He didn't react to his name being spoken, wouldn't let them open the door not that it mattered, they'd found another way in because he could hear them on the other side of it, killing whatever creatures had survived the massacre. Part of him wanted to yell at them to leave it, leave the room sealed. It was Stephen's tomb and their size elevens were trampling all over it. But he didn't really want to leave whatever remained of his best friend in a cold room to be picked at until there was nothing but broken and scattered bones. One black-gloved hand fell to his shoulder and a sob choked up from somewhere deep inside him, a loud bark of grief. The soldier left him alone. He pulled his knees up closer to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, head down to one side, making himself as small as he could, curled up like a frightened child, not wanting to draw attention to himself, hoping that eventually everyone would just leave without him. If he moved away from the door it would all be over, Stephen would be gone. Staying where he was, they were still locked together in that final moment, that last act of sacrifice. After that there was nothing and he wasn't ready to face that. If he closed his eyes all he saw was Stephen's death - that sight obliterated everything else and as hard as he tried he couldn't remember Stephen's eyes, couldn't remember his face, his smile, and he'd been trying so hard, so damn hard to bring him to mind…. A surge of panic rose up inside him and with a shudder he started to gently rock back and forth, tears spilling from his eyes as he rode out the wave of unfathomable grief. A sound tore free from his throat and for a moment he lifted his head, eyes wide, stared at the ceiling and pulled in three quick breaths in succession. His vision was blurred, nose running, his head ached. And he thought maybe he could die here too, if they left him alone long enough. He could die here with Stephen. Tucking his head back down he decided it was what he wanted. A long time later someone said his name and he knew it wasn't Stephen because however much he wanted it to be, however hard he wished for it, he'd seen Stephen die and death was the end. No more. No more Stephen. Gentle arms wrapped around his folded body, a head rested against his head, and as much as he wanted them to go away, he couldn't bring himself to communicate that. So he sat in a ball, at times shaking with the force of sobs released randomly from his chest, at times absolutely still, passive in the arms of whoever held him. Because he honestly didn't care who it was or what happened to him now. It should have been him on the other side of that door, him whose remains those soldiers were picking up, piece by piece, bone by bone, unable to tell human flesh from that of the creatures also torn apart, half-eaten…. Lifting his head, Nick took a deep breath and screamed. He never felt the fine needle slide into the back of his hand, he just felt the darkness enfold him from the edges of his mind and like death he welcomed it. # TWO WEEKS LATER How he'd made it through Stephen's funeral, he'd never know. How he was still walking, still talking, still saying some of the right things in some of the right places, smiling when he was expected to, although God knows the smiles never touched his eyes. Jenny had asked him out for a drink. At Stephen's funeral. The bizarreness of it had stolen his breath. He'd said it would be nice - said it without conscious thought because if he'd been thinking about it he might have slapped her, or burst out laughing. Either reaction might have had him fired. Or sectioned. Probably both. A part of him couldn't understand why the world was still turning, why life was still carrying on as normal, as if nothing had happened, after something so brutal, so…. There wasn't a word for it. He'd tried to find one, had even looked it up in a thesaurus and online but there didn't seem to be an accurate description for watching your best friend being torn to pieces by creatures from the past and the future. He had no idea why he'd come all the way out here either. He hadn't been here since stepping through the anomaly into a world that hadn't been right. That still wasn't right, now more than ever, because if he hadn't changed things, Helen would never have been able to do what she'd done, would she? Was Stephen's death his fault too? Like Claudia's… disappearance? Somehow he couldn't carry that extra slice of guilt - he simply didn't have the strength. Life had finally defeated him - it had tried hard enough. He walked along the curved wooden boards beside the water and up the steps into the university department where he and Stephen had spent eight years working side by side, mostly in harmony. He paused, but didn't go inside. Instead he walked around to the grass mounds where the students spent most of the warmer months sunning themselves instead of attending lectures. It was cold now - not very many people around and he was glad of it. Stephen's death had torn a hole in his life, one so big he knew nothing would ever fill it, knew it would never heal. He couldn’t sleep, too many nightmares, wasn't eating… just the idea made him feel sick. "Professor?" He started, turned, saw Connor hovering behind him. He stared at him, at his black jeans and grey shirt and black waistcoat. He knew