InsaneJournal

WHO: Nick Cutter and Stephen Hart.
WHAT: A reunion now that they're both not dead.
WHEN: Backdated to immediately after this.
WHERE: Nick and Jenny's flat.
RATING: We'll go with PG-13 for swearing and a bit of violence.
STATUS: Complete.

Nick was pacing, running a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture. It was hardly new or different, he'd been on edge almost since he'd arrived, confused as to why he wasn't dead and where he was and what had happened. Wondering if everyone else was all right. And what had happened with Jenny hadn't exactly helped things. He could barely look her in the eye, forgetting the awkwardness only when his panic over Stephen's presence had overwhelmed his common sense. As soon as things calmed down, he would probably go right back to being painfully uncomfortable around her. He really didn't know how she felt about it, and he was afraid to ask. The truth was he didn't know how he felt about her, not entirely able to separate the feelings she inspired from those brought on by spectre of Claudia Brown. So it was probably best that they both forgot and pretended it never happened. He only hoped that she would see it the same way.

He almost wished that was the extent of his problems, because somehow being stuck on an alien world with a woman who looked like the twin of the woman he could have loved, and who he'd shagged under the influence of evil, tainted water, was simple compared to the rest. Because Stephen was back. He was alive and whole and unquestionably Stephen, and Nick didn't know how to process that. He was glad Stephen was alive, that wasn't what confused him, but it just seemed so unbelievable and it made him wonder if any of this was real. Maybe this was all some sort of messed up Hell, and if it was it would be no more than he deserved. And part of him didn't want to accept that it could be something as simple as Stephen coming back. Because Stephen was dead. He'd watched him die, and it had been horrific and agonising and he didn't want a reason to let go of the pain he had felt every day since, because it was his fault. He should have been the one. He should have found a way to stop him, or at least gone into that room with him, so that he wouldn't have to die alone. Stephen had been so calm and brave as Nick fell apart, and he hated him just a little for that. He hated the way there was still so much, even at the very end, that he didn't know about his best friend. And if he was honest, he hated that Stephen had left him, that he had survived with all this pain slowly eating away at him, instead of dying and putting an end to it.

But mostly he hated that he'd driven Stephen to that end. Made him feel as if there were something to atone for, some reason he had to throw himself into that room in his place. He hated that he had never forgiven Stephen, or apologised for his ill treatment of the man, that he had never shown him the trust he deserved and that he had pushed him into Helen's arms and let her play her manipulative little games with him when he could have stopped it if he'd bothered to try. He almost wished it were one of those blasted clones, because then he could have directed this anger and loathing at Helen, instead of at himself. The knock to the door stopped his pacing and he made his way over to open it, still not sure how he would react to Stephen...or how he was allowed to react. So much had happened and he wasn't sure what the tattered remains of their friendship allowed any more. There was so much he needed to say and he couldn't manage to sort it all out. He opened the door, all that unspoken mess between them as he looked at Stephen, and drew his fist back and punched him. "You stupid, feckless bastard," he said, quiet even in his anger. "Why the hell would you do something so completely and utterly idiotic?"

Stephen had been about to say something, probably something easy like "Hello, Cutter," or "So I found the flats easy enough", but then Cutter's fist connected with his jaw and knocked him to the floor. Again. He probably still had the bruise on his cheek from the last time as well - he hadn't bothered going to the flat he'd been allocated yet, and he hadn't even thought to look for a mirror so he didn't know - so now he could have a matching pair. Lovely.

He decided to stop sprawling across the floor, and made it as far as sitting up. Rubbing at his jaw, he looked up at Cutter and his mind went completely blank when he tried to work out what to say now. All he'd wanted was something familiar, something that made sense, when everything else was completely off-kilter. Still, given how things had been with Cutter during the past few weeks, this was familiar. Not exactly what he wanted, but familiar nonetheless.

