A/N: This show was so underrated, and there were so many threads left tangled at the end. This story is my attempt to unravel some of them, and to celebrate Nico and Chiara, who were awesome.

Rated T for angsty teen swearing and sexual references.

No copyright infringement intended.

Whoa, it's a long way home

And this road it's full of obstacles

It's taken me a little while to see

That you've been by my side this whole time

-Northwest Stories

Nico feels like a fucking idiot.

He leans against the rough stone wall that encloses the large residential complex which has been housing Chiara for nearly a year now, chain smoking, gradually crushing the petals of the flowers he'd purchased on a whim on his way over into a twisted, mangled mess between his fingers.

The guard stationed at the front doors gives him a pitying look. "You can go in, you know," he says, gesturing to the clearly signposted visitors' entrance.

Nico ignores him. He takes a long drag on his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a slow stream and letting his gaze wander over the imposing structure of Chiara's prison. For a glorified detention centre it's pretty posh, probably the nicest money can buy; but no amount of fancy stylings can disguise the bars on the windows, or the CCTV at every corner. It's a dolled up penitentiary, and Nico can't wait to never see it again.

He's become all too familiar with this place over the last nine months. At first he called it pure curiosity, that odd pull he feels to come all the way out here to the very outskirts of Rome, just to see where they have put her. But there's only so many times Nico can stare at the same building over and over before his excuses start to sound like bullshit to his ears.

After that, he tells himself he's visiting as moral support. And it is nice, he admits, the first time he works up the courage to actually go in and see her, to watch the smile light up her face when her eyes meet his. It makes something in his chest constrict, makes him feel like he might finally not be fucking things up for once. He clings to that idea for as long as he possibly can.

But the truth is Chiara is managing just fine on her own. She's always busy when he sees her, studying, gardening, charming her social workers and making new friends with the revolving door of delinquents she's housed with. Each time he visits he sees evidence of the growing warmth and ease in her face, the youthful lightness that's been missing for so long. And he knows she doesn't need him to find her way in the world.

Truth be told, she's never needed him for that.

Still, he keeps driving out here, and now there's really no getting around the reasons for his visits. He isn't curious, he isn't just being there for a friend the way Cami puts it, so matter-of-factly, on the rare occasions it's brought up in conversation. He can't even blame it on boredom, since between study and internships and his parents' determination to keep him on the rails his schedule is full enough to drive him fucking crazy.

No, he's not there for any of the shit reasons he tells other people. He's there because somehow, somewhere between the first kiss he snatched from her in the girl's locker room and watching her walk out of that courtroom into the waiting custody van, he has somehow forgotten how to survive without her.

A sharp buzzing rings out, and the guard shoots him a sardonic look. "Get ready," he says, and Nico scowls at the mockery in his tone. "I think your Cinderella's coming out."

Nico opens his mouth to tell him to fuck off, but there's no time for retorts because the man is right, and he realises with a jolt deep in his gut that he can see Chiara's outline through the frosted glass moving slowly towards the entrance.

He tosses his cigarette; casts a look at the ruined flowers he's all but torn to shreds and tosses them too, stuffing them behind the overflowing garbage bin just as the double front doors swing open and Chiara takes a slow, purposeful step into the open air.

She doesn't notice him straight away, and he takes the opportunity to drink in the sight of her. She looks pale and small, and younger, somehow, than she had when she first entered, which strikes Nico as not making a lot of sense. He watches the smile spread across her face as she tilts her head up to the sky. His own lips stretch in an answering grin.

There's a long moment where the two of them just stand there, Chiara looking at the clouds and Nico looking at her, before the guard mutters something under his breath and the moment breaks. Nico clears his throat, and Chiara's gaze snaps to his, shock and surprise replacing the unadulterated joy that had been there as she finally catches sight of him.

"Nico." He sees more than hears her mouth his name.

He lets his smile soften, and greets her with a tilt of his head, clenching his hands in his pockets to avoid the temptation of doing something stupid, like grabbing the flowers back out the trash just so he has something to do with his hands.

Chiara walks slowly towards him. Her expression is more guarded now, as if she's not quite sure what he's doing there. After all this time, she still doesn't completely trust him. The thought sticks in his chest and he feels the lingering remnants of his smile slip away.

She stops a foot away from him, her gaze tracking over him from head to toe. He tenses under her scrutiny, all the careful things he has rehearsed to say vanishing like mist under the Roman sun.

Instead, he spits out the first thing that comes to mind. "Happy birthday."

She blinks, before a wide smile spreads across her face again. The effect is transformative, and he feels his heart swell a little that he can still make her smile like that, after everything.

"You came," she says, and the next thing he knows she is stepping forward, throwing her arms around him. The full body contact is so sudden and overwhelming that for a moment he can only stand there like an idiot, blinking over the top of her head which is now pressed into his chest.

