Just Hold On, Maybe Forever
The third installment following In Perfect Silence & That Espresso Soaked Morning.
This one is complete flangst.
Under the cut.
The worst case of your life almost breaks all three of you barely two months after you the beginning of you and Harry.
Someone walks into a primary school and shoots ten children under ten, and someone gets away without anyone seeing his face. You (and Harry and Leo) slave over post-mortems for a week, try desperately to avoid conversations with distraught parents, find excuses not to talk about it to one another.
The first night, you give him a quick kiss on the cheek as you leave and say you have the early shift in the morning, you need to get some sleep.
He's standing over Natasha Reynolds, eight years old, so he gives you no reponse.
Over Chloe Bridge, five years old and Tommy Baker, just turned ten, he tells you he's visiting his mother that night, he'll see you in the morning.
When the news comes that Sophie Clark, seven next Thursday, died of her injuries in the hospital, you mutter hardly anything more than a goodbye as you leave the morgue, wanting nothing but solace to cry in.
You're not ready to shoulder this shared pain.
***
With all the post-mortems done and the case hanging in the air, you mention nothing, and wish he won't either. Leo and Janet fuss all the more so over their two month old son, Jack, and you and Harry stand at opposite ends of a great nothing, neither of you brave enough to cross the gap.
There's someone in custody, and he's screaming at you because you both know there's no evidence to link this man to the shooting, and yet there's something in his eyes you can both see that tells you he did it. He's screaming at you because really he wants to be screaming at himself, furious that his science has failed him, failed those children, and you take everything he says, cruel as it can be.
Something he says - you think he mentions your father - touches a nerve, and suddenly you're screaming back at him, and everything's pouring out, the floodgates opened.
"Where have you been, these last few days, Harry?"
"What?"
"It's not just difficult for you... it's difficult for all of us... it's not just your job to set this ri-"
"I never said-"
"Shut the hell up, and listen to me! You've been selfish and self absorbed all week... have you even noticed how it's affecting Leo? Have you even asked me if I'm ok?"
He spins on you, eyes blazing, spitting fire. "You're accusing me of being selfish - you think you're right, Nikki, always, and you're not... and sometimes there are things I don't have to talk to you about and-"
You find yourself choking on your own words, your breathing becoming shallow and difficult, your eyes starting to water. You don't want to break down like this, you don't want to crack, and you know the pair of you are just wound so tightly you need a release, you're being petty and antagonistic and as -cruel- as possible, but it's the only thing you know.
"You should have been there for me." you find yourself saying, tears streaming down your cheeks, although you know you should have been there for him, too.
He stares at you, ice in his eyes for moments, and then he crosses the room to where you are sat, and without giving you the space to climb out of your chair, wraps his arms around you.
You bury your head in his stomach, and you're shaking with sobs in synchronicity with his. His hands tangle almost painfully in your hair and he holds your head against his body as he shakes, as you both shudder.
He holds you, wordlessly, for more than an hour.
***
Drained and broken, or at least so you think, the pair of you eventually make it home, back to Harry's, and you sink into the sofa as he pours you both generous measures of whisky.
You've never liked whisky, but the burn through your throat is sadistically comforting right now. Harry sits down next to you and wraps his long, rough fingers through your small, smooth ones, and you lay your head simply on his shoulder, swallowing with relief as the smell of him washes over you again and something settles back into place.
He turns his head briefly to brush his lips against your hair, and you turn and wrap your arms around his torso, laying your head flat on his chest.
"I think we had our first fight." he breathes, like he doesn't want to break the silence.
"Harry... we've been fighting since we met..."
His free hand runs fingers lightly through your hair. "This was the first time I thought I might lose the woman I love."
You swallow, and you wonder how many of those whiskys he's sneaked whilst you'd been blinking. You want to reciprocate somehow, you want to say something that means something, but everything sticks in your throat.
"Same." is all you manage to choke out, and Harry laughs.
"What?" you're frowning, wondering why his eyes are suddenly full of mirth, looking down at you.
He raises his eyebrows, "You're worried about losing the woman you love?" he asks, laughter in his voice, and you're forced to give him a surrendering smile, and settle your head back onto his chest, twining your fingers through and through his.
"Ok... you." You breathe, wondering, quite honestly, cliche or not, whether you're going to wake up from this dream sooner rather than later, "I love you."
"Ditto." he whispers, making you smile.
That's when you consider the possibility that Harry Cunningham might love you.
***
The next morning, Saturday morning, you lay in bed tracing circles on his skin with your index finger for what seems like hours, until he reaches up and tucks a blonde curl behind your ear, a sad smile on his face.
"I'm listening." he whispers so low you can hardly hear it, and somehow you know what he means.
"I can't stop thinking about them." you whisper, your voice shaking, "I can't stop seeing their little faces when I close my eyes, I can't stop seeing their parents, crying..."
He notices the two tears that fall onto the pillow beneath you and wraps you tightly in his arms.