His hand dropped from where his jaw was now aching, and absently started rubbing at what he assumed was one of many new scars. This one looped round his elbow and up towards his shoulder, all ragged edges and claw marks, and he hadn't worked out how best to hide it yet. He probably should have got to his feet, but he really didn't have the energy for it just then. He couldn't just sit there on the floor like an idiot, gaping up at Cutter. He had to reply to the man.

"Hello, Cutter." Something easy to start with, that was good. It was the first time he'd actually spoken since he'd arrived, as well. He'd been far too confused when he was in the library to ask anything of the strange guards, and when he'd stopped to ask the lady out walking her dogs for directions, she'd seen his PDA and just started explaining things without him having to say a word. He was almost surprised his voice still worked, if he was honest.

"It's good to see you. I...I'll just. My flat's down there, I'll...I'll see you around." He scrambled to his feet, head still reeling slightly from the punch and then started towards his new flat. Lying down in a darkened room sounded pretty good right about now.

He didn't know why he'd done that, couldn't justify it even to himself, except that he was still so angry at Stephen for sacrificing himself, angry at Helen and himself and the world and it was too much. And part of him wanted to feel something real, something tangible to prove that it was really Stephen and not some illusion or hallucination, like it had been so many times. That it wasn't a nightmare and he wouldn't see Stephen there just to watch him ripped apart again, to wake up shaking and wondering if he'd finally lost it. How many times had he gone to touch what seemed to be Stephen, only to find empty air? How many times had he tried to punch him, to make the anger fade enough that he could think again, only to stumble and fall because there was nothing there, the realisation tearing at him until he couldn't bear to get up again.

But this time he felt the punch connect and it jolted something inside him. It was really Stephen. And then the younger man was getting up before he could help him, speaking like Stephen never had. He'd always been quiet in those dreams, stoic and silent, accepting and accusing all at once. He heard him say that he would go and it was as if the air had been sucked out of the room suddenly and he couldn't breathe. He wanted to speak, to say something, to beg and plead with Stephen not to leave him, but the words weren't there. He felt helpless and panicked and he finally just reached out and grabbed Stephen's arm, wrapping his hand around his wrist to stop him before he could leave.

"Don't," he said after a long moment's silence, forcing the word out. "Don't go. Please, Stephen..." The words were almost too quiet and his hands were shaking and he looked every bit a man who was falling to pieces, trying desperately and failing to keep himself together. "It's really you," he continued, more to himself than to Stephen. "I thought...I thought it was so many times, but it never was...until I felt like I was going completely mental. But it's you...and I shouldn't have doubted it, because I'm here somehow...but I did. I couldn't...I still can't." He needed to sit down, but he couldn't move and his head was spinning with the rush of pure, overwhelming relief. "Oh god...it's you."

His hand slid up Stephen's arm from his wrist, tracing scars as he continued to look at him with a mix of confusion and amazement and a hint of uncertainty, as if he still couldn't quite believe this and was so terrified that he would be proven wrong. His fingers moved slowly over the scarring at Stephen's elbow and up, mapping and memorising the damaged flesh before skipping to his neck where more scars were present. None on his face, because someone had been kind, but so many besides. "I'm sorry," he said softly, repeating the words over and over until they blended together. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Stephen. I'm so, so sorry." They had never quite been affectionate in any traditional sense, but he wrapped his arms around Stephen even as he continued apologising, dropping his head to Stephen's shoulder and drawing in a shaky breath.

Stephen froze the instant Cutter grabbed his wrist, finally turning round when the silence was starting to get to him. He let Cutter babble at him, only making a sound when the other man began tracing the scars on his arm. It wasn't quite a hiss, but the feeling of someone that wasn't him touching the new delicate skin was strange, something like a tickle only not, and he almost flinched away as he breathed in too quickly.

