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Richard Hammond was on the edge of the roof of the Portacabin, arms crossed, face cold in the spring wind. He could hear Jeremy somewhere below, shouting at someone about something. Trying to get back to normal. Every now and then, he caught the exasperated tones of Andy, clearly trying to calm him down.
Richard thought of joining them, of egging on Clarkson and trading amused glances with Wilman, but decided ultimately that he'd rather stay on the roof. Up here, he felt tall (yes, haha) and remote and brave, and after the last few hours he thought he was entitled.
What he remembers most is running.
Legs flying, heart hard in his chest, trying to breathe, to breathe, to breathe.
The Ford Orion was on its side and smoking, and Richard was running, running, running, never getting closer, and there were so many people around and he couldn't see, couldn't see if James was all right, and Christ, he just had to keep running.
Richard started from his reverie at the sound of a spaniel-haired man with smoker's lungs climbing laboriously onto the roof. "Hello, May," he said, not looking around.
"Hello, Hammond," James said, coming finally to stand beside him. They stood in silence, and out of the corner of his eye, Richard watched the wind play with May's hair, while James listened to Jeremy implore Zeus to strike down the Health and Safety Board with a mighty smiting fist of vengeance and bees.
"Think Zeus will pitch in?" Roger turned slightly, letting his shoulder bump into James'.
"Hades, maybe." James showed him the briefest of smiles, more of a crinkling of his eyes than anything, and then Richard was on him, pushing the jacket off his shoulders, mouth hard in the hollow of his throat.
James was quiet and still, letting Richard run hands that certainly did not shake over his back, the wings of his shoulders, the unbroken line of his spine.
"I'm okay," he murmured, as Richard's teeth found his jaw. "Rich, I'm okay."
"You're- It's not-" Richard bit down hard, on his words and on James, and tried to stop the pounding of his heart.
He shuffled his feet, felt the sick drop behind him as James finally moved. His fingers were light but warm on Richard's face, ten individual points of heat as they slid to cradle him.
"James," Richard said, and let James pull him back from the edge. "James, please."
And James, James was right there with him. Richard was still running, but now, maybe, he could start to slow down.