I.
It was a bad idea, and Matt knew it. The last time he'd gone round to Jen's late at night, bottle of wine in hand, she'd refused to let him step foot inside her house, had barely even opened the door for him, had only just managed to maintain an expression of polite interest while he spoke before all but slamming the door in his face. That stung, more than he would have liked to admit; years ago, when Jen was new on the squad, before Matt made Sergeant, before Emma, Jen would have let him in, would have let him sit on her sofa while they drank his wine out of plastic cups. He'd been a welcome guest in her house, once. They'd been friends. Things had changed, though, and not for the better.
You can't be their friend anymore, Wolfie had told him when he returned to Homicide with his stripes. You're their superior officer. There may be some...growing pains.
That was putting it mildly, Matt thought bitterly as he made his way up the walk to Jen's front door. It had been one struggle after another, trying to prove himself, trying to maintain discipline and some shred of control over his unruly team. He couldn't seem to get his feet under him, and to add insult to injury, his friends no longer confided in him, seemed to have lost the trust they'd all once shared. Oh, Dunny was still Dunny, cracking jokes and quietly looking out for his mates, and Nick was Nick, playing his cards close to his chest and hiding behind a harmless smile, but they didn't come to him with their problems. Jen, though, she had been the hardest loss to bear. She had been the one to encourage him to go for this position, but now she hardly looked at him, saved all her smiles and her affection for Nick and Rhys and Dunny, with none left over for him. Matt didn't want to think too long or too hard about why the thought of losing Jen took him so much harder than all the others. He didn't want to think too long or too hard about her smile or the sound of her laugh or the slope of her back or...
The door swung open, his fist still raised in the very act of knocking. Jen was there, wrapped in that same soft, flowery robe she'd worn the last time he came round, her blonde hair a mess and a smile on her face. That smile vanished at once as she caught sight of him.
"Matt!" she cried out in surprise, her voice so loud the shock of it made him take a step back.
"Expecting someone else?" he answered, making a weak stab at humor.
Jen wasn't smiling.
"The Chinese," she said.
Matt wasn't entirely sure he believed her; there was something about her, about the way her eyes kept darting around, the way she lifted one hand to her chest to hold her robe together and hide as much of her skin as possible from view that told him things were not as they seemed. He tried to tell himself it didn't matter; he'd come here tonight intent on trying, one last time, to fix things between them, to try to bring back the old spark that used to flicker between them, to try to feel normal again. He'd come here to see her, to hear her voice, come for her reassurances and the dangerous familiarity of sitting with her after hours, knowing that they could never be more than friends and yet skirting the line. Oh, he wasn't foolish enough to think Jen would ever have him, but it had been months since Emma left, and he was a little bit lonely, and an almost something with Jen was better than absolutely nothing with anyone else.
"I think we need to talk," he said, drawing on the last reserves of his courage. "We've always been such good friends, you and me," as he spoke her eyes darkened and she leaned away from him and his heart sank in his chest, but he forced himself to carry on. "And I miss that. I could really use a friend right now, Jen, and you-"
Before he could finish his thought there came the sound of someone clearing their throat inside Jen's house. A male someone. Jen's cheeks flushed pink and her gaze fixed firmly on her toes while Matt gawped at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. That must have been why she seemed so happy, so relaxed when she opened the door, he realized; all the little signs he'd missed came crashing in on him all at once. The glimpse of her legs beneath her robe as she shifted in front of him uncomfortably told him she likely wasn't wearing anything underneath it, and her smile had been so bright, and her hair was so uncharacteristically messy, and her lips were red and full and - oh, Christ.
"Right," he said, wondering if it was possible to die from embarrassment alone. How could she not have mentioned this? He wondered. Always before they had shared things with one another; he'd always known when Jen was seeing someone new, but he had no idea who was lurking inside her house tonight. It was that, more than anything, that told him his hopes of rekindling their former closeness were doomed. Jen didn't even trust him enough to tell him that she had a boyfriend, and now here he was, making a total arse of himself while whoever she was with waited on the other side of the door, smug and content in the knowledge that he had something Matt never would.
Let the prick think what he likes, Matt thought sullenly. I've seen her naked, too.
"I'm sorry, Jen," he said quickly. "I didn't realize you had...er...company. I'll just," he gestured vaguely towards his car.
"We'll talk tomorrow, ok?" Jen said, but she was already closing the door, and so he let her, walking away with his shoulders slumped in defeat.