He didn't, though, because it was Cutter. Cutter, who apparently needed to match the scars to his memories for some sort of closure? Something like that. One thing was for certain, though. Nobody else would be doing this, or even seeing the damn things if he could help it. Cutter could do this because he'd seen, he knew how they had got there, and that somehow made it okay. He shut his eyes when Cutter's fingers moved to his neck, trying not to think about the fact that there were clearly more of those bloody scars than he realised, and then he was being hugged and he was fairly certain that his mind had shut down. The arm Cutter hadn't examined moved almost automatically to wrap round Cutter and pull him in close, but beyond that, he had no idea what to do. Punched to the floor one minute and then being clung to like he was a lifeline the next? Cutter's moods had never been so erratic, not even when they were fighting.

"It's okay, Nick. Shush for a moment, stop apologising, please," he finally managed to say after the apologies had become a constant murmur, more for the sake of something to say than anything else. He was absently rubbing at Cutter's back by then, trying to do something to calm the man down. He hadn't seen him this messed up since... Shit, since just after Helen had vanished. Fuck. Still, he'd wanted familiar, hadn't he? What was more familiar than him doing his best to look after Cutter? It was easier than dealing with his own problems, after all.

Stephen was warm and solid and arguably whole beneath his hands, though he would never delude himself into thinking that the younger man was anything but broken and scarred. Because you couldn't go through something like that and come out the other side unscathed. He knew because just watching, just seeing it happen, had fractured something inside of him and left him feeling empty and haunted. He'd not had a restful night's sleep since that day, and every time he shut his eyes he saw it playing in vicious technicolour behind his eyelids. So he worked long hours and pushed himself and tried his damnedest not to dream, until it got to the point that he didn't even need to sleep to see it. It was always there, lurking and waiting to catch him unaware and assault him with the sight of blood and torn flesh and the sound of Stephen's screaming ringing in his ears like a constant background noise. In some ways, death had been a blessing, because it had all stopped. And then he'd found himself here and it had begun again. He couldn't even imagine how it must be for Stephen, to have lived that. It had to be worse, and he wanted to help him somehow, but he could hardly help himself. He would be useless to his friend.

And how had it become Stephen comforting him? He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, because by all rights it should have been the other way around, him comforting Stephen after everything the other man had suffered. But here they were, Stephen's voice low and soothing in his ear, the steady beat of his heart chasing away the screaming in his head, and it was so fucking wrong that he couldn't quite contain himself. It came out as a gasped, slightly hysterical sound that caught in his throat torn between a laugh and a sob, and hot tears soaked Stephen's shirt. Nick Cutter never cried, and if he did he blamed Conjunctivitis or allergies or any number of excuses, but he didn't bother lying to himself this time. There was no point in it, and it took too much effort. And he was just too tired to bother.

"It isn't okay," he said. "It will never be okay, Stephen. You died, and nothing will ever be okay about that. You...I watched them...I watched what they...they ripped you apart. And for what? What good did it do? What the hell would make you...it shouldn't have been you!" He pulled away and just stared at Stephen, looking and feeling so utterly lost. "It never should have been you," he said, quieter. "I was going to...I told you...it was supposed to be me! And I hate that it wasn't. I...wish that it had been." And there was the crux of it. Nick blamed himself for what had happened, because he felt like he had been the one who was supposed to go into that room. Because he was the leader and, more than that, nothing like that was supposed to happen to Stephen. Stephen was important to him, even when he had hated him so much it was almost a physical ache, and he'd always swore he'd never let anything happen to him if he could help it. He had failed at that, and he desperately wished he'd died that day, because that would mean Stephen wouldn't have.

Cutter's tears only made him pull him in even closer, and his other arm was soon resting across the older man's shoulders. This didn't happen, Cutter never cried, not like this. He kept trying to calm him down, and then the talking started. He stayed quiet yet again as Cutter spoke, not quite able to take in what was being said, and when he was stared at, he crossed his arms in front of his chest. The damp patch niggled at him, but he made himself ignore it as he concentrated on what Cutter was talking about, getting more and more annoyed as he did so.