"Course I did." He manages to get his arms to cooperate and wraps them around her, ducking his head ever so slightly to inhale the scent of her hair before drawing back to look at her properly. "It's not every day you turn 18 and get released from prison at the same time, is it?"

Her eyes blink rapidly, as if she's holding back tears, but she chokes a laugh at him nonetheless. "I told you not to call it that," she scolds without heat, then shakes her head. "What are you doing here, really?"

"It's your birthday."

"It's seven in the morning," she replies, arching an eyebrow at him. "My parents aren't even here yet."

He gives a careless shrug and leans closer to her. "Well, you know me, early riser."

"Is that why I always had to kick you out of bed in the mornings?"

He chokes, because he hadn't been expecting her to bring that up, and for a moment finds himself at a loss as to what to say. Before he can respond properly she is laughing, drawing him back in for another hug, and he lets it drop, tucking the thought – fuck, all those times they were together and he had her naked against him and fuck – away into a corner of his mind for later.

"So how does it feel?" he asks, shaking the memories loose and slinging an arm around her shoulders. "To be free at last."

Seemingly comfortable with his proximity, she threads her fingers briefly through his before twisting to stare up at the sky. "Mm, good." She turns her smile on him, and the dazzling brightness of it blinds him for a moment. "Really good."

"You're a true wordsmith, Chiara."

She elbows him in the ribs, dislodging her from his side. As she dances away the clear bell of her laughter rings out across the early morning stillness, and Nico loses himself for a moment in the sound of it.

Then she's turning back to regard him solemnly, and something about the look in her eyes makes him still.

"I still can't believe you came all this way so early."

He shrugs, not wanting her to read too much into it. "What else have I got to do?"

She hums in thought at this, but doesn't answer. They stroll down the street towards the park without ever actually discussing that that's where they're going. When they reach the corner of the street Nico hesitates.

"So that's it?" he asks Chiara. "You just turn 18 and walk out, no questions asked?"

"Something like that." She grins, a cheeky glint in her eye, and he suddenly finds himself worried that she's not telling him the truth, that he's about to hear sirens and angry shouts as the wardens come rushing out to snatch her away again.

"You are actually free, aren't you?" he asks, ducking his head and lowering his voice as he watches her carefully. He hates that he has to say it, that maybe he doesn't quite trust her.

Her eyes widen, and despite the laugh that bubbles up her chest there's something serious in her eyes when she answers him. "Yes I'm free, Nico. I had to sign about a hundred forms before they let me out this morning." She smacks him on the arm, and he releases the breath he's been holding, letting the tension slide off his shoulders. "What, do you really think I'd do a runner after waiting so long to be allowed to leave?"

"I guess not." He puts his arm back around her and they continue to the park in a companionable silence. Chiara makes a beeline for the swing. Nico watches as she kicks off from the ground, her blonde hair flying behind her, as excited as a ten year old.

It's good to see her happy. For a while he'd worried he might never get the chance to see her this way again. He can vividly remember those long months before everything blew up, watching Chiara shuffle around school with that horrible haunted look on her face, like a ghost attending her own funeral. Like he was watching from a distance while she slowly drowned, and no one but him even noticed.

Shaking the dark thoughts out of his head, he shifts to stand behind her and gives her a push that sends her soaring higher.

She squeals and clutches the arms of the swing for dear life. "Nico!"

He laughs at her reaction, lifting his hands innocently when she twists to shoot him a look over her shoulder. "Don't tell me you're scared of heights, Chiara!"

She sticks her tongue out, then throws her head back, closing her eyes as his next push swings her in a high arc through the air. The rising sun slants across her face, casting her in a golden glow and emphasising the slender arch of her neck. There's a soft smile curving the edges of her mouth, and her cheeks are flushed and glowing.

Nico feels his arms go slack at the sight of her, and the next time she swings past he forgets to push. He wonders, vaguely, if she might be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

He's still staring at her when her eyes open. Panic floods him at the thought that she's caught him with his guard down, and he looks away, hating to think what might have been showing on his face. He winces when he hears the crunch of gravel as she brings herself to a halt.

"Nico?"

He inhales deeply. "So what's the plan now?" he asks, in a transparent attempt to distract her. "You going home with your parents, or what?"

Chiara frowns, and her face takes on a pensive look, as if she's contemplating this for the first time. When she turns to him her eyes are wide and earnest. "I don't know if I can go back there," she says softly. "After everything that's happened, I don't know if I can just… go back."

He nods, because he gets it. Parioli is a bubble at the best of times and Chiara – well, she's long since stepped out of it. Besides – "There's fuck all to go back to anyway," he says, attempting to keep his tone light because he can see that haunted look creeping back into her eyes. "Unless you want to watch Brando and Fabio make out constantly, or listen to Cami stress about her exams."