II.
"How about that," Matt said in a low voice.
Duncan looked up from his computer, and followed Matt's line of sight to where Jen stood bent over her own desk, rifling through paperwork.
"What, Jen?" he asked. Matt had been in a strange mood, these last few weeks, cracking jokes at Jen's expense and bristling when Nick stood up for her, throwing his weight around more than usual. And Duncan was sick and tired of it. Of course it was hard for Matt, coming back to his old squad, finding that the dynamics had changed completely, but he was dealing with it in a way that set Duncan's teeth on edge.
"Jen's neck," Matt said smugly.
Duncan took a closer look and sure enough, just there, tucked away beneath her right ear was a little mark, a sort of reddish-purplish color, not huge but big enough for Duncan to discern even from this distance exactly what it was.
Good on her, Duncan thought, a smile tugging at his lips as he realized what that mark meant. As far as he was aware no one else on the team - Matt included - was seeing anyone, and he couldn't see anything wrong with Jen having a bit of fun. He could, however, find several things wrong with the dark look on Matt's face.
"I'm going to say something to her," Matt said. "Find out who this bloke is."
Like hell you are, Duncan thought grimly. Jen was a good girl, like the little sister he'd never had - or the little sister he never realized he had, until a few months ago - and whatever problems Matt was having, Jen didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of his bad temper. Before Matt could make a move Duncan reached out and caught him by the arm.
"Sarge," he said, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible. "Not a good idea."
Matt's eyes bounced from Duncan's face to Jen and back again, and then his shoulders slumped. "Yeah, all right," he said, defeated. "I just wanna know who the lucky bastard is."
No doubt Matt had intended for his comment to sound light-hearted, but Duncan took one look at his face and saw the jealousy there, and his stomach turned uneasily. Whether Matt was jealous of Jen for having someone in her life or whether he was jealous of the prick who got to leave his mark on the back of her neck Duncan couldn't say, and he didn't really want to know. He just wanted Matt to leave, to get over whatever was plaguing him today and let the rest of them, Jen especially, go about their business in peace.
They didn't say anything else; Matt skulked off to his office, and Duncan rushed over to Jen at once.
"Hey," he said, smiling when she jumped at the sound of his voice.
"Hey," she answered. "Have you seen the Dawkins file? I can't find it anywhere."
"Uh, yeah, Allie took it."
Jen sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically, and any other day Duncan would have laughed at her and made a crack about how Allie had no concept of private property. Not today, though; today he was on a mission.
"Listen, Jen," he said, "It's none of my business," and it was funny, really, the way her face went pale and her mouth dropped open like he'd just accused her of shagging Wolfie in his office; really, what did she have to hide? "But you might want to wear your hair down today."
Jen reached for her hair self-consciously, and then her hand drifted down to the spot on her neck and her eyes went round as dinner plates and those pale cheeks flushed crimson in a moment.
"I'm gonna kill him," she grumbled under her breath even as she set about letting her hair down out of its loose ponytail.
Duncan laughed at her; he couldn't help it. Though they hadn't exactly seen eye to eye in the beginning, he and Jen had become quite friendly over the years, and he found he valued her support, her insight, her gentle sense of humor. Jen was a good friend, a mate, and he always enjoyed any chance they got to work together. It felt right, to laugh together, to share in this familiarity, to offer her his support.
"So," he said, perching on the edge of her desk. "When do we get to meet him?"
"Dunny," she sighed, and his smile faded in an instant. To his mind she should have been blushing, laughing, giddy about this newfound love of her hers, but instead she just looked troubled, and a bit sad. It wasn't fair, really, and Duncan wanted to help her, any way he could.
"Come on, Jen," he prodded her gently. "You always get to meet whoever we're shagging. It's only fair."
Truth was, Duncan couldn't remember the last time he'd been on a date, and for all his good looks Nick appeared to live life like a monk, going home to his empty, half-finished house at the end of every day, and Rhys and Allie...well, Duncan didn't even want to think about what they might be getting up to. But in the old days, before Matt made Sergeant, before Simon lost his mind, they would share those things with one another, and he wanted that closeness once again.
To her credit, Jen didn't point out his failings in the romance department, choosing instead to smile at him softly.
"Soon, Dunny," she told him. "I promise."
III.
