre to discuss the matter further.

2am and I'm stood in the rain waiting to get into a crime scene. I hate you. Hope he snores and you can't sleep either.

She smiles as she reads Harry's text, glad that she'd turned her phone of silent and hadn't been woken up when it was sent. She slept soundly, without any snores interrupting her, because she slept alone.

It's odd, she thinks, that she misses the warmth of waking up beside someone so much, when it is something so new to her.

He insisted on dropping her at her flat after the party, despite her protestations. She'd spent the past week at his place; even her nights on call were spent there, once she realised he was an incredibly deep sleeper. So, she was surprised when he was so adamant that she go home. Without him.

She knows it's probably for the best that one of them isn't acting like a love struck teenager. Heaven knows if they both acted like she did (without thinking and recklessly) there most likely would been a Vegas wedding by now. And, although Dr Nikki Taylor does have a nice ring to it, she's not entirely sure whether that's what she wants – just yet.

She's not even sure if she loves him.

Yes, she does spend most of her time daydreaming about his eyes – his bright, warm chestnut eyes – and she loves hearing his voice at the end of a long day; but she's not entirely sure that means she loves him. Because it's the same way she felt with the boys she dated in High School – and she knows for sure that wasn't love. It was infatuation. Lust. Excitement. Anything but love.

She always thought love needed to be stable and consistent, and although she definitely feels safe around him, she's not stupid enough to think that she can fully judge how sturdy their relationship is after only 3 months. There's plenty she doesn't know about him - his parents' names; his favourite music; exactly why his marriage failed. But there's a future – she can actually imagine still being with him in a year's time, and more importantly, having made progression in that year.

No, she doesn't love him. But she definitely could.

Halfway through pouring out a bowl of cereal, the doorbell interrupts her.

"How well do you know the victim?" Sam looks sheepish sitting next to the Superintendent, embarrassed that he's had to call in help before he's even had a chance to investigate anything. But he's well aware there is no way he'd know what to do about this.

"We met him once," Leo answers, looking over at Harry, who has spent the entire time since returning from the crime scene staring out the nearest window he can find. He neglects to mention that the one meeting was the previous night. Neglects to mention that just last night he had seen his eyes, bright and shining, never straying from Nikki's for too long – the same eyes that he had had to close shut, just hours afterwards. "But our colleague is very intimate with the victim," It's easier to just refer to him as that for now. Saying the name out loud will force them both to deal with the situation; whereas currently they were on some sort of auto-pilot, refusing to allow themselves to think beyond the present – because if they think too much, they know their minds will fill of images of Nikki, and what they'll have to face when they see her - they're not ready to confront that part.

"Has she been told?" Leo nods.

Harry feels a pang of regret stab into his heart, and not going with the officers to inform Nikki seems like the biggest mistake he's made in his life. As much as he tries to resist it, his mind fills with images of an inept PC offering a cup of tea, attempting to pat her on the back. He knows he should have been there - he shouldn't have been so weak and useless – she needed … needs him, and he's not there.

"It's not an ideal situation, but we simply don't have another pathology team to put on this." The Superintendent looks genuinely sorry – between Sam's awkward apologies when Harry first explained who the victim was, and the quiet, delicate way the senior officer has been dealing with things, Harry can't help but snidely think it's the most human emotion displayed by the police he's seen in his entire career. "Of course, Dr Alexander will not be working on the case. I won't insult you by explaining the importance of confidentiality."

He knows Nikki will try getting information out of him. It's who she is – determined. The prospect of having to keep her in dark, having to say no to all her probing and questioning fills him with dread. He can't possibly comprehend how he's going to be able to ensure she only knows the same information that is available to the public, or whatever police may tell her during interviewing. It would be much easier if he could just avoid contact with her until the case is over, he thinks. But he can't do that. He's already let her down once and it's not even midday. He has to be there for her.

"Are we doing the autopsy?" She crashes through the doors, just as Leo is saying goodbye to the Superintendent.

She has been crying, it's obvious, even though she spent the entire car drive brushing the tears away, willing the redness to disappear. Immediately, Harry realises she's going to attempt to be strong and shrug off any sympathy he displays. She isn't going to let him hug her or comfort her, she's going to insist he tell her everything he knows – insist she can work on the case, even though she knows deep down she never could. She's going to be stubborn – the stern, stony look on her face makes this clear. She doesn't want to be vulnerable; it's what she hates most in the world.

Yet, the pyjama bottoms that still adorn her legs clearly show that she is.

Three of the men look at each other, but Harry keeps his glassy gaze firmly fixed on hers.

"Dr Alexander, you cannot be involved with this case," Sam is glad the Superintedent is there. He knows for sure he wouldn't be able to utter those words to her – he can't ignore the pain in her eyes and the shaking of her hands, of her entire body – he can't bring himself to be so stern, so professional.

She spends the next ten minutes pleading with them, begging to be let in. She screams at Leo at one point, and she's vaguely aware that later on, when the fog around her mind clears, she'll regret this. She's furious that Harry doesn't interfere – that he just stands there like a lemon, not opening his mouth once, drooping his head, not even daring to meet her eyes. She needs him to side with her.

The light tapping on the window forces her to lift her head from the steering wheel. He slips into the passenger seat without waiting for her to make any sort of invitation for him to do so.

"Why didn't you back me up?" Her eyes are piercing and vicious – he feels like if he looks at them for too long, he may actually die - but underneath the bitterness and betrayal is pain, just like when she confronted him about America.

"You know I couldn't." She makes no attempt to dispute this, but stays silent, too stubborn to let him know she realises he is right. "If you want me to, I can refuse to do the case." Part of him is desperately hoping she says yes, so they can be in the dark together, and he won't have to keep things from her. He's well aware of how selfish this is.

"No way," She plays with a bracelet, twisting it round and round, leaving a small red mark circling around her wrist. "Not with that boy they've got leading the investigation. I need to know there's someone who actually knows what they're doing."

"I'm sure Detective Walker is perfectly capable," He hopes he sounds much more convinced than he feels.

"And you can…"

"No." He turns quickly in his seat. "Stop. I can't do anything for you … with the case. I can't tell you anything about it. You know that." He grabs the hand that was playing with the bracelet, and squeezes it tightly. "I wish I could." He whispers it, afraid of how close his voice is to cracking. "But I'll do anything else you need me to. Anything." He hopes she will finally crack, and cry, and just let him hold her, and comfort her, and tell her it will be ok.

Instead, she removes her hand from his and turns the engine on.

"I'm sorry, Niks."

"You better get on with your work,"

"I'll come over tonight."

"Don't."

I am so bad at updating it is unreal. I'm sorry. I have a very long car journey this week – so hopefully I can write some then. Thank you to anyone and everyone who has the patience to stick with my terrible sporadic updating.