Chapter 5: In Which a Secret is Uncovered

A/N: Thank you to my wonderful, wonderful reviewers and to Charlotte, Immortal and all the LJ, Tumblr and YouTube crew – you mean the world to me :) I can't apologise enough for abandoning you and thus the inexcusable lateness of this chapter (read: 2+ years). Buying a house, finishing my thesis and getting a real job have all ganged up on me.

Caskett has broken me of late, so Harry/Nikki have become an even bigger refuge than usual in this time of OTP trouble. And if 'And Then I Fell in Love' goes the way Emilia was hinting… we'll all be happy for a while. So for the meantime this is angsty, and I think 'Stay' by Hurts is an appropriate soundtrack for this particular chapter - but be assured, reader, that things will all be sorted out in the end.

Disclaimer Refresher: I (still) don't own them – if I did they'd be finding all sorts of interesting uses for each other's desks by now. Plus I'd be able to afford a proper beta, not my dodgy midnight self-proofing.

There was an earth-shattering silence in the hallway. Of the kind that doesn't happen very often, because the kind of events that cause it are too horrible to happen very often.

Jenelle seemed to turn white almost instantly, whether from shock or anger Harry couldn't judge. There were no words here, nothing that could possibly make this situation any better, or any worse for that matter. They'd emerged from the ladies' bathroom together, just seconds after Nikki told Jenelle she'd not seen Harry. What was the excuse to be - that Harry really liked women's toilets and would rather use them than the men's? No, there were no answers on this occasion. Nothing that could paint over the cracks this time.

Jenelle had managed to compose herself quickly, and within seconds had turned on her heel and gone. Harry contemplated running after her but, realistically, what would that achieve? A screaming match in the middle of the bar? Humiliating the poor girl further, and in front of a crowd? No, there was nothing to be done at this late stage in the proceedings.

He turned back to Nikki, standing rigid as a statue in winter, and panicked at the shine of tears in her eyes. He wasn't used to handling her in this state – correction, handling her in this state when her pain had been caused by his actions. His eyes. His lips.

On plenty of occasions he'd provided her a shoulder to cry on in her hour of need; when another of the unsuitables had broken her heart. But he'd never had the misfortune to be the unsuitable in question.

He reached out for her – blindly trying to grasp her hand, her elbow, her arm, anything to anchor him to this moment in time when everything was spinning out of control.

"Nikki!"

But she was already gone, slipping through his fingers and slipping from his life.

Unless he did something. This was the moment. This was the instant when he would sink or swim; when the house of cards they'd built would be fortified or burnt to the ground. He had to make that choice, and be prepared to follow through regardless of the consequences. Fight for her in the space of this heartbeat or lose her to a place from which she could never return to him.

Decision made and senses returning, he ran through the packed bar after her, calling her name and looking for any sign of her. But she was gone, either lost amongst the crowd or already halfway down the street.

He turned and spotted Manda at the bar and backtracked his steps toward her, still looking for any flash of blonde hair amongst the general disarray. Manda hadn't seen Nikki since she had excused herself to the bathroom, and had assumed she was still there and having some kind of catastrophic makeup crisis. Harry didn't want to worry her, and simply reported that Nikki had felt unwell and gone home, asking him to tell Manda and the girls that she was fine and would call in the morning.

He said his goodbyes as quickly and concisely as possible without seeming rude and took another wander through the crowds. Still no luck, so she must have left already.

When he walked through the door to the street outside, the night had obviously changed. Earlier, the evening air was cold and interlaced with the misty kind of rain that chills through clothing, but now the incoming wind was bitter with proper icy rain that chilled straight to the bone. It seemed that even the night itself was now weary with an overtone of regret.

In both directions, the street was filled with only rain and darkness, interspersed with the odd reflection in a puddle from the street lights. Very few revellers were still outside in the weather, with most sheltering in sensible places like pubs, clubs and houses. Not standing in the street, nearly drenched, and shivering with a combination of cold, wet and razor sharp guilt.

She has to go home. Eventually.

The thought came to his mind from nowhere, it seemed. Obviously his subconscious was far more able (and willing) at this point to work him through the current predicament than his waking mind was.

How pissed would she be, realistically, when he turned up on her doorstep? Looking like a drowned rat. A shivering, drowned rat. A shivering, drowned, apologetic, guilty, almost comically pathetic rat.