Rhys made his way down the corridor with his head hung low, his steps heavy and faltering. He felt like he hadn't slept in days; earlier in the week he'd been involved in a shooting, and while he was certain that he'd acted in good faith, the subsequent suspension and endless meetings with internal affairs and ethics and the psychologist had left him waspish and out of sorts. It seemed that no matter how much he talked, how much information he gave them, they were never satisfied; he'd been talking to them for hours already, and though they had let him go for a few minutes to head to the loo and grab a bite to eat, he was expected back in that bloody room, expected to sit quietly while they continued to pick apart his life.
The only comfort he could find in that moment was the knowledge that Jen was with him. She'd been there that day, could corroborate his story, and though they hadn't spoken about the shooting - had in fact been told in no uncertain terms that to do so would result in their immediate termination - he knew that she had seen every moment of the action, and that she would, inevitably, support his claim. Jen was practical, level headed - most of the time - and he hoped that she would make it through her own interminable interview with her sense of calm still intact.
As his thoughts drifted towards Jen and his fondness for her he was startled by the sound of her voice coming from the breakroom. Though he knew it would not reflect well on them if they were caught speaking to one another he found his feet carrying him towards her anyway. He did not want to discuss the shooting or anything related to it; he simply wanted to see her face, and perhaps draw some reassurance from her steady, unwavering smile.
He stopped short, however, as her words finally began to register in his exhausted mind.
"I am sorry," she was saying. "I know this isn't how we wanted this night to go."
She must have been on the phone, for while she was silent Rhys could hear no voice answering her.
"You don't have to do that," she said, and though he could not see her Rhys fancied he could hear the smile in her voice. "I have no idea when I'll be home and I'm sure you want to sleep in your own bed."
Good for you, Jen, he thought, grinning suddenly. It was the first good news he'd had all week, this revelation that while the rest of them might have been alone and hopeless Jen at least had someone to go home to, someone who cared for her, who might wait for her at the end of a long and stressful day. His mind was racing; who could it be? He asked himself. Jen had made no mention of meeting anyone new, and indeed he wasn't sure when she could have found the time, given the hours she'd been working. He knew it wasn't Matt, or Dunny, or Nick, or himself; office relationships were all but impossible to hide and he was certain he would have noticed something like that, and doubly certain Jen would not risk her career for a good shag. He and Allie had only succeeded in keeping their little fling a secret thanks to its brevity, and the lack of any real feeling involved. They'd just been blowing off steam, but Jen didn't seem like the kind of woman who went in for casual sex. She was too serious, her heart too big, to squander her affections on someone she did not adore. But who, then? If not a member of their squad, was it someone else in the station? Someone she knew from her days in Fraud, maybe, or someone from the morgue?
What if it's Ronnie? He thought, grinning to himself. That would be something, if it turned out Jen batted for the other team. Not that he personally would mind, to each their own, but he could imagine that Matt, whose eyes always lingered on Jen just a little too long to be entirely friendly, would be apoplectic should he realize she was off limits in every possible sense.
"All right," Jen was saying, and the sound of her voice snapped him back to attention at once. "I'll see you when I get home, then. I don't know how long I'll be." There was a pause, and then she added softly, "I love you."
Rhys instantly felt rather guilty for all his gleeful thoughts about Jen and Ronnie and every other available person he could imagine. Whoever Jen's mystery caller was, she loved that person, and such a love was a special thing indeed. It was serious, then, this secret relationship of hers, serious enough for her to be comfortable letting him - or her - stay at her home alone, serious enough for her to whisper softly how she loved them. And though Jen had always been a somewhat private person, he found himself thinking how strange it was that she had not shared this with the team, that there was no photo on her desk, that she did not beg off after-work drinks so that she could go home to her lover. What possible reason, he asked himself, could she have for keeping this relationship to herself?
Unless it is a woman.
As quietly as he could he slipped away; he didn't trust himself to see her and not immediately press her for details, and they weren't supposed to be speaking right now anyway. He would let her have her privacy, but he also knew that in all the days ahead he would be watching her like a hawk, eager for more information about her mysterious love. In a way he was grateful to her; she had, however briefly, managed to take his mind off his own woes.
IV.
