Time passed, but Harry wasn't sure how long. The world outside the ICU had faded into insignificance. He'd barely moved from his chair since the moment they wheeled Nikki out of surgery. The steady beeping of the monitors was the only indication that life still lingered in her frail body.

Leo had stayed for a while, offering quiet reassurances, but Harry could tell he was exhausted. Eventually, with a squeeze of Harry's shoulder, he had muttered something about needing air and disappeared into the corridor. Harry suspected he wouldn't go far.

Now, alone with her, Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His fingers clasped together so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. The words had been forming in his mind for hours, but only now did he dare to say them aloud.

"Don't go, please—for once, listen to me." His voice was barely above a whisper. "If you wanted to go back to South Africa, I would have let you. No, I wouldn't have been happy about it, but I would have let you go if you thought that was what you had to do to sort all this out. I would have let you go because I know that in a few weeks, you would realise what you'd left behind—or remember why you left South Africa all those years ago. Failing that, I would have jumped on a plane and come to fetch you back. You wouldn't like it, but I'm pretty sure I could find a way to persuade you. I'd even part with my desk if I had to, just to have you sitting there berating me for my slackness each morning."

A quiet chuckle escaped him, the absurdity of the thought briefly lifting the weight pressing on his chest. But as soon as he realised he was laughing alone, the moment soured. He swallowed hard.

"But where you're leaving to now…" His voice broke. He took a shaky breath, rubbing a hand across his face. "I don't think I can find a flight. I don't think I can come and get you, Niks."

A whisper broke the silence behind him.

"Harry."

He turned away from Nikki to see Wednesbury cautiously approaching, his usual gruffness softened by something unreadable in his expression.

"Leo said you were still here."

Harry nodded, looking back at Nikki, at the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, at the screen displaying the fragile proof that she was still with them.

"I'll leave you to it." Wednesbury turned to go.

"No, wait."

Harry exhaled, pressing a hand over his mouth for a second before shaking his head. He needed the distraction.

Wednesbury hesitated, then stepped closer. "Leo's just outside. He's trying to contact her father."

Harry let out a humourless breath. "She's going to love him for that."

"I'm guessing there's quite a bit of history there then."

Harry gave him a sideways glance. "You could say that. Let's just leave it at a 'difficult relationship' level, shall we?"

Wednesbury huffed a quiet laugh. "We all have those."

"Not to the extremes that Nikki and her father go in for."

Wednesbury didn't press for details. Instead, he settled into the chair beside Harry, silent but present. For once, Harry was grateful for the company.

There didn't seem to be any need for conversation between them. Wednesbury hadn't made any effort to break the silence. He just sat, his posture stiff, his eyes occasionally flicking to the doorway—always on watch, as though he too was waiting for something he couldn't control. The low hum of the hospital, the beeping of the monitors, the soft shuffle of nurses' feet—it all seemed distant, muffled in the corners of Harry's mind as he sat beside Nikki's bed.

Harry, meanwhile, was lost in his own thoughts, watching the stillness of the room, his gaze drawn to Wednesbury's quiet presence. He knew now how familiar this situation would have been to the man beside him. The unrelenting hours, the weight of waiting, the knowledge that something was slipping away just beyond reach. Harry could see the flicker of something behind Wednesbury's stoic façade, a reflection of his own silent battles with loss.

He wondered how much of his brother's memory lingered in Wednesbury's mind—the nights spent by a hospital bedside, waiting for something that could never come. The constant sense of helplessness that had to become part of the man's very bones. It was clear that this moment, however much he tried to bury it, echoed with memories Wednesbury couldn't escape.

There was a subtle shift in Wednesbury's body language—a slight loosening of his tie. Harry's gaze flicked to it, catching the movement before Wednesbury tucked the tie back under his jumper, as though trying to hide the vibrant yellow fabric. Harry hadn't noticed it before—its brightness hidden beneath the dark wool, something that seemed to clash with the more serious tone of the room. But now, as Wednesbury made the subtle adjustment, Harry's attention was drawn to the unusual choice.

"Didn't know you were a fan of bold fashion choices, Wednesbury," Harry remarked with a wry smile.

Wednesbury's gaze briefly flicked to him before he gave a small, almost reluctant smile. "It's not exactly my style, is it?" He looked down at the tie, the pattern of dancing penguins barely visible now that it was tucked beneath his jumper. "It's a gift from my nephew."

"A gift?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "You didn't choose it yourself?"

"No," Wednesbury admitted with a slight chuckle, his voice softening a little. "I didn't. He picked it out for me. Said it was 'cool.' Didn't want to let him down, you know?"

Wednesbury's eyes softened as he spoke again, more quietly now. "I see a bit of my brother in him. In my nephew, I mean." He paused, his expression clouding for a moment. "My brother would've loved to see me wear this tie, I think he would have approved of Henry's choice." He let out a small, almost sad laugh. "He would've mocked it, of course. Said I was 'too damn serious' all the time."