if he told him to go away, he'd go, despite having obviously driven all the way out here unless he'd stowed away in the back of the 4x4. But the rest of them had lost a friend too and they were also grieving. Abby, who'd found him outside the door that day, had apparently stayed there with him until Lester had ordered him to be sedated, had gone to the hospital with him and ensured he wasn't restrained by some overzealous doctor. She was worried about him and rationally he thought she was right to be. He had so very little to give them now, but maybe he needed to try it. Meeting Connor's watchful eyes he asked, "What is it? And I'm warning you, if the word 'anomaly' is coming anywhere near this conversation, you might as well leave now." Connor shook his head, subdued. "Just wanted to make sure you were okay." They'd all taken it hard - of course they had. No tears at the funeral though - putting on that public face. He knew if he let down the walls he'd hurriedly built between leaving the hospital and the day of the funeral he might dissolve in tears and never be able to pull himself together again. He'd wondered sometimes if the others felt anything like the grief slowly tearing him apart from the inside out. Presumably because he hadn't been told to go away, Connor sat down next to Nick, knees bent, arms wrapped loosely around them. "I had a great time here," he said quietly, "best years of my life." Surprised, Nick turned his head and almost smiled at him. Then he said, "Aye, mine too." There was a long pause. "I'm sorry I didn't attend more of your seminars. Bet they were great." He shrugged slightly. "You've had more lectures from me over the last couple of years than any of my students had to put up with." Silence settled easily between them. Nick stared out over the grass, over the grounds of the university, with the departmental buildings behind him and the rest of the campus in front. "I'm so sorry about Stephen." He felt tears behind his eyes so suddenly it shocked him. For a moment he couldn't speak and he just shook his head, "don't," getting lodged in his throat. The walls were cracking with just that simple statement and he struggled not to fly apart in front of the lad. For a few long minutes he fought with the grief, held off its threat to overwhelm him, and only when he was certain he wasn't going to lose the battle he looked at Connor. "Please, don't." Connor didn't look at him. "When we were at that first anomaly site, he made me feel a little less scared." It surprised Nick to find that those words in that order didn't put another crack in his rapidly crumbling defences. He carefully allowed himself to think about what Connor had said, took himself back to those early days, and found they didn't feel quite as painful as more recent memories. He wondered if what had happened for him around that time had happened for Connor too - if all their pasts still held true. He doubted it, but then, who was left to know except for him? "That morning," he started, wary of his own raw emotions, "the morning you came to see me with the newspaper?" Connor nodded, paying attention maybe because this was the most Nick had said to anyone since that day two weeks ago. "Stephen and I…. arrived together that morning. He'd had breakfast together at my place. Had spent the night together there. Our first night together." His already broken heart ached from just recalling it, but he took a deep breath and glanced at Connor, surprised to see him smiling. "What?" "Nothing. Just… I was right. Partially. Doesn't matter." What did now? "He knows you loved him, you know that." Nick considered it. And yes, thinking back to those last few seconds as they'd stood in the corridor realising fate was again kicking them in the balls, Nick believed Stephen knew, finally, that he did love him. And it made what had happened next so much worse, so much harder to bear. "You're leaving, aren't you?" The question seemed to come from nowhere but at the same time, Nick realised it was probably the only conclusion it was possible to draw from his recent behaviour. He nodded slowly. "If Lester gives me one more order I swear I'll shoot him. And Jenny…. if I see her smile….." He took a deep breath. "Stephen made everything worth it, gave it all meaning. Without him…." It was pointless. "I need to find a way of fixing things." "Fixing things?" "Putting it right. Nothing's right, Connor, I told you. I just want things to be right." "You want Stephen back." He said it so gently. "He's dead, professor." Nick said nothing in reply. He pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them, looking out to the horizon, blinking a few rogue tears from his eyes. After a time, Connor rose, squeezed his shoulder, and told him, "We don't want to lose you too," before leaving him sitting on his own in the cold sunshine. It was a longer time until Nick left. He stayed until his head was filled with memories of a living, breathing Stephen; laughter as they arrived early, silent promises when they left late, lunches on the grass, coffees between lectures, the excitement of discovery and shared disappointments of failed experiments. Helen had spoken of experiments, of altering the future by changing the past. Deep in shock, overtaken by grief, Nick started to think that maybe, just maybe, the crazy bitch might have had a point.
|