It would go one of two ways; she'd let him in and give him a towel and a hot coffee (you're dreaming, sunshine) or she'd kick him to curb and slam the door in his face (far more probable given the current state of affairs). The problem was, he only wanted it to end one way. With her knowing exactly what she'd started that day when she stumbled into the lab to brush her teeth and ended up stealing his desk.

And, seemingly, his heart.

Paying the taxi driver, he stepped out cautiously onto the rainy road. He turned and looked up at her apartment above him, noticing that all the lights were out and the path to the front door was shrouded in a threatening kind of darkness. Perhaps she had been very tired. Perhaps she had just gone to bed early. Perhaps he shouldn't wake her. Perhaps she wasn't even home yet and this was all pointless. Perhaps….

No. That was the coward's way out. The way to certain madness if he did not face what they had started tonight. It was time for one of those full disclosure, cards on the table, laundry airing discussions that only happens once or twice in a lifetime and leaves your head spinning and your lungs desperate for air. That was the only way that they could ever even be in the same room as each other again, should they decide in the end that them was not what they wanted.

He nearly choked on that thought, couldn't imagine anything he wanted more… or anyone else he wanted more right in that moment.

In the desperate hope that his clumsy, heavy footfalls might alert her before the awkward knocking and calling that would showcase his desperation, he started up the stairs. One at a time on this seemingly insurmountable journey.

After the third series of knocks, he ascertained that perhaps she really wasn't home yet. Surely, even pissed at him as she was, she could not ignore him for this long. So he sank down slowly against the door and put his head in his hands; and soaked and frozen from the inside out waited for her to come home.

Waited for her.

He didn't bother checking his watch. It could have been minutes, hours or days before he heard her footfalls. He'd know them anywhere – recognised the sound as she placed weight on different parts of her heels, knew the pace of her steps by heart.

He must have looked like some kind of wreck as he raised his head to make out her figure ascending the steps. She looked up at him with the kind of confusion that broke his heart because it said she thought he would abandon her. Her face was tear-stained and her clothes almost as sodden as his.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had risen from the floor and was reaching out for her, trying to make amends through contact. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy but the words weren't coming right then so it made sense that actions should speak louder.

It burnt like acid when she almost recoiled from his reach, the confusion in her eyes morphing into some kind of self-protective mask. She looked right through him, like she didn't even know who he was, as she fumbled for the door keys in her handbag.

Before he could comprehend what was happening before him, she was through the door and turning to close it behind her, without looking at him. Without even referencing him.

He tried to reach for her again and she ceased the movement of the door, looking at his hand like an alien thing. He tried to meet her eyes and though they were looking at each other she was miles away. Like she'd closed down, partially or completely he couldn't tell.

"Nikki?" It came out far more strangled than he would have liked. Showed his weakness. In this moment. For her.

"I can't, Harry. Not now… not…. I just can't."

"No, please don't do this. I.. we… need to talk. We just need to talk. That's all. I need to explain some things. We both said earlier that we need to talk."

He knew he sounded desperate, but her unwillingness to deal with this upfront would be their undoing if he couldn't convince her.

"I think I need time, Harry. I think we both need time, and space. I think… I don't know. We need to sort through this mess. But not now."

Her eyes were tired, more exhausted that he'd seen in a very long time.

"We can't achieve anything at this hour, when we're this tired. We need to think about this before we make any… mistakes."

"You think that's what this is, Nikki? That my feelings for you are a mistake?"

"No, that's not what I mean. It's not- you know what? Never mind. We'll deal with this later when we're both in a better frame of mind. I can't deal with this right now."

"With this, or with me?" His tone was almost broken, but there was a steel behind it that betrayed him. Spoke volumes of his confusion and the rising twist of terror in his gut.

"Don't put this back on me, Harry. I am not the one who started this." She sounded far more frustrated than he had expected, and suddenly he had no idea how to handle this situation.

"But I need to do something, Nikki!"

And the frustration suddenly fuelled the anger and her eyes flashed fury.

"Oh, I think you've done quite enough tonight."

And the door slammed in his face.

That was it. Nothing to lose now. Cards on the table.

Fine.

At the volume this was going to spill forth from his lungs, she'd damn well hear him through that bastard wooden door.

"I'm in love with you, Nikki!"