"So bloody stupid," Allie grumbled as she scrubbed at her skin beneath the scalding shower, feeling somehow both furious and bloody awkward. It was a strange ending to a strange day; three dead bodies, a hazmat crew, and now this, Allie and Jen rushed into the cramped showers at the back of the ladies' room at the station while the boys were carted off to the gents. Men in white PPE suits that covered them from head to toe had taken their clothes - for testing, they said, and Allie knew she and Jen would never see their suits again - and now she and Jen were crowded together in the open showers with a crew of female Hazmat officers looking on, making sure they did a thorough job.
It had been Allie's plan, before today, to never let any member of her crew (well, anyone besides Rhys) see her naked, but she supposed if it had to be anyone, Jen was the least offensive. They weren't talking much, both of them facing the wall while the water poured over them, both of them scrubbing vigorously lest the Hazmat goons step in and offer assistance. Likely this was overkill, and they hadn't been exposed to anything at all; Allie knew a little humiliation was better than dying slowly from sort of weird chemical warfare, but she still wasn't exactly enjoying herself.
"It'll be all right," Jen said.
That was Jen's answer to everything, of course. For the most part nothing seemed to ruffle her feathers; Jen had a soft heart, but she'd been around a long time, and she took the stranger parts of their job in stride, kept a level head. Most of the time. She'd been a good partner today, focused, undeterred despite the threat to their lives. In fact, throughout the course of the investigation the only time she'd ever really lost her cool was the moment their suspect pulled a gun on Nick, but they'd gotten there in time, brought down their man and saved their mate's life. All in all, a good day.
"All right, that's enough!" One of the Hazmat ladies shouted, and in unison Jen and Allie both breathed a sigh of relief. "We've got clothes for you here."
Allie shot a glance over her shoulder, watching as the suit placed two towels and two sets of hospital scrubs on a bench, but she waited until they left before turning around. It wasn't that she was ashamed of her body; Allie knew she looked damn good. She'd just had enough of flashing her tits at strangers for one day.
"Thank god that's over," Jen muttered. Allie wholeheartedly agreed.
Together they turned away from the showers and made their way to the bench, still doing their best to keep their eyes off one another, to seize whatever small degree of privacy they could. Jen reached the bench first, grabbing one of the towels and turning her back on Allie in a moment as she began to wipe at her face.
It wasn't intentional. Allie was just reaching for her own towel, and she happened to look up, and it was just there. Jen's enviably perfect ass, in all its glory. She should have looked away; she meant to look away. It wasn't like she was checking Jen out or anything. For god's sake they were mates, and it was just a really awkward, uncomfortable moment at the end of a long day. But she couldn't help staring, just for a second, because right there, on the curve of Jen's bum just above her thigh, was a big reddish-purplish mark that Allie would have bet a month's pay could only have come from some bloke's mouth attaching itself to that spot with some enthusiasm.
"Christ," she groaned, spinning around so fast she nearly lost her balance.
"What?"
Allie looked back over her shoulder and caught Jen doing the same, a nervous expression on her face. It had been a tense sort of day, and she knew that refusing to explain her sudden outburst would only make Jen more anxious. For a moment Allie fervently wished that the ground would swallow her up.
"You've got a little mark, there," she said, nodding - well, sort of nodding, it was weird looking over her shoulder like that - towards Jen's bum.
Jen twisted and turned but couldn't quite get the angle right to see what Allie was talking about. And then, to Allie's horror, she ran her hand over her bum as if checking for a tender spot, and her palm stuttered to a halt just over the mark.
"I'm gonna kill him," Jen muttered darkly, turning back around and resuming her efforts with the towel.
"Got yourself a biter, eh?" Allie asked.
She was instantly mortified, of course. She couldn't believe those words had actually left her mouth. Allie liked Jen, of course she did, but the ten or so years difference in their ages and the lightyears difference in their personalities meant that they had never, not once, discussed their personal lives with one another, and she really, really, didn't want to start now. Not now when they were both still naked and dripping and the Hazmat team hadn't even bothered to give them knickers to wear under their scrubs.
"I told him not to leave a mark where anyone could see," Jen explained exasperatedly.
Oh God please stop talking, Allie thought fervently.
"Please, Allie, please, don't tell anyone?"
"You think I'm gonna tell the boys I saw your naked arse? I'd never hear the end of it, they'd be begging me for all the gory details."
"Allie-"
"Christ, I'm sorry, this is just so weird."
"You think this is weird?" Jen said as she threw her towel down on the bench and made a grab for the closest pair of scrubs. "Maybe one day I'll tell you about the time Matty saw my naked arse."
On reflex Allie made a gagging sort of sound, and in response Jen only laughed.
