Thirty-Six

She had helped him to bed later; he was still completely out of it. She wondered if he would take the opportunity to make a pass at her in his confused state but there was nothing. Harry always pretended to be a bit of a player and he'd had his fair share of conquests, but if you got past the innuendos there was something old fashioned and gentlemanly about his behaviour. It was probably why they had never got it together. There was no way he would take advantage of her when she was drunk, and sober they just never seemed to have the timing.

Saturday morning was different. For once Harry was still in bed when she woke up. She didn't have to check on him, as the snoring was obvious testament to his health. She jumped out of bed before she could lay there and remember the words she had whispered to him in the night. Words of love and of wanting him to be the father of her children, even if she was pretending to be Anna. She had said it all out loud. Words were dangerous for the two of them. No wonder they avoided them.

She dressed quickly and left him sleeping. She put the radio on quietly in an attempt to muffle her thoughts and searched through the cupboards to find something that might work as a breakfast accompaniment to a mediocre hangover. She loathed getting drunk alone, so she hadn't had that much, her hangover shouldn't be too hard to shift. She found more coffee and some cereal, which she figured was about the best she could hope for. As she opened the fridge for some milk, she became aware that she was being watched.

She spun round and saw Harry standing in the doorway of his bedroom looking at her. He was leaned against the door jam, one leg crossed in front of the other, and his arms crossed against his chest. He had pulled on some trousers but was still wearing the t-shirt he'd slept in and his hair was liberated from anything constituting a style.

"What?" she asked, aghast?

"You look like you've seen a ghost Nikki. Are you alright?" he asked; the corner of his mouth pulled into his trademark wry smile. "What's the matter? My hair can't be that bad! Are you embarrassed that I caught you dancing to the radio, or that you're stealing my coco pops?"

"I didn't know, you were, you were…..you were home," she stammered.

"Of course, I'm at home, where else would I be? I have a slightly hazy memory over last night's events but I'm pretty sure I was drunk and I am more sure that we shared that bed. How could I not be at home? You daft moo!"

"Sorry," Nikki said, "How's your head? I found the paracetamol."

"Thanks," Harry replied, crossing towards the kitchen counter, with his familiar loping stride, filling a glass with water and swallowing a couple.

"I'm sure it'll improve, I might pass on the coco pops though," he said, standing so close to her side their elbows were touching.

"They taste a bit stale," Nikki complained.

"Well they've probably been there since Niall was here!" Harry laughed.

"Oh!" Nikki said. "They didn't seem like your thing!"

"And what is my thing?" Harry asked.

Nikki stared at him, like a rabbit caught in the headlights, what was he asking? She took the safe option and stuck to talking about breakfast.

"Erm, fruit, yoghurt and muesli?" she suggested.

"You know me so well," Harry replied but she caught a slight look of disappointment in his eyes. Maybe she shouldn't have been talking about cereal.

"You look…..relaxed," Nikki ventured.

"Yes," Harry admitted. "Despite the hangover, I feel….erm more like myself, if that doesn't sound crazy."

"No, Harry, it doesn't sound crazy, it sounds good." She smiled up at him, and held his gaze for as long as she dared, before shyly turning back to her food.

"I'm going to take a shower," Nikki said when she finished her cereal. "I didn't want to disturb you when you were sleeping. She hurried quickly to the bathroom, hoping that Harry didn't notice her trembling.

"Let me know if you need help!" he called.

Nikki shut the bathroom door heavily and locked it. She leaned back against the door, breathing hard.

He was back.

She should be overjoyed; shouldn't she?

There was no doubting it. That was Harry Cunningham, living breathing and making salacious comments, two rooms away, barefooted, hair up on end and in an old t-shirt and yesterday's jeans. And she was more afraid now than ever before. More afraid than when she looked into his eyes on that bus in Budapest, more afraid than when he was playing with the fire, and far more afraid than when he had been shouting at her.

What was she going to do now?

After she couldn't wait any longer without Harry thinking she'd passed out, she stripped off her clothes and climbed into the shower. She hoped to be able to collect her thoughts as she let the fine spray coat her naked body but it only seemed to make things worse.

Harry was back.

The innuendos, the laughs, the horseplay...

She would have to leave. She couldn't share a bed with Harry when he was like that. There would be no way to justify sleeping together to ward off the nightmares not with that thing, that unspoken thing, that there was between them. It had been gone this past month, but now it was back, very definitely back. She turned off the water and dried herself roughly; as if she could shake away the effect he had on her. But she could no more do that than pretend they were just good friends.

"Are you sure you alright in there?" she heard Harry's voice call through to her.

"Harry I'm fine!" she replied and then cursed herself for falling back into her default setting. 'I'm fine' she hated those words really.

She was far from fine. This was all her fault. That sounded familiar. This.. This burst of exuberance, even with a hangover! She had no doubt it had to do with their little tête á tête the night before. And what was going to happen? He'd be like this for a day or two, a week maybe and then the memory of Anna would fade again and he would slip into a depression, blacker and deeper than before and when she could stand it no longer, she would do it again… pretend to be Anna… and he would come back to her. But it wasn't her, he was coming back to. It was Anna. Nikki rubbed her face with the towel, hoping that by drying the tears Harry wouldn't notice she'd been crying. It was all her fault. What was she thinking?

"Nikki!" Harry called again. "I really don't want to ask the neighbours if I can borrow their bathroom, but they think I'm crazy so it probably wouldn't matter… Are you coming out anytime soon?"

Nikki prepared herself, and opened the door. Harry wasn't there.

"It's all yours," she called.

He sauntered in from the kitchen, coffee mug in hand. "Yours is on the counter, thanks," he said, hurrying towards the bathroom.

'If only you knew, you wouldn't thank me then,' Nikki thought sadly and flopped onto the couch with her coffee.

So did it work? I know there are a lot of sceptics out there!