Chapter Text
It's Christmas Eve and she's alone at the bar. It is a place he has seen her frequent often in recent weeks and he cannot help but feel sorry for her. She is an attractive woman, he has never been able to deny her of that, but she has been in short supply of suitors ever since her binman left her for an ex he'd surely gotten over by now and Nick finds himself wondering why.
Of course, he can guess. She's stubborn and she's overbearing at the best of times. She is always right, even when she is wrong. And she always has to have the last word. She infuriates him, no matter how intriguing he finds her, and he thinks that any man who willingly decides to get involved with her and all of her problems, whatever they may be, must be completely and utterly insane, for she cannot be worth the effort. He imagines that she is a hard woman to please. Needy, clingy. A chore. He doesn't think she's the type to settle for second best, but then who is he to know such things?
"I should get going."
Her hand is on his arm and although she is softly smiling, the smile does not quite reach her eyes. It never does these days.
"Oh." Nick pauses, gesturing towards the empty glass she cradles in her hands the way one might hold on to a lifeline. It doesn't seem as if she has realised that the liquid is gone, consumed at such a rate that he had missed her drinking it as he payed for his own. "Can I not buy you another drink?"
Carla hesitates. His offer is a tempting one. God knows she wants to accept it, but she's already had her half and when she raises her eyes to meet Peter's across the pub, she knows that another would be a bad idea. His expression tells her so. Carla shakes her head.
"No." Her sigh is long and drawn out and she sounds exhausted all of a sudden. "No, thank you. I'm fine."
Nick nods.
"Okay." And then words are leaving his mouth before he can stop them or even think about what they could imply. "Let me walk you home." Her astonished look, the widened eyes and the perfectly arched brows, tell him everything he already knows. He tries to save himself. "What? It's Christmas."
His laughter is at the expense of himself.
"It's Christmas Eve," Carla corrects him. Always right, even when she needn't be. Even when he isn't wrong.
He smirks.
"I'm trying to be nice."
"You? Nice? Don't make me laugh." Carla carefully places her wine glass down on to the bar, as if she has only just realised she is still clinging to it. She goes to pick up her bag, but this is not before she – again – catches a glimpse at Peter. And Nick notices. He has barely taken his own eyes away from that particular corner of the pub and when she purposefully, almost forcibly, takes his arm, he knows whose benefit it is for and it certainly isn't his. She continues, "Come on, then."
They ignore the eyes burning into the back of their heads as they exit, both sets as green and desperate and full of longing as the other's.
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She does not drop his arm as quickly as he thought she would. They are already half way to her flat, half way down the street that is so dark now, the debris from weeks gone by still not having been entirely cleared and a chill in the air that Nick is sure is not just a part of the winter weather that is now upon them, when she does so. And she does so slowly, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that she has forgotten to let go of him.
They turn a corner and Nick speaks for the first time since they have left the pub.
"How are things?"
Carla is taken aback.
"At Underworld?" she asks.
"No. With you."
His concern is alien to her and she doesn't like it. It feels forced and random and insincere, even though she knows it probably isn't. Folk around here have changed. They have had to since no life was left untouched by the tragedy that unfolded here less than a month ago. So many so very nearly lost their lives. Carla reckons it's only right that they should all now start to care for each other.
For some, she cares too much.
"Me?" She snorts. Nick wonders why the sound is such a broken one, wonders why he can almost hear disbelief in it. Disbelief that someone would even think to ask. "I'm fine, Nick. Honestly, I am. I mean, look at me. Two arms, two legs. Not a care in the world. It's more than what can be said for some."
Ashley's screams still ring loudly in his ears. He sometimes thinks they'll never leave him. Nick takes a deep breath.
"There's more to being okay than just having a clean bill of health and a pulse in your veins." The words are difficult for him to get out for some reason. "I know you. I know you, Carla. You're not yourself."
She is raising her eyebrows at him again, looking at him as if he's got a nerve to even think that, let alone say it. Really, he has. Really, he doesn't know her at all. She laughs incredulously and shakes her head.
"Right," she says. "Well, thanks for that information. What do you suppose I do with it?"
They stop walking. They have reached Carla's block of flats. With his hands in his pockets, Nick shrugs. His voice is tired.
"Do what you want," he replies. "Isn't that what you always do, anyway?"
She sighs loudly.
"You know what, Nick?" She is angry. God, she is angry. At him; at herself. At the whole stupid world and all that is in it that she cannot have. "Fuck off. Right, I'm so beyond caring. Merry Christmas and all that, but seriously. Don't talk to me again unless you've got something useful to say. Because if I wasn't feeling like shit before, I certainly am now. So well done."
She really is pathetic. Her breathing is all off and her eyes have began to tear up. She turns to enter the building, but his hand is on her arm, pulling her back to him, the movement as forceful as it is gentle, and when she meets his eyes, she swears that they are looking where she only wishes she wanted them to – or perhaps that is a lie. Perhaps this is what she has been waiting to happen. Because it would make things a lot more simple, wouldn't it? She licks her lips and he imitates the action. She suddenly feels rather hot.
"Listen. Carla, I'm sorry."
She knows he means it, but she is so confused that his apology does not matter to her. It doesn't even register. She shakes her head and lowers her eyes, verging on shy.
"I should go."
He removes his hand from her arm and she almost wishes he hadn't.
"Of course." His hands are in his pockets again and he is looking anywhere but at her face. Carla adjusts her bag strap against her shoulder. "Well, Merry Christmas. I hope it's a good one."
Her head is bowed and he knows that she is going to be spending it alone. Alone for the most part, anyway. He thinks he'd like her a whole lot more if she wasn't quite so tragic.
"Thanks." She returns his smile ever so slightly. "You too, Nick. And I mean that."