"I know I, I d-died. I know what happened, Cutter, because I was there, you don't need to remind me. And I chose to do what I did because otherwise, we'd all have...they'd have got loose and you and me and Helen and who knows how many other people, we'd all, we'd be...d-dead," and what the fuck was the problem with talking about death? Cutter had died, he could say the bloody word okay...Fucking hell. He scowled as he realised that, and then kept talking, unaware that he was getting louder as he continued. He let his hands drop to his sides at that point, his left fist clenching and relaxing because he wasn't letting himself move closer to punch the stupid bastard. "Helen wasn't going to do anything, she always was a selfish bitch, and if you thought there was any way, any chance of me letting you walk into that room...You're a fucking idiot, Cutter, and I'm not doing this, not now!"

He turned towards where he thought his flat was, and walked off.

"Damn it, Stephen!" Nick shouted. "It wasn't your responsibility! You wouldn't have even been there if Helen hadn't lied to you to make you come, and I never would have let you go in there if you hadn't bloody well punched me. Here's a thought! If you have to punch me to go through with a plan, it's probably a bad plan! I was the team leader, it was my job to keep you all safe and to take that risk if it came to it! And more importantly, you mean too damn much to me to just let you sacrifice yourself! You were young, Stephen, you still had a chance to make a life for yourself! You shouldn't have...I'm not worth sacrificing yourself!"

He didn't want Stephen to leave, but he didn't know what to do to make him stay. He'd always been completely useless when it came to emotions and he was completely at a loss. "I forced her hand," he finally admitted, not even sure if Stephen would hear it. "Helen hesitated. I doubt she would have...so I pushed her until she did." He hadn't admitted that to Jenny, but Stephen was already leaving, so what did he really have to lose?

The shouting was easily filtered out, all bluster and noise and he didn't let himself listen properly, not really. It was the quiet words that made Stephen stop and look round. "Jesus, Cutter... Why? Why would you do such a stupid... What the fuck were you thinking? You're giving me all this shit about what I did and you just throw your life away?" Somehow he'd ended up back in front of Cutter once more. He wasn't shouting, his voice wasn't even slightly raised, but he couldn't remember being angrier than he was at that moment in time. He was right in Cutter's face by then, glaring down at him and trying his best not to knock some semblance of sense into the man. At least, not with his fists. He grabbed the front of Cutter's tee-shirt and shoved him up against the nearest wall, following after as he did so and ending up almost as close to him as when Cutter had been crying on his shoulder. "I did what I thought I had to do, to keep people safe, to keep you safe. You, on the other hand, made Helen shoot you? Are you fucking mental?"

"Yes." It was the immediate answer to the question which had most likely been an expression of Stephen's anger more than it was a genuine inquiry. "No. Maybe. I don't know any more, Stephen. I really don't."

"You want to know why?" he asked, and it was there in his voice before he answered. He sounded decades older than he was, beaten down and utterly defeated. He didn't bother struggling against Stephen's hold, just accepted it and didn't fight. "Because I was tired, Stephen. I was tired of fighting a battle we would never win and losing everyone who meant anything. I was tired and the world hadn't made sense in too long and nothing was left that mattered any more. Because I hadn't slept in weeks and I saw you dying whenever I closed my eyes and even when I didn't and most days I was almost certain I was going mental. Because that wasn't the world I remembered and Claudia was gone and I couldn't grieve for her because I saw her every day. Because I needed you and I was always rubbish without you...because you were the only part of my life that made sense and you were gone. Because my wife was pointing a gun at me and I realised I didn't give a damn if she pulled the trigger. Pick a reason."

He wanted to stay angry. Part of him was still fuming, but not at Cutter. Not any more. There was a small ball of hatred left that meant Helen Cutter would most likely end up dead the instant she ever showed her face here, but this? This was wrong on so many levels and it just drained Stephen's anger away. He didn't even react when Cutter mentioned the mythical Claudia Brown, other than to take a step back and let go of Cutter's tee-shirt. He almost reached out to try and get rid of the creases he'd caused, but he let his hand fall to his side instead. "How... how long has it been? How long have I been gone?"