"Ugh, seriously?" Allie demanded, somehow both disgusted and curious. And just what were you doing, for him to see you naked? Honestly, despite having been on the team for almost two years, Allie still felt like the new girl most days. There was just so much history between them all, Duncan and Matt and Jen. And Nick, too; they'd come on board around the same time, Nick and Allie, but Nick had been around forever, and apparently he'd known Duncan and Matt before he joined their team. And of course, as it turned out, he'd known Jen for years, too, thanks to their stint with SIS.
"It wasn't like that, it was an accident."
"But it was just Matt, right? It's not like the whole team has seen you starkers."
They were by now both mercifully dressed, damp hair staining the shoulders of their borrowed scrubs as they made their way out of the showers.
Jen had a strange look on her face. "No," she said. "Just Matt."
And though she couldn't say exactly why, in that moment Allie was suddenly convinced that Matt wasn't the only member of their team who'd ever seen her naked. For a moment her mind ran wild with scandalous scenarios, but then she remembered about Jen and Nick's undercover work. They'd been playing the part of a married couple, god only knew for how long. Surely that was it, she realized; at some point during their long days of playing happy families, Nick and Jen must have had their fair share of awkward moments.
Poor bastard, she thought.
V.
"Shit, shit, shit," came the quiet sound of a frustrated voice as the door swung closed. Hidden in the back stall Bernice Waverley tried to smother a laugh; she recognized Jennifer Mapplethorpe's voice at once, and she couldn't help but recall how years before, in another life, before they had gotten to know and respect one another, the young detective had come barraging into the loo ranting and raving when she thought no one could hear. They'd had a nice little chat, back then, and Bernice rather thought it might do them good to have another one now.
"Everything all right, Detective?" she called as she finished her business and made herself presentable.
"Shit," she heard Jennifer mutter as she made her way out of the stall.
"Just fine, ma'am," Jennifer lied, smoothing her hands over her blouse and trying to appear unruffled. It was a failed attempt, for the color was high in her cheeks, and her blonde ponytail was rather messier than usual, and her grey eyes were a bit wild round the edges.
"Are you sure about that?" Bernice offered her a reassuring smile. In response Jennifer's shoulders slumped in defeat.
"It's a...uh...personal matter, ma'am."
And wasn't that odd; as far as Bernice was aware, Jennifer had no personal life to speak of. The young Detective was one of Bernice's best and brightest, and she had half a mind to recommend Jennifer sit the Sergeant's exam. Of all the detectives under her employ Jennifer Mapplethorpe was the one who seemed best suited to leadership, to Bernice's mind; she mentored the junior officers with a gentle hand, but she would brook no nonsense, knew her job inside and out and had never once been accused of misconduct. She was focused, professional, ambitious; Bernice rather thought that given the proper instruction Jennifer might one day find herself in the Commander's chair. But all of that dedication to the job left precious little time for personal matters, as Bernice well knew. Still, though, Jennifer seemed troubled, and Bernice wanted to offer her assistance; after all, sometimes a woman simply needed to talk to another woman, and it was unlikely Jennifer would be comfortable spilling her secrets to Allie Kingston.
"Well," she said slowly, washing her hands and watching Jennifer carefully in the mirror above the sink. "It might help you to talk about it, Detective. And I am capable of listening."
Jennifer stared at her, lips parted and an agony of indecision in her eyes. That expression left Bernice feeling gravely concerned for her protege; clearly this was no small thing. She watched, patiently, knowing it would be up to Jennifer to decide what - if anything - she was willing to share. The moment stretched on in agonizing silence, and then, at last, there came a question.
"When you...I mean...how did you know you were pregnant?" Jennifer asked finally.
Bernice's heart almost stopped in her chest.
It never got easier, walking around with that hole in her heart where Josh used to be. Some days she still woke up crying, some nights she did not sleep at all. Sometimes, the grief was so raw she could hardly drag herself into the building, and sometimes she smiled when she remembered her all the good times that had come before the horror. Jennifer's question was a deeply personal one, a deeply private one, and she could tell from the look on Jennifer's face that the young detective knew just what it was she was asking in this moment, how close she had come to crossing an unspeakable line. The question and all its potential for disaster hung in the air between them for a moment, and then Jennifer rushed to explain herself.
"It's just, I'm not on good terms with my mum, and none of my friends have children, and I just don't know who else to ask."
