You've decided to end it haven't you?
Nick, this means everything to me...
Let's get married. Have kids. I've never wanted that with anyone before, but I want that with you.
What if we do all that and then in two years' time we split up?
Well, it's worth taking the risk, don't you think?
Yeah, but I'm the one that's taking all the risk...you want a family.
I want you.
I'm sorry. I just...I don't have the answer yet and it's not fair to keep you waiting until I do.
The words had been spinning around Nick's head for days. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her face, saw the tears coursing silently down her cheeks, saw the defeat in her eyes, saw the pair of them sitting in that car while Jen brought the whole world crashing down around his ears. The case they were working didn't help; Matt was being evasive, Allie was being downright unbearable, Jen would hardly look at him, and all the while he was thinking about Chris Fleetwood, the miserable bastard at the center of all of it. Chris Fleetwood who, as far as Nick could see, had done nothing criminal, had only been foolish enough to fall in love with a woman who didn't love him back. It was love, Nick could see it in the way the poor man talked about Mischa Downs; he'd loved that girl, and she'd led him on, and now the truth had come out, and he found out he'd been used, and she'd never loved him at all, and...well. It wasn't exactly the same sort of heartbreak Nick was facing - Jen was alive, after all, and he knew she'd never lied to him, knew her feelings for him were genuine - but still, it hit a little too close to home.
He'd been waspish and out of sorts all week, he knew he had. It used to be easy for him to shrug off Matt's ineffectual leadership, Rhys's naiveté, Allie's obnoxious know-it-all attitude; he liked his job, he liked his crew, and he had Jen to laugh with about it later, Jen who would catch his eye and grin, Jen who made everything more bearable. It was like a miracle, he'd thought that night in Matt's kitchen, that they should find one another again, that they should slot into place as easily now as they had done before. He had been married to Jen for a year, once, and the months he spent in her bed since their past with Hartono came back to haunt them only reminded him how beautiful it could be, sharing his life with her. Before that moment in the car, before she broke his heart - and her own in the process, he knew - he'd been thinking more and more about how badly he wanted to be married to her again. He had even, on one particularly whimsical occasion, wondered if it wasn't fate that threw them back together, gave them a second chance. Now, though, now that second chance had been blown, and his heart was raw and bleeding, and he couldn't keep a lid on his distress, couldn't seem to stop lashing out.
The final straw came in the briefing room; Allie, of all people, demanding to know what was wrong with him, why he was walking around like a bear with a sore head. He never intended to take out his heartbreak on the team, never wanted to be the one to sow discord among them; it wasn't his way. Nick was the problem solver, the mediator, he always had been, and he'd always enjoyed that role. Now, though...well, now nothing made sense. So he'd apologized to Allie - to all of them, really - and walked out of the briefing room intent on finding some way to make things better.
And the solution had come to him, in the end, an elegant way to make things easier for Jen as much for himself, and so on the following Monday morning he marched into Stanley Wolfe's office armed with a transfer form.
"Sarge?" he said, leaning through the open doorway. "Got a second?"
"Of course," Wolfie answered, gesturing for Nick to enter, which he did, closing the door behind him. Wolfie was sitting behind his desk, and Nick took a deep breath before marching towards him, and handing over his paperwork.
"There's an opening for a senior detective in Serious Crime and I've applied for a transfer. It starts next Monday. My application's been accepted, but I need your approval."
"I thought you were happy to be back in Homicide." It wasn't a question, and Wolfie didn't immediately reach for the form. No doubt he thought Nick had lost it; coppers spent their whole careers trying to get into Homicide, and most never made it. Nick had managed it faster than anyone else - except maybe Rhys - had cut his teeth in Homicide as a green detective under Bruce Dalton. But then SIS had come calling, and Nick traded his post in Homicide for a year undercover. When that operation was through there was no room left for him on his old team, and he spent four years kicking around in Vice until he finally got a chance to come back onside. Any other detective, having been granted a second chance at the most illustrious squad in the State Police, would have done anything he could to make sure he stayed put for the next twenty years. Only a fool would throw it away.
"I was - I am," Nick answered. "But I've decided to sit for the Sergeant's exam."
There was no reason not to, after all. He was pushing forty, no family, no reason not to put in the hours and take the promotion, the pay rise. He could devote himself to the work, now, in a way he had never really been prepared to do before.