"I can't help... it's so hopeless, Harry... the whole world just seems so hopeless..."
Sobs escape slowly, and then with increasing tempo, until you're crying so hard in his arms, and he's holding you so tightly to his chest, gritting his own teeth and fighting down his emotion.
"Don't cry..." he chokes in your ear.
That's when you know that Harry Cunningham loves you.
***
"Makes you wonder if anything's worth it, doesn't it?" he murmurs to you as you walk, hand in hand, in the direction of Leo's house. You squeeze his fingers between yours, knowing this is all he's able to offer up.
"It's always worth it. All of it." you say with a conviction you didn't know you had in you, and half an hour, when you're bouncing baby Jack on your knee and Harry it sat back in the chair beside you, his hand resting lightly on your knee, a constant reminder.
That someone loves you.
***
"I'm going to the memorial." he says one morning, and you thank God, because you hadn't wanted to go alone.
You don't wear black - the children's parents' have asked you all not to - and you take one of the balloons they're offering at the door to hold. It's bright red, and you feel nauseous as you see the red blossom stain on the white school shirt of Daniel Wheeler, nine last Wednesday.
Harry seems to notice you paling, and he wraps an arm tightly around your shoulders, pulling you in, holding you steady. You can hear his heartbeat.
Leo's at the opposite side of the room, and he offers you both a small smile. You hadn't realised he would be here, too.
Harry's eyes are red when you look up, at the end, and you stand together as you all release the balloons and someone reads a poem you can't hardly understand the words to through the roaring of pain in your ears.
And when he whispers, "I love you." it's the best kind of comfort.
***
The timing couldn't be more impeccable - you're four days late when you realise, the children and the case having made you lose track of time.
You spend two days thinking about how to tell Harry, and then it's a false alarm.
You lock yourself in a toilet at work and cry, and you're not even sure why.
You're terrified, terrified of the thought of bringing a child into a world that could do something like that, terrified that you'd become attached to a thought for 48 hours, but most of all terrified that you can look into the future now, and you think you can see Harry there, always.
To put it bluntly, that scares you shitless.
***
Leo and Janet make you Jack's godmother, and Harry godfather, and you stand at an altar, in a strange, unfamiliar church, and you promise to be there for the tiny dark haired little boy - and that's frightening enough.
But afterwards you walk through the churchyard behind Janet and Leo, with Harry by your side, and you notice a balloon floating through the air somewhere in the distance.
"We're going to be okay." you whisper to Harry, and he takes hold of your hand.
This one is complete flangst.
Under the cut.
The worst case of your life almost breaks all three of you barely two months after you the beginning of you and Harry.
Someone walks into a primary school and shoots ten children under ten, and someone gets away without anyone seeing his face. You (and Harry and Leo) slave over post-mortems for a week, try desperately to avoid conversations with distraught parents, find excuses not to talk about it to one another.
The first night, you give him a quick kiss on the cheek as you leave and say you have the early shift in the morning, you need to get some sleep.
He's standing over Natasha Reynolds, eight years old, so he gives you no reponse.
Over Chloe Bridge, five years old and Tommy Baker, just turned ten, he tells you he's visiting his mother that night, he'll see you in the morning.
When the news comes that Sophie Clark, seven next Thursday, died of her injuries in the hospital, you mutter hardly anything more than a goodbye as you leave the morgue, wanting nothing but solace to cry in.
You're not ready to shoulder this shared pain.
***
With all the post-mortems done and the case hanging in the air, you mention nothing, and wish he won't either. Leo and Janet fuss all the more so over their two month old son, Jack, and you and Harry stand at opposite ends of a great nothing, neither of you brave enough to cross the gap.
There's someone in custody, and he's screaming at you because you both know there's no evidence to link this man to the shooting, and yet there's something in his eyes you can both see that tells you he did it. He's screaming at you because really he wants to be screaming at himself, furious that his science has failed him, failed those children, and you take everything he says, cruel as it can be.
Something he says - you think he mentions your father - touches a nerve, and suddenly you're screaming back at him, and everything's pouring out, the floodgates opened.
"Where have you been, these last few days, Harry?"
"What?"
"It's not just difficult for you... it's difficult for all of us... it's not just your job to set this ri-"
"I never said-"
"Shut the hell up, and listen to me! You've been selfish and self absorbed all week... have you even noticed how it's affecting Leo? Have you even asked me if I'm ok?"
He spins on you, eyes blazing, spitting fire. "You're accusing me of being selfish - you think you're right, Nikki, always, and you're not... and sometimes there are things I don't have to talk to you about and-"
You find yourself choking on your own words, your breathing becoming shallow and difficult, your eyes starting to water. You don't want to break down like this, you don't want to crack, and you know the pair of you are just wound so tightly you need a release, you're being petty and antagonistic and as -cruel- as possible, but it's the only thing you know.