Bernice's heart went out to Jennifer; it was a lonely life they all led, working all hours of the day and night, separated from their friends and family by a wall of horror. There had to be a good reason, Bernice knew, for Jennifer to ask her such a question, and the thought that she had no one else to turn to, that in this moment she had decided to spill her heart to her boss, and not her friends, was a terribly sad one. Despite her own roiling emotions, Bernice decided there and then to be a friend to Jennifer, who so clearly needed one.
"We'd been trying for a while," she answered, a little smile coming to her lips at the memory. It wasn't all bad, she thought. "So I was paying attention to dates and things. I was a few weeks late, and I started feeling a bit ill in the mornings. The third time it happened, I took a test, and that was that." That had been a lifetime ago, when her husband still loved her, when she still loved him, when life was kind.
And what about you Jennifer? She wondered. What makes you ask such a question?
As far as she was aware Mapplethorpe wasn't seeing anyone at all; there had been none of the usual unplanned and likely frivolous sickies, none of the unexplained tardy arrivals to work, none of the excuses to get out of staying late that usually accompanied the beginning of a new romance, no sign at all that Jennifer had anything in her life save for her work. Oh, Jennifer, Bernice thought sadly. I hope for your sake you haven't done something stupid. Could it be that one mistake, one night of likely alcohol-fueled poor decision making, was about to change the course of Jennifer's life forever? It would be a shame, Bernice thought, to see Jennifer's career derailed so spectacularly for the sake of a man she hardly knew.
"We've been so careful," Jennifer said in a small voice. "But I'm late - really late - and I just...I don't feel any different. Maybe it's just stress."
Her words reassured Bernice somewhat; we've been so careful sounded less like a one night stand and more like a committed, stable relationship, and that at least was a blessing.
"Buy a test, Jennifer," she said, reaching out to pat the young woman's arm fondly. "Then at least you'll know for sure, and you won't have to worry."
"What happens if I am, though?" Jennifer asked, somewhat desperately. "What about the job? Is there any coming back from this?"
"One thing at a time," Bernice advised her sagely. After all, she had clawed her way back after having a child, there was no reason to think Jennifer couldn't do the same. If any of them could balance the job and a child, it was likely Jennifer, who in addition to her dedication to her work was possessed of a soft heart. Compassion and ambition did not often go hand in hand, and Bernice rather thought that combination might set Jennifer up for success.
"Just let me know, will you? When you know. I'll be happy to talk through next steps with you then."
For a moment Jennifer looked rather as if she were about to cry.
"And talk to him," Bernice added. Whoever this bloke was, she just hoped he knew how lucky he was, to have a woman like Jennifer Mapplethorpe by his side.
"I will, thank you, ma'am," Jennifer said, and that was that. Bernice smiled at her again, reassuringly, and left her there, thinking all sorts of thoughts about the impulsiveness of young people and the gift of motherhood, and all the joy and all the unspeakable grief it had brought her.
VI.
It came without warning; one moment they were interviewing a few potential witnesses, and then suddenly there were gunshots and the slap of running feet. They had all turned as one, racing off in the direction of the fleeing attackers. Jen was in the lead, Nick hot on her heels; over the sound of her own racing heart, Allie could hear him calling out Jen's name. Wait, he'd shouted, his voice ragged. Jen, please, wait. But Jen hadn't heard; she was, as always, focused on the target.
Years of training meant that in seconds Allie had overtaken Dunny and Rhys, and she had very nearly caught up to Nick and Jen when it happened. The two suspects encountered a blank wall, turned, and fired their weapons in desperation. It all happened so quickly; Jen crumpled to the ground and Nick let out a roar like a wounded animal and dropped one of the suspects. The second man, upon seeing his comrade lying bleeding on the ground, immediately dropped his weapon before falling to his knees, raising his hands above his head in a gesture of surrender. Though Allie was terrified for Jen she went to the suspects first, cuffing the conscious man's hands behind his back. In a moment Rhys was there; he reached for the fallen man's hand, testing for his pulse.
"He's alive!" Rhys shouted.
No one seemed to hear him. Dunny was on his mobile, calling for the ambos, and Allie was staring at Nick. Nick who had gathered Jen into his arms, her head lolling back against his collarbone, his arms around her, one hand pressed hard to her shoulder, her blood horrible and red where it stained his skin.
"Jen," Nick breathed her name, his nose pressed to the side of her neck.