"Do you see him often?" Harry found himself asking.

"I was meant to be having dinner with them tonight... My sister-in-law, my nephew. We were all set to spend some time together. Harry absorbed the words, watching as Wednesbury fell silent for a moment, lost in thought. There was something deeper there, some unspoken pain tied to the loss of his brother, something that lingered in the stillness between them.

But then Harry spoke, his voice low and filled with curiosity. "Then why did you stay?"

Wednesbury's gaze flicked to him again, his face hardening for a moment before he answered, his voice almost reluctant. "Because I could see myself in you, Harry. I could see that you were about to make the same mistake I did." He let the words hang in the air for a moment, as though weighing the truth of them. "You're not alone in this. I didn't want you to go through it the way I did."

Harry was quiet for a long moment, absorbing the weight of Wednesbury's words. He knew what Wednesbury was referring to—he'd seen it in the man's eyes earlier, the way he stayed, the way he hadn't let himself leave even though it would've been easier. There was a quiet kind of understanding there, something Harry had never asked for but found himself grateful for.

Finally, Harry met his gaze and, in a softer voice than usual, said, "Thank you."

Wednesbury gave a brief nod, his expression unreadable. "You're welcome." He looked away, focusing on the door again, his posture stiffening once more as if he were back in the role of watchful protector. But there was something different in his stance now—perhaps a subtle easing of the burden he'd been carrying, or maybe it was just the weight of knowing that someone else understood, even if only a little.

The room settled back into its familiar quiet, the only sounds the gentle beeping of machines and the distant murmur of the hospital. Yet, in that silence, Harry knew the unspoken bond between them had deepened, even if just for a moment.

The hours seem to blend into one another, Wednesbury had left and Leo had returned. The steady beeping of the monitors continued to fill the room, monotonous, a quiet rhythm against the weight of silence. Nikki still lay pale against the hospital sheets, unmoving except for the slow rise and fall of her chest. But now another man stood over her.

At the doorway, Leo lingered, his arms crossed as he watched the figure at the foot of her bed. He had seen enough in his career to recognise avoidance when he saw it.

Victor Alexander didn't show any inclination tomove any closer. His posture was stiff, hands buried in the pockets of an expensive coat, his gaze fixed on his daughter. But he kept his distance, as though stepping too close might make this real.

Harry still sat beside Nikki, his fingers loosely curled around her hand, but his attention had shifted to Victor the moment he walked in. The seconds stretched between them, thick with tension.

"Where were you?" Harry's voice abruptly cut through the quiet, low and edged with restrained fury. "Where were you when she was depressed? When she was kidnapped? When she needed someone to talk some sense into her?"

Victor didn't answer immediately. His face barely shifted, but Leo caught the slight tightening of his jaw.

"Depressed? Kidnapped?" He repeated the words like they were foreign to him.

Harry let out a sharp breath. "You didn't know?" He gave a humourless laugh, shaking his head. "Of course you didn't. She didn't tell you."

Victor's gaze flickered to Nikki, his expression unreadable. "No, she wouldn't have."

"You blew your second chance." Harry's voice was steel now. "And your third. Why are you even here?"

Victor didn't answer. He simply exhaled, cast one last glance at his daughter, and turned away.

Leo stepped aside as Victor passed him at the door, but he didn't follow. Not yet.

Instead, he watched.

Victor didn't walk straight out. He stopped just outside the room, standing motionless in the corridor, staring at the floor as if gathering himself.

For a moment, Leo thought he might turn back. That he might find the words that had failed him inside the room.

But then, with a slight shake of his head, Victor set his jaw and kept walking.

Leo sighed and followed.

By the time Victor reached the car park, his pace had quickened, as if leaving the hospital would let him outrun everything that had just happened. The black cab was already waiting, engine idling.

Leo caught up as Victor reached for the door.

"You think you can just walk away from this?"

Victor barely glanced at him. "I'm going to leave now."

He lowered himself onto the seat, reaching for the door, but Leo stepped forward and caught it before it could close.

"You need to be here." Leo's voice was calm but firm. "This may be your last chance."

Victor didn't try to pull the door from him this time. He just sat there, staring ahead.

"She doesn't need me. She doesn't want me."

Leo clenched his jaw. "And you believe that?"

Victor exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on his knee. "She gave up on me years ago." His voice was quieter now, the controlled detachment starting to waver. "It's better that I keep my distance. Then maybe she won't have to pretend she still needs me."

Leo swallowed hard. "You're her father."

Victor turned to him now, his expression unreadable. "I'm no longer her father. I'm not sure I ever was."

With that, he pulled the door from Leo's grasp and shut it firmly.

Leo could only watch as the cab pulled away, merging into the city traffic.

And just before it disappeared, he murmured to himself, too late for the man to hear—

"Then why does she fall apart every time you walk away?"