"You should have been there for me." you find yourself saying, tears streaming down your cheeks, although you know you should have been there for him, too.
He stares at you, ice in his eyes for moments, and then he crosses the room to where you are sat, and without giving you the space to climb out of your chair, wraps his arms around you.
You bury your head in his stomach, and you're shaking with sobs in synchronicity with his. His hands tangle almost painfully in your hair and he holds your head against his body as he shakes, as you both shudder.
He holds you, wordlessly, for more than an hour.
***
Drained and broken, or at least so you think, the pair of you eventually make it home, back to Harry's, and you sink into the sofa as he pours you both generous measures of whisky.
You've never liked whisky, but the burn through your throat is sadistically comforting right now. Harry sits down next to you and wraps his long, rough fingers through your small, smooth ones, and you lay your head simply on his shoulder, swallowing with relief as the smell of him washes over you again and something settles back into place.
He turns his head briefly to brush his lips against your hair, and you turn and wrap your arms around his torso, laying your head flat on his chest.
"I think we had our first fight." he breathes, like he doesn't want to break the silence.
"Harry... we've been fighting since we met..."
His free hand runs fingers lightly through your hair. "This was the first time I thought I might lose the woman I love."
You swallow, and you wonder how many of those whiskys he's sneaked whilst you'd been blinking. You want to reciprocate somehow, you want to say something that means something, but everything sticks in your throat.
"Same." is all you manage to choke out, and Harry laughs.
"What?" you're frowning, wondering why his eyes are suddenly full of mirth, looking down at you.
He raises his eyebrows, "You're worried about losing the woman you love?" he asks, laughter in his voice, and you're forced to give him a surrendering smile, and settle your head back onto his chest, twining your fingers through and through his.
"Ok... you." You breathe, wondering, quite honestly, cliche or not, whether you're going to wake up from this dream sooner rather than later, "I love you."
"Ditto." he whispers, making you smile.
That's when you consider the possibility that Harry Cunningham might love you.
***
The next morning, Saturday morning, you lay in bed tracing circles on his skin with your index finger for what seems like hours, until he reaches up and tucks a blonde curl behind your ear, a sad smile on his face.
"I'm listening." he whispers so low you can hardly hear it, and somehow you know what he means.
"I can't stop thinking about them." you whisper, your voice shaking, "I can't stop seeing their little faces when I close my eyes, I can't stop seeing their parents, crying..."
He notices the two tears that fall onto the pillow beneath you and wraps you tightly in his arms.
"I can't help... it's so hopeless, Harry... the whole world just seems so hopeless..."
Sobs escape slowly, and then with increasing tempo, until you're crying so hard in his arms, and he's holding you so tightly to his chest, gritting his own teeth and fighting down his emotion.
"Don't cry..." he chokes in your ear.
That's when you know that Harry Cunningham loves you.
***
"Makes you wonder if anything's worth it, doesn't it?" he murmurs to you as you walk, hand in hand, in the direction of Leo's house. You squeeze his fingers between yours, knowing this is all he's able to offer up.
"It's always worth it. All of it." you say with a conviction you didn't know you had in you, and half an hour, when you're bouncing baby Jack on your knee and Harry it sat back in the chair beside you, his hand resting lightly on your knee, a constant reminder.
That someone loves you.
***
"I'm going to the memorial." he says one morning, and you thank God, because you hadn't wanted to go alone.
You don't wear black - the children's parents' have asked you all not to - and you take one of the balloons they're offering at the door to hold. It's bright red, and you feel nauseous as you see the red blossom stain on the white school shirt of Daniel Wheeler, nine last Wednesday.
Harry seems to notice you paling, and he wraps an arm tightly around your shoulders, pulling you in, holding you steady. You can hear his heartbeat.
Leo's at the opposite side of the room, and he offers you both a small smile. You hadn't realised he would be here, too.
Harry's eyes are red when you look up, at the end, and you stand together as you all release the balloons and someone reads a poem you can't hardly understand the words to through the roaring of pain in your ears.
And when he whispers, "I love you." it's the best kind of comfort.
***
The timing couldn't be more impeccable - you're four days late when you realise, the children and the case having made you lose track of time.
You spend two days thinking about how to tell Harry, and then it's a false alarm.
You lock yourself in a toilet at work and cry, and you're not even sure why.
You're terrified, terrified of the thought of bringing a child into a world that could do something like that, terrified that you'd become attached to a thought for 48 hours, but most of all terrified that you can look into the future now, and you think you can see Harry there, always.
To put it bluntly, that scares you shitless.
***
Leo and Janet make you Jack's godmother, and Harry godfather, and you stand at an altar, in a strange, unfamiliar church, and you promise to be there for the tiny dark haired little boy - and that's frightening enough.
But afterwards you walk through the churchyard behind Janet and Leo, with Harry by your side, and you notice a balloon floating through the air somewhere in the distance.
"We're going to be okay." you whisper to Harry, and he takes hold of your hand.