We're not going to talk about how long it's been since I wrote fanfiction, never mind Silent Witness fanfiction...
For Ann, welcome to the Harry Cunningham Deserves the World Society 3
"Oh…" He sounds dejected, reading whatever text has just come through to his phone. You think nothing of it to begin with - maybe his mother has cancelled the dinner plans they had, or maybe Niall didn't get the exam results he was hoping for (you know he's kept in contact with the boy, you have too) - but his next words are the ones you've been dreading him saying to you ever since he moved in a week ago. "I can get into my flat tomorrow. They can seal off the damaged bit, and repair it."
You knew it was coming. You knew him moving in with you was only temporary, and that eventually his place would be repaired, and he'd be able to move back in. But he had said his flat had blown up, so you were expecting him to be living with you for a month, maybe more. Certainly longer than a week. It should scare you how you've grown so used to him being there in the short amount of time he's been staying with you. But it doesn't. It's a comfort in a way, knowing that you have someone there at home. Someone who understands you, and the work you do, and how it makes you feel sometimes. Nothing has ever felt more natural than going home with him at the end of each day this week; than cooking dinner together or grabbing a takeaway on your way home, if you're both too exhausted to cook; than spending the evening curled into his side as you watch TV or a film, until one of you can't keep your eyes open. And you long for that feeling to continue. You long to go home with him, or to him every night. You long for you both to crawl into the same bed every night, not separate beds. It's taken everything in you this last week not drag him into your room with you every night, or to not follow him into the spare room and crawl in beside him every night.
"Great news." You don't mean it. Harry being able to move out is anything but great news. But you can't tell him that. It's not what you do. So much has happened between you. You've come so close, so many times to stepping over that line, but something has always stopped one of you from taking that final step. An ex-girlfriend turning up dead, or a helicopter crashing and putting a stop to a date that wasn't a date (at the time at least; you stopped denying to yourself long ago that it wasn't a date). But no matter what's happened between you, no matter how close either of you have come to crossing that line, neither of you have ever spoken about it. And you think that's your downfall. That's why you're still here pining after your best friend. You're not sure what his excuse is. More than anything you hope that he's just scared like you are. Scared that saying anything about how you feel about him will ruin what you have, and you'll lose the one person you need in your life more than anything. You're not quite sure what you'd do if it turns out he doesn't feel the same way you do. If he doesn't love you the way you love him. So you keep quiet, and say nothing. Because if he doesn't know, he can't let you down and leave you just like everyone else has.
"Yeah, be out of your hair." He responds, sounding just as low as he had when he first received the text.
The tone of his voice makes you pause for a second. He doesn't sound too happy about his flat being ready for him to move back in to. But then you could easily be imagining it. Right? It's been a long week, and a difficult case. You've not been sleeping well either, knowing he's just meters away with only a thin wall separating you.
"Stay." You're not quite sure where you find the courage to utter the one word that's been stuck at the back of your throat all week. If he hadn't stopped so abruptly and turned to face you you would have wondered if you had said it at all.
He takes a second to just stand and look at you, his eyes roaming over your face before catching your eye. You've never been uncomfortable under his stare, but you can't help but let a little uncertainty creep it's way in this time. It is, after all, possible you've just ruined 10 years of friendship and that he's never going to want to speak to you again.
Your mind is too busy running through all the ways in which he could let you down - all the ways in which he could tell you that he's sorry but he doesn't feel the same, and maybe it's for the best if you take a step back from each other for a while - that you almost miss his small smirk and the muttered "Okay."
On your way out of the lab, Harry tells you he's going to cook for you tonight. You try to protest, try to tell him that he doesn't need to; that you can just grab a takeaway on the way home again, or grab one of the frozen leftovers you keep in the freezer for nights like this. He ignores every protest you make, snatching the car keys from you as you approach the car. You glare at him, too tired to argue. It's not worth the effort when he's in the mood he's in right now.
When you arrive home, you've barely dropped your things at the foot of the stairs - you'll pick them up later, knowing full well that 'later' means in the morning - before Harry is handing you a glass of white wine and pushing you into the living room with orders to relax. He's not the quietest cook you discover that evening, more than once you've winced slightly when you've heard a particularly loud crash or heard him hissing in pain. More than once you've called out asking if he's okay and if he needs help. You just get replies of "I'm alright." and "No, don't come in here!" You give up and move back to the living room when he threatens to cut the strings on your cello. You know he'd never really do such a thing, but you're not willing to take the chance.
Surprisingly the dinner he cooks for you is not just edible, but really quite delicious. You're not quite sure what you were expecting from the sounds coming out of the kitchen as he cooked, but it certainly wasn't this.
Conversation over dinner flows as it has every other night, easily and effortlessly, as it always does between you. Pushing your plate away from you slightly when you finish, you thank him for cooking dinner, and tell him he didn't need to. He tells you that there is every need, that you deserve it after having to put up with him for a week. For wanting to put up with him for longer.
There's no discussion when you both decide to head to bed about the fact that tonight - and hopefully every night from now on - he'll be sleeping beside you in your bed, rather than alone in the spare room. He simply grabs his pyjamas and toiletries from his room, before following you into yours. You get ready for bed in silence, no words needed as you move around each other in a dance you've never done before, but one that feels natural and familiar. One you long to do every night for the rest of your life.
You gravitate towards each other when you climb under the covers, wrapping yourselves around the other like it's something you do every night. Your back is turned to him, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you into him as much as he can. He leans over and presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck, as he turns the bedside light out and plunges you both into darkness.
"Night." You're able to whisper it this time, because tonight he's right beside you, and not on the other side of the wall. Tonight he's wrapped around you, and neither of you are in separate beds, wishing you were sleeping right beside the other.
"Goodnight." He whispers back.