So much had changed in just two days. In two days, Nick Buchanan had seen his entire life crash around his ears. He was rather sure he was crying, but he couldn't quite tell. He held Jen's unconscious body in his arms in the backseat of the car as they were whisked to the medic. It was only a flesh wound to her arm. Rationally, Detective Buchanan knew that. It would be fine. She'd get treated, and she'd be fine.
But Nick couldn't stop thinking that the woman he loved more than anything in this world had gotten shot right next to her and passed out from the shock, and he was clinging to her with a desperation that terrified him.
How had this happened? How had they gotten here?
That first day they woke up in the Claybourne house had begun so nicely. Suspiciously nicely. He held her in his arms, just like when they were at home. He'd felt her get out of bed, and he followed her shortly. That was when the strangeness started. They weren't at home. They were undercover, posing as a married couple. The people watching on the video surveillance didn't know that they were a couple in their life outside these walls. It was strange not to kiss her good morning.
She looked so beautiful, though. Fresh and warm from sleep. Her hair mussed and her eyes still tired. Standing there in the morning sunshine by the window, gazing out pensively. Nick approached her with a soft smile, feeling just as in love with her as always. But it took everything in him not to wrap his arms around her and hold her close, pressing kisses to her hair and cheeks and neck. So he just leaned against the wall beside her, making idle small talk for the cameras. It was difficult for him to see her so ill at ease with him when they were alone. But of course, they weren't really alone.
"I thought it was gonna be easier this time. Last time we hardly knew each other," he noted.
"It's different this time," she replied knowingly.
"Mmm," he hummed noncommittally. Oh Christ, how he needed to hold her, to tell her he loved her, to comfort her through all this horrible mess. He leaned in as close as he dared. "You know how I feel about you," he murmured, repeating that old phrase they'd used so many times as a shorthand, saying everything they needed when they couldn't say the words they wanted.
Jen looked into his eyes and placed her hand on his cheek. It felt so normal, all of a sudden, about to kiss, despite the swirl of conflict and stress in her turquoise eyes. They looked rather gray today, though perhaps it was just the light. He stopped paying attention when he closed his eyes as her lips parted for him.
Shouting interrupted their romantic moment. Masked men with guns pulled them apart and threw them on the floor. Nick could hear Jen screaming his name, and his heart stopped beating. The most visceral roar of pain came from his throat, calling her name, begging for her life.
Click!
The trigger of an unloaded gun echoed in the room. Nick and Jen both snapped their gaze up at their captors. Burns and Radcliffe removed their masks and began berating them for their lack of preparedness.
Nick nearly lost his mind. Jen was shouting angrily, swearing up a storm at these men who were supposed to be protecting them. Nick seethed beside her, trying to decide whether to shout or strangle someone or just pick Jen's tiny body up off the ground and walk straight out of that bloody house.
In the end, they went to McAllister and shouted at him, being scolded and put in their place on this op. And, even worse, Nick was tasked with going to Hartono by himself.
Jen protested, of course, not wanting him to go alone. When it was time for him to go, she blared the radio and came to fix his collar innocently. It was bliss to just feel her affectionate touch like this. They tried to talk, but Radcliffe interrupted them. Again. Nick had a job to do.
"Wait."
Nick turned to see more of that swirl of emotion on her face. That look of insecurity that made him just want to kiss her senseless, if only to make her smile for a moment. "I know," he replied, hoping they could continue the wordless communication that being undercover the first time had taught them. They had better ways now, of course, but they still had that magical way of reassuring each other with just a look. A glance could communicate so much.
And with that, he left to speak to Hartono. It didn't go well, and they waited all day and well into the evening for a response.
Nick had tried to keep her distracted, keep her from being too anxious. But there wasn't much he could do when he was feeling just as nervous, and there were cameras everywhere preventing them from being themselves.
"We can't be separated again," she told him definitively.
He sat down on the bed with strained expression. "Let's just…let's just play it as it comes, alright?"
"No, next time I come with you, and we do this together," she insisted.
Nick leaned across the bed, about to reach out to her, but he sighed and stopped himself. "Okay. Okay, we do this together," he agreed. How could he refuse? He never wanted to deny her anything. And he had missed having her with him today. There was no one else he would rather have by his side on this or any other op. His desire to keep her safe didn't outweigh his immense respect for her skill, his knowledge that she was the best cop he'd ever known, and she made every job better and easier.
And that was what brought them out in the open together, walking together, paranoid over who might be lurking while they went to meet Hartono, trying in vain to trust that their SIS protection was somewhere around to do their job.
BANG
A man standing in front of them fell at the sound of a gunshot.
BANG
Another shot rand out and Jen was down. Blood pouring from her shoulder. Nick collapsed, gathering her in his arms, screaming her name. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she struggled to remain conscious but ultimately failed. Her body was limp. Her blood, hot and sticky on his hands.
"No, Jen, please, Jen," he begged through dry sobs.
"She'll be fine, let's go."