At the mention of Cami he sees a flash of pain in Chiara's eyes, and bites his tongue. He's not sure where the two of them stand – Cami doesn't talk to him about Chiara, and he's not stupid enough to ask – but he can tell things are still tense with his sister. He wracks his brain for another person to talk about, but the only ones he can think of are somehow even worse.

Unfortunately, he seems to be an open book when it comes to Chiara. He knows she can follow the direction of his thoughts, and she's asking before he can think of a way to redirect her. "And… Damiano?" she says his name with a false lightness that doesn't fool him for a minute. "How's he doing?"

Nico chews his tongue. The truth is he hardly ever sees Younes anymore, not since school finished and their paths inevitably diverged. He knows he's picked up some new chick, and they're apparently going steady. Knows he's living with Monica, which is part of the reason he's never made more of an effort to reach out. He knows the word around town is he hasn't visited Chiara once, and that the thought of that makes Nico angry enough to want to punch something.

"Okay, I think," he shrugs half-heartedly. It's not a good effort, and the tightness that comes over Chiara's face in response is proof he should have tried harder. "I don't see him much, to be honest."

"Oh." Her gaze is remote, filled with memories. He's desperate to draw her back in.

"So if you don't come back to Parioli, where will you go?"

She blinks and refocuses. "I don't know. I guess… anywhere." It almost sounds like a question, and when she looks at him he can see the uncertainty in her gaze. "What about you?" she goes on before he can comment. "What are you planning on doing?"

He shifts his shoulders restlessly. "My father wants me in the family business," he says, not bothering to hide the contempt in his tone. "He's thinking of sending me to Milan, to go work for my uncle and get out of the city for a bit. But that's – " he cuts himself off abruptly, because Chiara is suddenly looking at him in bewilderment. "What?"

"Milan?" she echoes, her voice thin and fragile. "You mean you're leaving?"

Now it's his turn to stare, because he doesn't expect her to react like that. Like the thought of him not being around is devastating. Like she actually cares. He doesn't expect her to react that way because she never has before.

"What? Chiara, no, it's just - just an idea." He can't help reaching out to touch her, the briefest brush of his hand cupping the side of her face, thumb tracing the edge of her jaw before he lets it fall away. "Just a stupid idea."

"Oh." Her cheeks are flushed, like she's embarrassed by her reaction. She fidgets and runs a hand over her forearm restlessly. "Oh, well – it just feels like everyone's leaving these days," she says hurriedly, the words tripping over themselves. "Dad, Ludo, Damiano, now you." Her eyes cut to him for a brief moment before darting away. "I guess that's what happens when you fuck up your entire life."

He frowns at that, and takes her hands, turning so that her palms are face up in his. "You haven't fucked up your life, Chiara," he says firmly, ducking his head so he can pin her gaze to his. He's so close he can hear the soft huff of her disbelief in his ear. "And I just told you I'm not going anywhere."

"Right." She smiles thinly, her fingers twisting in his. They're standing absurdly close now, noses almost touching. Nico's sure that to anyone walking past they must look like a couple of carefree young lovers, seconds away from kissing.

He draws back a little. "When are your parents getting here?" he asks, casting a furtive glance around the park to confirm they're still alone.

Chiara shrugs. She's still holding onto his hands, fingers twisted in his so he can't pull away. He can feel her restless energy course up his arm like an electric current.

"What's is it?" he asks.

"Nothing, just – " she lifts her chin, blue eyes bright with defiance. "Are you only here because you feel sorry for me?"

He stares at her, dumbfounded. When he doesn't immediately answer, she yanks her hands from his grasp and steps back a few paces. "Well?" she demands. "Are you?"

"Why are you asking me that?"

"Answer the question, Nico!"

"Fucking hell, calm down would you?" He exhales sharply and shoves his hands in his pockets. "I'm here because I give a shit." He pauses, breathing hard, and his next words come out softer than he intends them to. "Is that so hard to believe?"

She flinches, and turns away. He watches the emotions flicker across her face, trying to understand what she is thinking, what she wants from him. But he's never had much luck reading her, and now is no exception.

"You don't need to keep beating yourself up about what happened between us," she says, her voice tight, eyes fixed on a spot in the distance. "We screwed around, Nico, that's it. You don't owe me anything because of it."

He sucks his teeth. He wants to tell her she's wrong, that there was more to it than that, but the hard truth is she's right. They had just screwed around. He'd treated her like she was nothing, and that's how she came to see their relationship, to see him. It's too late now to start telling her how much more it meant than that.

"I'm not here because I think I owe you," he says, reaching out to touch her shoulder and draw her focus back to him. "Whatever happened, happened. But it's not why I came to see you today."