Without Stephen holding him up, Nick slumped against the wall, slipping down to the floor and sitting with his knees pulled to his chest and his head tilted back to look up. Whether it was at Stephen or just up in general wasn't really certain. "Four months," he said, "three weeks, two days and...fifteen hours." He knew, because he'd counted. "Or it was when...it was, last I remember." Because he didn't want to deal with Stephen's anger any more, and he felt like saying the words might get him started again. "I...missed you." That much was obvious, but he said it anyway.

Well, that was precise. "It... I don't know how long it's been... I know, you just told me, but it feels like it happened this morning. Or years ago, I don't know." He rubbed at the back of his neck, scowling when he discovered yet more new skin that meant there was a scar there as well, and then turned to sit down beside Cutter. He rested his arms on his knees and turned his head to look round at his friend, and he had to smile at how familiar it felt. Never mind the shouting and everything else that had just happened, this was what he'd been wanting from the moment he arrived.

"I missed you too. You've no idea how relieved I was when you replied on that network thing, although I'd hate to think you say hello to everyone that shows up at your door like that," he said as he reached over to put his hand on Cutter's shoulder. "But I'm not gone any more. I'm here, and believe me, I'm too sore and tired and thirsty to be anything other than alive. I'm here, Nick."

"I know what you mean," Nick said, tired but strangely content now that Stephen was there. "Talking to Jenny," his voice caught a bit on her name, not in an effort to say Claudia for once, "and knowing time passed after...it's an odd realisation. Logically, you know it does. The world doesn't end. But it's strange to hear how people move on...or don't." He got to his feet, holding out a hand to help Stephen up, and then moved to the kitchen, taking out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He poured a generous portion into each, passing one to Stephen. From the sound of things, they could both use it.

"No," he said, shaking his head and really laughing for the first time in what felt like years, "that's not the standard greeting. You're just special." He reached over, hesitantly touching the spot where he'd hit Stephen. He'd need to quit doing that, touching the other man so freely, but he was still amazed that he was really there and he couldn't quite help it. "I'm sorry," he said. "I wasn't planning on...I wasn't even thinking when I did that. I just...I was so angry when you died. At you, at Helen...mostly at myself. I pushed you away over a woman who wasn't worth the pain we both went through for her...and I didn't even give you a chance...I was wrong, Stephen. I realised that after, and I'm sorry. I really am."

Stephen couldn't help but smile at the sound of Cutter's laugh, although he didn't join in himself. That sound and the smell of the whiskey mingled together to bring back memories of the two of them in much happier times, a very welcome change from the more recent and much more painful memories that had been on constant replay in his head since he'd arrived in this place. Cutter's touch brought his mind back to the here and now, and he found himself leaning into it without even thinking about it. He listened as Cutter stumbled through his apology, and then reached up to catch a hold of the man's hand.

"You don't need to apologise, but thank you. The thing is...Look, we...We were both wrong, okay? Really fucking wrong, in my case. I should have told you about what happened with Helen years ago, I know, and I should have said when she started showing up again, but I didn't, I fucked up. I fucked up and I'm more sorry than you'll ever know, because it ended up hurting you...So. So we're both sorry. So, I, uhm. I thought we could... we could just..." and he trailed off, before looking down at his feet. "This was easier said in my mind," he muttered, and then looked back at Cutter. "Can't we just say that this happened, it's over now and we've moved on? It's not like we're likely to forget what happened, but...well. We've got a second chance, right?"