"Never really thought you were all that ambitious," Wolfie mused.
No, he wasn't, really. The pay, the prestige, the bars on his shoulder, the politics; none of it had ever really mattered to Nick. He liked the work, liked solving the puzzles, liked knowing that the bullshit of the brass wasn't his problem. But if he had to leave Homicide he didn't relish the thought of starting over, being subordinate to strangers and bored in his work. He needed a goal, something to work towards, something to take his mind off Jen, and everything that could have been.
"Well, everybody's got to grow up sometime," he said with a shrug.
"There's no reason you can't stay in Homicide while you study. We might even find a place for you here once you've passed the exam."
Nick took one long, slow breath, trying not to let his frustration show. He hadn't anticipated this; he'd thought, before now, that Wolfie would understand his reasoning. Having to explain himself was galling, especially given the fact that he couldn't tell Wolfie the truth. The truth was he didn't want to leave Homicide, not really, but seeing Jen every day and not being with her was going to kill him.
"Due respect, Sarge, I've seen what Sergeant Ryan's been through since he was returned to Homicide, and I'd like to avoid that, if I can. If I'm going to be an effective Sergeant I'll need to make connections with other departments, see how they operate. This gives me the chance to do that."
Serious Crime spent a lot of time liaising with other departments, and those interactions would help Nick build his career long term. They dealt with the big cases, not just murder or racketeering or kidnapping but all of it; Serious Crime were on the front lines of every high-profile investigation, and had even been brought in to assist on a few of Nick's own cases in the past. It was a smart choice, and as Wolfie mulled over Nick's response he could only hope his Sergeant would agree. He'd need Wolfie's blessing to make the transfer official, and he wasn't sure what would become of him if he didn't get it.
"You're sure about this, Buchanan?" Wolfie asked.
"Yes, Sarge."
Yes, he was sure. He couldn't stay put, not any more. Serious Crime was his chance to run towards something, instead of just away, and Nick didn't want to let this opportunity pass him by.
"All right, then," Wolfie sighed, and reached for the form, and relief washed over Nick in waves. "You will be missed here, Detective Buchanan," Wolfie added as he signed his name at the bottom of the form.
"I'll miss Homicide," Nick agreed. He would miss it; there was something special about being a Homicide detective, being trusted with the task of finding justice for those poor souls, being surrounded by the best and the brightest the State Police had to offer. There was something special about this band of brothers, the family they had made between themselves, and Nick knew he wouldn't find that anywhere else. But as far as he could see there was no other choice; if he didn't get out, if he didn't make a change, he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep himself together. It wouldn't be fair to Jennifer, he thought, to hang around, always in her line of sight, miserable and missing her from three feet away. She lived and breathed for Homicide, and he wouldn't take it away from her.
"I'll let you inform the troops," Wolfie said as he handed the form back over.
"Thanks, Sarge."
Wolfie rose, and shook his hand, and then Nick turned and stepped out of the office, feeling somehow both better and worse than he had when he'd walked in. It was as good as done, now, this transfer; he'd walk the form down to Serious Crime and shake hands with his new Sergeant and then a week later he'd move into a new desk. No more Jen, no more Dunny, no more Matt, no more Rhys, no more Allie, no more Homicide. A fresh start, and the death of a dream, all at once.
He had no sooner stepped out of Wolfie's office than he practically ran into Jen; she was heading for her desk, cup of tea in hand, and when she caught sight of him she raised an eyebrow, as if silently asking him what he'd been doing in the Sergeant's office. She didn't need to speak; he understood her now, without words, the way he always did. Christ, but she was beautiful, all golden skin and soft golden hair and bright grey eyes, the one woman he loved most in all the world, the one woman he could never have again.
"Oi, you lot," Nick pitched his voice loud enough to draw the attention of the rest of the squad who were sitting at their desks in the bullpen. They were all here; might as well get it over with, he thought.
"All right, Nick?" Duncan asked.
"Yeah," he answered. Jen was watching him curiously, but he couldn't look at her; not now, not yet. "I wanted you to hear it from me first. I'm transferring to Serious Crime."
"What?" Allie and Rhys spoke in unison, both horrified. Jen didn't say anything; she didn't need to.
"Time for a change," he said with a shrug. "I'm going to sit the Sergeant's exam, I would have been transferred eventually anyway. This way I get to go on my own terms."
