I hate the BBC.

You're not quite sure why you're here, why you needed to do this, but you've arrived and now you're wondering if you're making a mistake, if you made one getting on the plane. You'd played with the idea for days, you weren't sure you'd ever actually do it.

The loss you feel can't be explained, no words can be given to the grip this sadness has on your heart, tearing at your every sinew. First your father, then Harry, and now the person you thought of as your father. The cold of the airport chair, the metal touching your legs, is just another reminder that you're alive in a life you no longer want to live. Why should you bother? Everyone you've ever loved has left you or made you watch them die. Why allow yourself to love at all? Death has no dominion. You remember bitterly. It certainly has dominated your life. You fail to notice the looks from passers by, it takes a kind stranger's question to stir you from your despair. You shake your head and they leave you in peace, but your consciousness is aroused. As you slowly take in your surroundings, notice your tears on your legs and the floor, you start to accept what you need to do.

You've come all this way, after all.

You take a deep breath as you dial the horribly unfamiliar numbers you were left in a paper note, the first time you've entered them. You knew it was never going to be easy to forget Harry, no matter how hard you'd tried. Jack had helped, his presence and volatile personality had kept your mind occupied more than you could have hoped. The dial tone plays a few times and you suddenly realise the possibility that he may not answer, that he may not be in town, may not be ready to drop everything for you. You're not in his life now. Your fears silence as you hear a click and a voice you weren't ready to give up greats you.

"Harry Cunningham." He states casually. You swallow and your mouth starts to garble out parts of the speech you'd half prepared, failing miserably.

"I need you, I'm in the airport, please come."

"- Who? Nikki?" His surprise is audible, and you can picture the shock written all over him, imagine the widened, dark eyes and the firm jaw, stiff, perfect cheekbones. You can almost feel his fingers clenching the phone.

"It's me." You whisper. You're crying again, harder this time, and you don't know if he can tell but he's agreeing to come, he's actually agreeing. Maybe he can feel your disbelief, but you can hear him reassuring you and you can hear movement. He hangs up and it feels like he's never been there at all, his dulcet tones are almost forgotten, and you doubt he'll ever come for you. The sadness and the cold that has overwhelmed your heart for the last few weeks is beckoning and you're not strong enough to fight back. Why can't you be strong?

The funeral took all the strength you didn't know you had, depleted your stores at a cellular level, wasted energy you need just to remember to breathe. Nothing matters anymore, not even breathing. At least you wouldn't be as alone in death as you are now. You realise you're tired, your eyes closed moments ago without your permission. You're so tired. When did you sleep? You can't remember ever sleeping soundly. Happiness is a lifetime ago. Your ears prick when you hear someone near you mention words that you wish didn't exist. Army. Afghanistan. War. Words so painful to you that you close down completely, practically in fetal position, sobbing on your cold chair. You remember why you don't sleep. A bright red fire burns through your vision and poisons your emotions, a feeling of dread accompanied by a covering of dust and oh so many screams. Jack's arms restrained you but all he's doing is holding your pain inside you. If he'd let you go you'd be dead too, and maybe that would have been better. You'd be one of the ones underground, and Harry would live on, unaware, happy.

How long has it been now since your phone call? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Every day feels like an eternity but every second finishes before it starts Time has no meaning to you any more, just as death holds no fear. Death has no dominion.

"Nikki." The voice is stern but warm, and it almost tempts you to open your drained eyes. A hand finds your cheek and it somehow calms you enough to push against it. The thumb brushes against your eye gently and you open it to see his concerned gaze from where he's crouched in front of you. He pulls you towards him, and you don't have any strength to resist. You can't be strong for anyone now. It feels nice to have a shoulder to sob on, and you're sure you've soon soaked his jacket through. His lips are pressed continually against your hair and forehead and you eventually find yourself remembering why you came here in the first place, to feel him again. He is everything you need to get better.

"What is it?" He prompts, encouraging the formation of fresh tears. The moment you'd been dreading finally arrives and you cough before you can speak. You force your eyes open and pull your gaze into his, allowing him a rare glimpse into the soul you'd worked so hard to protect, exposing him to your vulnerability and despair.

"Leo's dead."