He didn't know if things were all right between them, or if they ever would or could be, or if this was just another instance of pretending the worst had come and gone. Ignoring the storm until the floods washed everything away. And he didn't much care. Stephen was alive and his skin was warm under Nick's hand, and that was more than he had ever imagined. Stephen was alive and right there and for the first time in too long, Nick actually cared whether he lived or died. He wasn't deluding himself into thinking it would stop the nightmares or heal the damage that was still there in his mind, and he knew they had a long way to go in repairing their friendship, if such a thing was truly possible. It would never be what it was, but perhaps different wasn't worse. It was something, at least, and while it wasn't much, it was better than before. He realised that he had kept his hand there longer than was strictly appropriate and dropped it back to his side with a hint of regret.

"I do though," Nick said, taking a sip of whiskey and enjoying the burn of it. "You may not need to hear it, but I need to say it. We were both wrong, but I was awful to you. You've been my best...damn it...you've been my only friend for too long to let a mistake you made when you were twenty-four get in the way of that. I should have given you a chance to explain, but I didn't. I deliberately pushed you away and cut you out of my life because...because I wanted to hurt you. I wanted you to feel the pain I was feeling. And the funny part is, I wouldn't have cared if it was anyone else. You weren't Helen's first affair, and you probably wouldn't have been her last if she had stayed. I knew she wasn't faithful. But it was you and that's what hurt. Because somewhere along the way you became the most important person in my life." He sighed. "No, Stephen. I don't think we can just move on. I think...I think that a lot of damage has been done and it's going to take a lot of work to put things right again. From both of us." He downed the rest of his whiskey and looked up at the younger man. "But I'm willing to work at it if you are." He just had to hope that it was enough.

"Of course I am," Stephen replied, then took a drink from his glass. Unlike Cutter, who'd probably been raised on the stuff since birth and was therefore immune to the effects of the alcohol until he'd drank most of a bottle, the whiskey made Stephen cough a bit. It always did at first, but he didn't mind. He only drank the stuff with Cutter, anyway. Once he'd cleared his throat and there was a pleasant warmth in his stomach, he decided that since Cutter was explaining things, it'd be best if he did the same. No more secrets, from now on. He took another drink of whiskey, this one going down much smoother, and put the glass down on the counter.

"It worked. What you did, it got you what you wanted, because...Jesus, I hated every second of it. I was even jealous of Connor, while the two of you worked on the detector and I...didn't. I was really, really pissed off, and hurt and confused, because I thought we were okay. Not good, but okay, I could have coped with that. And I'd have understood it if we'd had fights all the time, and not just at the end, but...I've never seen you be so indifferent before. And it was fucking awful. But...I suppose...no, I know now, I...I deserved it. For hurting you like I did. Which is why I don't think you need to apologise. Not this much, anyway." He managed another smile at that, albeit a small one, "but if it helps at all, I'll forgive you? I already have anyway, so, yeah." He shrugged and then looked down at his feet when he was done talking.

"Good," Cutter said, audibly relieved. As if there had been any other possibility...as if there had been a chance that Stephen might not want to carry on with their friendship. He had changed a lot after Stephen's death, and there was an uncertainty there that hadn't been present before. Though he might have his failings, Nick had always been the sort of man who had an air of absolute confidence to his actions. It had made him brilliant, if often frustrating, and it seemed absent now. "That's good." He poured another three fingers of whiskey and downed it like it was water, not even wincing.

"You didn't deserve that, Stephen," Nick said firmly. "You made a mistake, yes, but you were young and it was before we really knew each other and Helen always had a way of getting what she wanted out of people. Do I wish you'd told me? Of course I do. But I also understand why you didn't. And the other parts...well, that's just as much my fault. If I hadn't pushed you away, maybe Helen wouldn't have been able to manipulate you the way she did. Maybe we would have even managed to figure it all out and you wouldn't have..." He shook his head. No dwelling on the past. Neither of them was supposed to be doing that any more. He sighed. "Stop it, Stephen. You hurt me, but I hurt you just as much. And it wouldn't have hurt if you weren't so important to me. Thank you...I've needed to hear you say that, ever since...and I forgive you too."

