Being There
She answers the door in just a baggy t-shirt and old pair of jeans and all you can think about is how goddamn beautiful she looks, even when she�s not trying to. Her hair is tousled and her mascara is smudged around her eyes. She looks like she hasn�t slept in days, and you can�t really blame her � she�s been through far too much recently. No wonder she can�t sleep.
�I was worried,� you say quietly (awkwardly). What if she doesn�t want you here? What if she thinks you�re trying to rescue her when she doesn�t want to be some goddamned damsel in distress? Because you�re not � trying to rescue her, that is. You know she�s not a damsel in distress � she�s the strongest woman you�ve met in a long time. �Wondered if maybe you wanted some company?�
She nods, beckoning you in. It�s only when she�s standing in the light that you see her red-rimmed eyes and the pure exhaustion written all over her face.
�Drink?� she asks, waving an arm in the general direction of her (rather haphazard) kitchen.
You nod. �Tea,� you say when she sends you a questioning glance. You follow her into the kitchen, the scientist in you taking everything in: food arranged somewhat chaotically in her cupboards; various bits of paper littering what you presume is a table (it�s hard to see what it is under all the stuff on it); photos in frames scattered around the room.
�Inspecting my kitchen?� she asks with a smile. �Sorry it�s a bit messy.�
�It�s okay,� you shrug. It�s just like her, you think, to have a completely chaotic kitchen. Your kitchen is sparkling and organised; hers is the complete opposite. It reminds you of her desk at work: everything pilled up, so disorganised, yet so her. She�s one of those people who can create mess, yet still know where everything is in it.
She hands you a mug of tea, taking a small sip of her own.
�Are you okay?� you ask, moving closer to her.
�I�m fine,� she replies, with a casual shrug. �I�m�fine,� she repeats after a pause. �You don�t need to worry about me, Harry. I�m okay, honestly.�
In fact, she looks like she�s about to burst into tears, but you suspect now is probably not the right time to bring that fact into the conversation. You know she�s not fine, she knows she�s not fine. You wish you were better at talking to people about emotions, about how they�re feeling, but you know you�d only mess it up, make her feel worse. When your dad died, all you could do was make your mum cups of tea (with a strong lacing of brandy to stop all the crying) and wait quietly until she smiled again. You�re just not good with emotions. Nikki�s so much better than you � she can empathise with relatives, she can get involved with cases, she cares about people. You hate dealing with people, dealing with the aftermath of Death. You became a pathologist for the science, not for the people.
�Look, Nikki,� you begin, aware that you may well just ruin things between the two of you (and her friendship is not something you ever want to lose); �you�re not fine.�
Her eyes flash and you can see anger in them. �You�re not sleeping�you�re not yourself.�
�I�m fine,� she repeats.
�Please, Nikki, just�tell me what�s wrong?�
�It�s so unfair,� she says softly, gazing vaguely into space.
You know she means Adrian. �Adrian?� you ask.
She nods.
�I know you�ll say we work with dead people every day, that this shouldn�t be such a big deal. I didn�t really know him anyway, why should I care? I shouldn�t care. I should just get on with it, stop getting so involved.�
�No. No, Nikki, it�s not an every day thing, okay?� You pause for a moment to drink the rest of your tea (her mug is still full) and to think carefully about what to say. �It�s okay to care about Adrian. It wasn�t fair that he died, but sometimes bad things happen to good people.�
�He was going to law school,� she adds. �He was going to become a lawyer, fight for the animals that way. He told me. He said he�d be really dangerous once he had his degree, once he knew how to fight them properly. He wasn�t just a mindless vandal, Harry. He wasn�t a terrorist; he was just a guy who wanted to change things.�
She looks like she�s about to fall asleep where she�s standing. �Sit down,� you say, guiding her into the living room. You sit her on the sofa, wrapping your arms around her like you did in the car just two days ago. She rests her head on your chest, her blonde hair falling over her face. �I�m sorry. About Adrian.�
�I see him. Every time I shut my eyes, I see him falling and Robbie crying and Fen just sitting there in shock.�
She sounds so scared, so defenceless (you�ve never heard her so broken and it scares the hell out of you).
�You could have talked to me about it.�
�What, like you talked to me about going to America?� she retorts wryly.
�I�m serious, Nikki,� you continue. �We�re friends. You can trust me.�
�I know,� she sighs. �I know, Harry. It�s just��
You nod; you know exactly what she means without her saying a word.
�Harry, I�m scared,� she whispers, her voice so quiet you can barely here it. �I�m scared to sleep because I know I�ll see him�Adrian.�
�I know,� you say softly (you were the same when your dad died � couldn�t get the image of him lying in the bath with his wrists slit for months). You hold her gently and pray to a God you don�t believe in that she�ll be okay.
�Don�t go,� she murmurs, half-asleep already.
�I won�t,� you reply (and you know she doesn�t just mean for you to stay with her tonight, not that you could leave her, not right now, maybe not ever).
She falls asleep in your arms and you sit for what feels like hours, just watching her, just waiting. You won�t let yourself sleep, not now. Not when she might wake up and need you. She wakes up crying and you know she�s been dreaming about Adrian (you were the same with your dad). You rock her ever so gently, talking to her in a soft voice, not even sure what you�re saying anymore, but it doesn�t matter, so long as she stops crying, stops seeing him in her sleep. She can�t fall apart, not Nikki.
She drifts asleep eventually, her face peaceful once more. You don�t dare move for fear that she might awaken. Instead, you occupy yourself with looking around her living room. You�ve never really looked at it before, only glanced around. You notice that she�s got photos on every surface. Seems very like her, to have all those memories of people surrounding her. You�ve surrounded yourself with science and dead people; she keeps the living everywhere. You don�t recognise most of the people in the frames, only the one of you, her and Leo grinning at the camera. You remember when that one was taken: the three of you had been out for drinks after work, and she wanted a picture of all of you together. So you�d got a guy to take a picture, just for Nikki. There�s a picture of what looks like a younger Nikki next to that photo, with a man and a woman. You can only assume they�re her parents, since you�ve never met either of them.
She stirs a little and you glance down at her, making sure she�s okay. A small smile graces her face. �Harry,� she mumbles into his shirt.
You stroke her hair, knowing that she�s okay now. �I�m here.