Everything was fuzzy, adrenaline and terror coloring the scene, leaving Allie feeling somewhat removed, as if she were watching a film. She could only see how small Jen looked, bound beneath the thick, corded muscles of Nick's arms. She could only see the pallor of Jen's skin, the sunlight glinting off her soft blonde hair, her eyes closed as Nick held her close. It was strange, how completely Nick had focused on her, how he had shouted for her to stop, almost as if he had known something terrible was coming, strange how he seemed oblivious to anything except for Jen, bleeding in his arms. Of course, Allie reminded herself, they had known each other for so long, had formed such a deep bond during the long months they'd spent as Trish and Wesley Claybourne. For so long they had been one another's only protection, had depended on one another utterly. Sure, things were different now that they were working homicide, now that they had a whole team to watch their backs, but in this moment they appeared to have reverted to that us-against-the-world mentality.
Jen muttered something unintelligible, her eyelashes fluttering as she struggled to remain conscious, and Nick just held her that might tighter, his eyes a little wild as they all waited for the ambos.
It only took about five minutes; they were lucky, in that regard. Every detail of that scene would remain etched in Allie's mind for the rest of her life: Rhys sitting on the ground beside the bleeding man, his own jacket pressed over the wound and a worried expression on his face; Allie herself, with a suspect cuffed and lying face down on the ground at her feet; Dunny, standing off to the side with a terrified expression on his face; Jen, pale and bloody and limp; and Nick, strong, steady, unflappable Nick, holding her close, terror etched on every line of his face. They heard the sirens first, and then they saw the lights, and as one she and Dunny and Rhys breathed a sigh of relief. Nick didn't even blink in response.
There were two teams of ambos; one set went to Rhys and his suspect, who had lost a lot of blood after Nick felled him with a single shot. That wasn't going to be pretty, Allie knew; use of a firearm, even in a situation like this where it was - to Allie's mind - a justified action, meant suspension and meetings and interviews and investigation. Rhys had only just survived his own inquisition, and she wasn't looking forward to watching Nick endure the same treatment.
The second team went straight to Jen. Something strange was happening there, however; Allie blinked, some of the fog lifting as she watched the scene unfold.
Nick was refusing to let her go.
"Come on, mate," one of the ambos said, not unkindly, trying to pull Nick's arm away from Jen's limp form. "Let us take over. We'll take good care of her, you'll see."
If anything Nick's hold on Jen only tightened. "I've got to keep her safe," he muttered.
"He's in shock," Allie heard one of the ambos say.
Oh, shit. This was the last damn thing they needed. She lifted her head and caught Dunny's eye, and at once it seemed he understood what it was she was asking of him. They went to Nick together, carefully pulling him away.
"Come on, Nick," Allie urged him. "It's all right. Everything is all right."
"Yeah, mate, let the ambos do their job," came Dunny's voice.
The combination of their hands and their familiar voices seemed to do the trick; he finally relaxed, and let the ambos take Jen. Allie sat down next to Nick, leaning against his arm as they watched the scene unfold, trying in her own - somewhat uncomfortable way - to offer him a little comfort, a little reassurance. The ambos lifted Jen easily, transferring her to a gurney and beginning to take stock of her condition.
"She have any allergies?" one of them called out.
"It doesn't look too bad," another muttered.
"She really shouldn't be unconscious, she hasn't lost that much blood," said a third.
"She's allergic to shellfish," Nick answered. Allie jumped at the sound of his voice as he rumbled out his answer beside her. His eyes were focused, intent and unblinking, on Jen, an expression of such tortured longing there that quite suddenly Allie began to wonder if perhaps what she saw in him now was more than simple concern for his partner. That he knew the answer to the question was not so very strange; it was another of those little quirks, one of a thousand reminders of the life Nick and Jen had lived together. It happened like that, every now and again; a little hiccup like this one, when Nick or Jen would say something like that and everything would grind to a halt, until someone laughed and made a crack about them being married in a past life, and then everyone would move on together. Only this time, no one was laughing.
"And she's pregnant," he added.
Allie let out a started little yelp and turned to look at him sharply. Several things clicked into place all at once: the mark Allie had seen, months before, on the curve of Jen's arse; the conversation Rhys had overhead, when Jen had said I love you to some stranger on the phone; the long, lingering glances; the half dozen times Nick had volunteered to drive Jen home when they finished their after-works drinks; the panic in Nick's voice when he had begged Jen to stop, to wait, not to chase after their suspects.