Stephen kept his head down as Cutter spoke, oddly nervous about what was being said. His secret hope that he'd be forgiven was one he was hardly even aware of any more; he'd spent so long convincing himself that "okay" was as good as he'd get and that he'd be fine with that since it was better than nothing and it was a shitload better than the fighting just before he'd...left, and he didn't think forgiveness would enter into that. Gradual acceptance, maybe, but not forgiveness. So when Cutter said those five little words, he almost forgot how to breathe, which was strange because the huge weight that had been sitting on his chest since Helen had fucked things up in the Forest of Dean was finally gone.

He did, however, manage his first proper smile since...huh, he couldn't remember when. He looked up after a few more moments, still smiling. "Thank you," he managed to say, on his third attempt.

Somehow, Nick hadn't expected Stephen to have such a strong reaction to the words. In his mind it should have been obvious that he had forgiven him. After all, it had been a long time ago, and Stephen had been young and foolish and Helen had been a manipulative bitch even then. Besides, he'd more than punished Stephen for the mistake, and the younger man had still died for him. And the fact of the matter was, he'd missed Stephen, and he didn't think he could handle losing him again. And he knew that if he pushed him away, that was exactly what would happen. But Stephen was there, looking like he was on the verge of tears, and he pulled him into another hug, wanting to make everything all right.

"You don't have to thank me," he told him. "I missed you, Stephen. And losing you made me realise how wrong I was. I think, if I'm honest, I forgave you from the first time you apologised, I just didn't want to admit it, because I was still so hurt by it. But the only person I was really angry with was Helen. And I shouldn't have taken that out on you."

This hug was completely unlike the one in the hallway. Where he'd previously been almost frozen with uncertainty, this time Stephen was more than fine with hugging back. He did his best not to cling and he managed to hold back most any tears, although he did let his head drop down to rest on Cutter's shoulder. He almost felt annoyed at himself for being quite so needy, but decided that he could probably cut himself some slack given that he was just back from a longish spell of being gone. Cutter didn't seem to mind, and it was nobody else's business anyway.

"Cutter, I get that you want to keep talking, and I will, promise. But do you mind if we're just quiet for a while? I need to...it's all very, um. It's a lot to take in. Everything, I mean. Being here, being alive...everything." He spoke quietly, turning his head slightly so that he wasn't talking straight into Cutter's shoulder, but made no attempt to move other than that.

"Not at all," Nick assured him, rubbing a hand slowly up and down Stephen's back to keep him calm. He understood how overwhelmed the younger man must be, and he wanted to do what he could to make it better. And, if he was completely honest, focusing on Stephen had the added benefit of distracting him from his own problems. So much had gone wrong in his life in the past months, and he hadn't known quite how to cope. With Stephen here, so obviously damaged and needing him, he could forget about the rest of it for a while. He didn't say anything else just yet, just holding Stephen and hoping that it was at least doing some good.

"I'm glad you're here," he said softly, after a long moment's silence.

"I'm glad you're here. I think I'm glad I'm here, too. I'll let you know when I work it out," Stephen replied, still as quiet as before. He hadn't moved either, although he had visibly relaxed since Cutter had started rubbing his back. He was concentrating on the things he knew were real in order to convince himself that he was real, this was happening and no, he wasn't mental. So the smell and faint aftertaste of the whiskey, the feel of Cutter's tee-shirt against his cheek and his hand on his back, the sound of the other man's breathing and inevitable talking, even just opening his eyes and watching the faint movement in Cutter's neck caused by his pulse, it all combined to help ground him and reassure him that yes, this was real and happening.

"Okay." And then it was silent, because nothing else needed to be said. They stood there for a while, Nick trying his best to keep Stephen calm and relaxed, and they might have stood there all day if it would have been at all practical. But it wasn't, so Nick manoeuvred them over to the sofa and sat down, pulling Stephen to sit down beside him. They'd talk more later, but for now there wasn't any real need. "Get some rest, Stephen," he said, relaxing. "I'll be here." Because they both needed it right now.