Nick wasn't sure who had said it, but he was too consumed with panic to think straight. He followed instructions when he was told to pick up Jen and take her to the car. What car? There was a car? Go where? Who?
That brought them to the car. Nick's tears slid down his cheeks and landed on her blouse. He tried to stroke her hair, but his fingers got caught. Too much blood. Her bright blonde tresses got slicked back with the deep red of nearly-tried blood on his hands.
The rest of the afternoon was a complete blur. Doctors and nurses took Jen out of his arms and wheeled her away on a gurney. He was led into another room to wash up and change his clothes. He numbly agreed to everything anyone told him. Active thought was too much. His mind was full of mush, just a series of shouts and sounds and the blood and the dead weight of Jennifer in his arms.
They were eventually sent back to the Claybourne house. Jen was awake now, and well bandaged. Her maimed arm was in a sling. Nick helped her into the bedroom so she could get comfortable. She only had the use of one arm, so he gently undressed her and helped her put on her pyjamas.
Jen didn't say much. She seemed pale and weak and exhausted. Nick didn't want to overwhelm her with his fear and stress and all-consuming need to keep her close to him at all times. But he hovered nonetheless.
"The anesthesia's wearing off," she said quietly. "Could you get me those painkillers the doctor gave?"
"Of course. Let me get you some water with that." Despite needing to leave the room and be without her for a moment, Nick finally felt like he could breathe again. She was here, she was safe, she was going to be alright.
They had just sat down together on the end of the bed so she could take the pill when Burns came in. Nick stood immediately, feeling like a wolf protecting his pack. Burns tried to speak to Jennifer, offer kind sympathy, but Jen wouldn't have any of it. Good on her. She demanded to know who the shooter was, if it was Abbott.
And then it clicked in Nick's mind. That's what this was all about. They were bait. This was exactly what they were supposed to do. SIS didn't care if they got killed. And Nick was ready to make sure someone did get killed on this op.
He grabbed Burns by the jacket and slammed him into the wall. Behind him, Jen stood up. "Nick, don't!" she shouted despite her weakness.
But Nick could barely hear her. He could barely hear anything. The blood was rushing in his ears. He vaguely knew he was shouting, but he didn't know he was saying, such was the power of his rage in that moment.
"Nick, I understand you're pissed off," Burns said, trying to diffuse the situation.
"PISSED OFF?!" he roared. But he took a breath to calm himself before he really did kill this man. "Doesn't even begin to cut it, Burns. I wanna break your neck," he whispered threateningly. Nick slammed Burns against the wall once, a catharsis for all the visceral emotion consuming him. It wouldn't help anything to actually harm this man. Burns was only a messenger for McAllister, the man who put them in this mess to begin with. He was the one responsible for what happened to Jen. "Look at her," he hissed at Burns, going to stand beside Jennifer. He needed to be close to her, needed her quiet strength to calm and comfort him.
That night, they were forced to stay in the house once again. Still cursed to be Trish and Wesley Claybourne. But Nick had no intention of doing this nonsense anymore. Not when McAllister would rather use them as cannon fodder.
They spoke quietly under the cover of darkness. Soft touches and murmured words of a plan. It felt strangely familiar, hiding from the cameras at night that way. Just like last time. It was even a little comforting, despite their circumstances.
But they didn't even need to put their plan in place. McAllister was taken off the job, and SIS was now working with Homicide. Nick and Jen got to go home to their squad. Jen couldn't participate, of course. But everyone was glad to see her up and about. And Nick could focus on the job knowing that Jen was on the mend.
When Wolfie gave the plan of attack to find Abbott, he concluded by saying, "You'll be there, Nick."
Nick could see in the senior sergeant's eyes that he understood. Wolfe understood the deep need for Nick, personally, to see this through, to be the one to get Abbott.
He turned to look at Jen. She nodded at him. She knew it, too. She knew that he needed to feel as though he avenged her for the pain he couldn't protect her from. It was all there in that look she gave him. She knew.
Later that day, when they'd captured Hartono, Nick had broken off from the rest of the groups, running around the stadium in search of Abbott. Nick needed to find him. Nick needed to be the one.
He was hyper-focused, searching the halls, holding his gun at the ready. And there he was. Nick shouted, announcing his presence, just like regulation required. He was going to do everything right on this one. Even if this was pure personal revenge for Nick, no one was going to get this scum off because the Homicide detective went off the rails.
And Nick very nearly managed it. He shot the gun out of Abbott's hands before running to arrest him. But he was gone. Nick cautiously searched for him again when all hell broke loose.
Abbott leapt down to tackle Nick, beating the ever-loving shit out of him. But Nick Buchanan, full of righteous rage over what this man had done to the woman he loved, would not be taken down so easily. Nick finally got the upper hand, throwing Abbott to the ground, pinning him down, and furiously slamming his head into the concrete.
It wasn't until Allie pried him off Abbott that Nick realized it was over. It was over. It was all over now.