Bloody hell, Allie thought dimly. It's Nick.
Nick was Jen's mystery man. They had been shagging, god only knew how long, and Jen was pregnant, and Nick had just watched the woman he loved, the woman who was carrying his child, shot down right in front of his eyes. Reflexively Allie reached out and took hold of his hand, giving him a little squeeze.
Bloody hell.
The expressions on Dunny and Rhys's faces were as shocked, as knowing, as Allie's own. They must have seen it, too, she realized. They must have done the same mental maths that she had, added it all up and come to the same shocking, and yet somehow not entirely unexpected conclusion.
Jen's been shagging Nick.
She watched as Jen was loaded into the ambulance, knowing that Nick's heart had gone with her. It wasn't a question, to her mind, that he must have loved her; he always treated her so gently, so kindly, and the way he had reacted when she was injured spoke louder than words of the depth of his affection for her. And of course, there was the phone call Rhys had overheard, months before; Jen loved Nick, and if the expression on his face was anything to go by, he loved her, too. Somehow they had managed it, had kept this whole thing a secret, had fooled some of the best detectives in the station for months on end, had fooled their friends.
No wonder bloody SIS wanted them back, Allie thought glumly.
"Come on, you lot," Dunny said, holding his hand out to Allie to help her to her feet. "I'll put in a call to Wolfie. He can meet us at the hospital."
And that was that.
VII.
Nick smiled, one arm around Jen's waist, a glass of champagne in his free hand. It had been a beautiful day, a magical day; she was his wife, this beautiful, radiant woman on his arm. At nearly eight months gone her stomach was huge and round, preceding her everywhere she went, and her face was glowing with a joy that could not be dimmed. She wore a soft white dress with lacy sleeves and a gold band on her finger that Nick himself had placed there only an hour or so before, and to his mind she had never been lovelier than she was in this moment.
"I always knew," Allie said haughtily, swigging from a sweaty bottle of beer. She looked nice, with her dark purple dress and her hair neatly styled, but under the makeup she was still Allie. "During the Supomo case. Remember?"
Nick grinned, and kissed his new wife's cheek. "We weren't actually shagging then," he pointed out.
"But you were not long after, eh?" Matt asked.
For a moment Nick watched him, trying to get a read on his face. When the news originally broke, that Jen was pregnant, that she and Nick had been carrying on a covert affair for months right under the team's noses, Matt had been almost apoplectic. Wolfie had overruled him and allowed them both stay on the team - they are the best detectives you have, and if they've gone this long without anyone finding out, I think they can be trusted to keep things professional - and Dunny had introduced Matt to a pretty girl, and the last time Matt had offered his congratulations, Nick had almost believed that his words were sincere.
"Oh, Matt," Jen sighed beside him, reaching out to pat Matt's arm reassuringly. No doubt she was thinking of the times Matt had shown up at her door, bottle of wine in hand, only to be rebuffed because Nick was already there. He must have figured it out by now, Nick supposed, the reason for Jen's obfuscation and refusal to invite him in.
"I still can't believe we didn't work it out sooner," Rhys said, a note of accusation in his voice.
"We just didn't want it to affect the job," Jen said apologetically.
"And you are to be commended for the way you've handled things, Detective Mapplethorpe."
Bernice Waverley had appeared as if out of nowhere, and the atmosphere in their little group seemed to shift at her arrival, joviality giving way to wariness. But, much to Nick's surprise, the tension was shattered when Jen slipped out of his grip and embraced Waverley fondly.
"Thank you so much for coming, ma'am," she said, a little misty eyed as she stepped back and Nick once more looped his arm around her.
"Wouldn't have missed it for the world," Waverley told her. "Congratulations, you two."
Everyone was all smiles again, chatting amiably about all manner of things. As they did Nick simply held his wife, thinking only how lucky they were, lucky to have found one another again, lucky to have such good friends, lucky to have the support of their superiors, lucky that the bullet that pierced Jen's shoulder in the early days of her pregnancy had caused no lasting damage, lucky that their child was healthy and would soon come screaming into the world. He could not recall having ever been happier in his life than he was in that moment, and when he looked down at Jennifer, he found her smiling up at him, all of the love and joy he felt in his heart reflected back at him from her shining eyes. Yes, he thought, they were lucky indeed.