"Good for you, Nick," Matt said with a forced cheeriness that set Nick's teeth on edge. He looked like he'd swallowed a lemon; perhaps it was a blow to his pride, to think that Nick could achieve the same rank as him. Not that it mattered to Nick; Matt Ryan was the least of his concerns.
"When do you go?" Duncan asked.
"Next Monday," Nick answered. "I'm just gonna walk this form downstairs, and then it'll be official."
"Bloody hell," Allie said. "Homicide's the best squad in the department and you're just gonna walk away?"
"Yeah, Allie, I am," Nick told her. And then, before anyone could say anything else he turned and made his way toward the elevators. They'd be full of questions, he knew, but he didn't trust himself to answer, not just now, not while Jen was watching.
He wasn't alone, though; he could feel her, just behind him, though he could not see her, though her shoes made no sound as she chased after him. It was always like that; Nick always seemed to know where she was, what she was thinking. That day in the car he'd known she was going to break his heart before she ever said a word. And though he wasn't surprised that Jen was coming after him, that she was going to demand an accounting from him, he could not help but wish, just for a moment, that she would leave him be, would let him go in peace. He'd said all he could say already; there were no words left in him.
He stepped onto the elevator, and she joined him, the pair of them standing side-by-side until the doors closed. Nick reached to press the button for Serious Crime but Jen reached across him and pressed the emergency stop. They were locked together, then, and he had no choice but to look at her. When he did he saw the accusation in her eyes, the hurt there, and felt a sudden swell of anger rise up in his chest. It was her fault they weren't together, her fault he couldn't stay in Homicide, and she was looking at him like he was the one who'd broken them both in half.
"Please don't do this," she whispered, and her voice was so very soft and so very sad that his anger began to fade, just a bit. Jennifer wasn't cruel, or vindictive, and he knew it. She'd called an end to things between them for the sake of both their careers. Jen was scared, and she didn't know what she wanted, and she'd given him his freedom out of a - misguided - desire to protect him. He couldn't be angry with her, not for that; she was confused and hurting, too.
"It's done, Jen," he answered.
"I don't want you to leave," she told him desperately. "You love Homicide, and I didn't want either of us to lose it because of...this thing, between us."
This thing, Nick thought faintly. It wasn't a thing, not to him, and it hurt, just a little, to hear her dismiss it so casually.
"I love you, Jen," he answered. "Christ, I think I've loved you for years. But you aren't ready. You want Homicide. You live and breathe this job. You should keep it."
"We can still work together though, can't we, Nick?"
She was all but pleading with him, and for just one instant he wavered, and very nearly gave in. From the moment they met Nick had been unable to resist her, had always, without fail, given her everything she asked of him. There was nothing he wouldn't do, just to see her smile. But she'd made her choice, and Nick had to respect it. She wanted Homicide, and as far as he could see this was the only way for her to keep the job she loved. If he stayed he feared the tension, the bitterness might eat him alive, and take her down with it. No, he thought, better to make a clean break, and let them both get on with their lives.
"Not this time, Jennifer," he answered. "I can't do this. I can't sit next to you every day, and go home without you. It's not fair, not on either of us. I wanted you, not the job. This will be the best thing for both of us, you'll see. It'll be easier on you, if I'm not there."
"Nick-"
"It's done, Jen."
He reached out then, and restarted the elevator. It whirred to life, and Jen settled back against the far wall, her arms crossed over her chest, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.
"I don't want to lose you," she said. Nick nearly laughed; if she didn't want to lose him, she'd done a poor job of showing it. It was Jen, after all, who'd called things to a halt between them. And then it occurred to him that, perhaps for the very first time, he had no idea what she was thinking. He didn't know what she really wanted, if she wanted them to be friends, if she just didn't want things to change, if she thought that somewhere a few months down the line maybe she'd be ready to commit to being with him, completely. Maybe, he realized, it was because she didn't know herself what she was feeling. It would be up to him, then, to make this decision, and determine the course of both their futures.
"You know where to find me, Jen," he answered. "When you're ready, when you know what you want, I'll be there. But for now, I can't stay in Homicide."
The elevator ground to a halt, and the doors slid open, and Nick left her there, leaning back against the elevator wall, and marched out into the bright lights of Serious Crime, his heart heavy as lead in his chest.