"Then why? Why are you here?" There's a glassy quality to her eyes that belies the defiance in her voice. "Why do you keep coming, when no one else does? Not Cami, not Damiano, not Ludo, not even my parents." She lets out a long breath and hangs her head, her voice dropping so low he has to lean close again to catch it. "You're the only one who's still here, even after – after everything, and I don't know why."

Nico stares at her, contemplating his answer. He wants to find the right words, to explain it to her so she'll believe him. He wants to tell her that if anyone has a debt to pay, it's him to her. For calling him out on his bullshit, for holding up a mirror to his selfishness when no one else ever dared to. For showing him it's possible to fuck up and still keep trying to be better every day.

He wants to tell her that he gets it, the lust, the power that comes with the illusion of having control. That he knows how easy it is to fall into something bigger and darker than you could ever have thought possible and not know how to climb back out. That he's done shit he's ashamed of just like she has. Things he's never told anyone.

But more than that, he wants to tell her that he comes here because she's the most beautiful thing in his life and has been for as long as he can remember.

Nico swallows thickly. He takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. Wets his lips. Rakes a gaze over her expectant face. Fuck, just tell her. "Chiara," he begins, lifting his spare hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Listen, I – "

A car horn splits the air. Chiara jumps away from him as if scalded, and Nico looks up with a scowl, his eyes alighting on the silver Mercedes belonging to Arturo Altieri that has just pulled up at the entrance to the park. Cursing under his breath, he takes a step back and shoves his hands in his pockets, surreptitiously wiping the uncharacteristic sweat from his palms.

"Dad!" Chiara's face has lit up like a beacon, and she promptly sprints towards her father, who barely has time to get out of the car before his daughter is throwing herself into his arms with enough force to send him stumbling backwards. Nico averts his eyes, suddenly acutely aware that he is intruding. His fingers itch for a cigarette, but he doesn't want to smoke in front of Chiara's dad, so instead he just stands there stupidly, rocking from foot to foot and marvelling at how quickly the moment had slipped through his fingers.

Congratulations, you fucked it up again.

Before he can think of a way to slip away Chiara is dragging her dad over to where he's standing, her smile breathless and earnest. The other man's eyes are appraising, but he doesn't comment on Nico's strange presence in this out of the way park at 7.30 on a Saturday morning, just reaches forward and shakes his hand with a smile.

"Niccolò, how are you son? How's your father?"

"We're both good, sir."

Chiara's dad waves a hand at him. "Please, no sir. You make me feel like I'm a hundred."

"You are getting pretty old now dad," Chiara teases, plucking at a grey hair on her dad's head.

"Old?" He casts them both a wounded look and puffs his chest out somewhat absurdly. "I'll have you know I'm in the best shape of my life. Even Francesca says so."

Nico frowns at the unfamiliar name, but the way Chiara's face falls gives him a pretty good idea who she might be. Her dad catches his daughter's reaction too, and coughs, looking about as awkward as Nico feels.

"You'll meet her soon," he says in a much quieter voice, and Chiara gives him a thin, insincere smile.

"Can't wait."

There's a painful silence, before Arturo claps his hands together in an obvious attempt to break the tension. "Well, shall we go? I told your mum we'd meet her for breakfast at eight. Where's your stuff?"

"Back at the centre," Chiara says, looking at Nico like she wants to say something. He stares back, trying to decipher her expression to no avail.

"I should get going," he says, and she nods.

Chiara's dad seems to finally realise that he might have interrupted something. He frowns in confusion at the two of them for a long minute, before saying, "Do you, uh, want to come to breakfast with us, Niccolò? I'm sure Elsa won't mind."

Nico is pretty sure Elsa will absolutely mind, but he doesn't bother saying that. He keeps his eyes on Chiara when he speaks. "That's alright, Mr Altieri. I need to be heading off anyway. But thanks."

"Uh, sure, no worries." Chiara's father continues to glance between them in a way that is becoming increasingly unsubtle. "I'll just, uh, go and pick up your stuff then, Chiara."

Chiara nods vaguely, as if she's barely listening. She waits until her dad is out of earshot, then takes a step towards Nico. "I'm sorry," she says. "You were about to say something."'

He shrugs. "It doesn't matter."

She looks as though she wants to argue, but he cuts her off with a nudge of his thumb against her chin. "We'll catch up soon, all right?"

"All right."

He turns to go, but her voice calls him back at the last moment. "Nico?"

He stops and looks at her, his hands buried in his pockets. Against his fingers he can feel a single crumpled petal from the flowers he'd abandoned behind the trash. "Yeah?"

Chiara gives him a soft smile, her blue eyes pinning him to the spot. "Thanks for coming today."

He smiles crookedly at her. "Happy birthday, Chiara," he says, then turns and walks away, his chest full of all the things he hadn't found a way to say.

.

A/N: If you've made it this far, I'd love to hear your thoughts, and bond over the awesomeness that was this show. Much love 3