Chasing you like a shot of whiskey
Burning going down, burning going down
Chasing you like those goodbye tail lights
Heading west to anywhere out of this nowhere town
Chasing that freedom, chasing that feeling that got gone too soon
Chasing that you and me I only see in my rear view
Yeah I'm laying here tonight holding someone new
Still chasing you, still chasing you
Six months later…
"Another?" Nick asked, gesturing towards her empty glass. It was late, and the crowd in the bar was thinning out, and a headache was beginning to form behind his eyes, but he didn't want to go home, just yet, didn't want to face his empty house, his empty bed. She was a nice enough girl, and she kept leaning towards him while they talked, her eyes wide and warm, her smiles frequent and genuine. It wasn't her fault that he didn't want her, not really, and offering to buy another round seemed like the kindest thing he could do for both of them; he could let her linger in this moment with him, let her enjoy herself a little while longer, keep himself occupied. There was no reason why he shouldn't, when he didn't have to work the next day and he was a free agent and her long legs were bare beneath her smart skirt, no reason except that she wasn't the the woman he wanted, and after all this time he was beginning to think that didn't matter so much. He'd left it up to Jen to decide what she wanted, whether she wanted him, and Jen hadn't called. She'd made her choice; maybe it was time for him to make a few of his own.
"It's late, I shouldn't," Juliet said, watching him closely.
"All right." Nick answered too quickly, threw back the rest of his beer in one go, somewhat relieved that she'd given him an out. Another drink and she'd be tipsy, and he'd have to call her a cab; another drink and he might offer to take her home himself. Another drink, another half hour of her looking at him like that, and maybe his bed wouldn't be empty tonight. Another drink would be a mistake.
"Go on, then," she said, pushing her glass towards him. "One more."
Maybe she'd seen it, how ready he was to leave, and decided to keep him with her. Maybe she knew if she didn't press her luck tonight she'd never get another chance; maybe the one drink she'd had was enough to make her bold. Maybe it had been a test, to see how Nick responded when she turned him down, and maybe he'd passed with flying colors when he hadn't objected or tried to change her mind. Nick didn't know; he'd only just met her, and he didn't know a damn thing about her. He wasn't used to this, being with someone whose heart was still a mystery to him. He didn't know how to make it work, how to get back that comfortable, easy feeling he'd had with Jen. She'd known him inside and out, and he could read her thoughts with just a look. There hadn't been a string of slow, fumbling dates for them, gradually learning one another's history around hesitant kisses; they'd gone from strangers to partners, forced to rely on one another utterly, their stories coming out over cartons of lo mein and rice, unhurried by dreams of romance. She'd been his friend, his confidant, his strong right hand before he ever even kissed her. The thought of starting over with someone new, the thought of having to find the words to explain himself, the thought of sliding his hands over someone else's thighs, just made him tired.
But he had offered, and Juliet had accepted, and it would be cruel to reject her now.
"Right, then," he said, settling back on his seat. He caught the bartender's eye and pointed to their two empty glasses, and the young man nodded, finishing up with the pint he was pulling before coming to their end of the bar. He took the glasses in silence, and Nick watched him, and Juliet watched Nick.
"No work for you tomorrow, then?"
She tried to make the question sound casual, but Nick recognized the insinuation in it just the same. If he didn't have to work, if he didn't have to be up and out of the house early in the morning, maybe it wouldn't be a problem if he didn't wake up alone. She knew what he did for work; Nick was only sitting here with her because he had to, because he'd agreed to give an interview on the Dane Majors case to get the papers off Waverly's back. It was the kind of PR bullshit he had always tried to avoid, but he was due to sit the Sergeant's exam next month, and after that, well, it was exactly the kind of bullshit he'd have to deal with every day. It hadn't been too onerous; Juliet's questions had been softballs. She was doing a human interest story, not a hard-hitting investigative piece, and she hadn't pushed him, hadn't tried to pull more information out of him than he was willing to give. She'd seemed more interested in him than in Dane, anyway.
"No," Nick said, taking their now-full glasses from the bartender, and passing one off to Juliet. She smiled, easily, untroubled, and clinked their glasses together.
"Me, neither," she told him, and then took a long drink.
Having established that neither of them had anywhere to be, Nick was growing more certain by the second that she wanted him to take her home. She was young; couldn't have been more than thirty, he thought, and given that he was staring down the barrel of his fortieth birthday he found himself somewhat uncomfortable with her youth. There was a sweetness to her, a softness that might have interested him in the days before he'd met Jen; Jen could be sweet, too, in her own way, but she was strong. Jen didn't need him to protect her. Didn't need him at all, it seemed.
"So what are you going to do with your day off?" Nick asked her. He had to say something; the silence was growing painful. That was new; he'd always preferred silence to pointless chatter, and Jen had always been content to sit with him without speaking, curled up against his side, reading her book or finishing a report on her laptop, content just to be near him. With Juliet, though, he worried that if he didn't speak she might ask a question he didn't want to answer. At least this way he could direct their conversation, could control it to a certain extent, and maybe this was how he'd get to know her, to find out what her interests were, what sort of person she was. Maybe he'd like what he learned.
Juliet laughed. "Oh, sleep in. Probably just sit in front of the telly for a while."
Or maybe he wouldn't like it; Nick couldn't remember the last time he'd slept past seven, and he spent his weekends working on the renovations for his house and studying for the Sergeant's exam. The only time he turned on the television was to watch a footie match. He'd never been good at doing nothing, and though Jen had teased him for it she'd always been willing to step in and lend a hand, join him in whatever task occupied him at the moment. Maybe Juliet would, too, but the thought of Juliet standing beside him, painting one of the spare rooms upstairs, laying down the new floor in the kitchen, was not a particularly welcome one.
Jen's not coming back, he reminded himself.
"Sounds nice," he said.
Jen was so absorbed in her work she didn't hear him approach; she didn't even realize he was there until he plunked a cup of tea down in front of her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden intrusion.
"Didn't mean to scare you," Matt said easily, dragging the chair out from behind Nick's desk - no, not Nick's, she reminded herself, that desk belonged to Adam, the new kid they'd brought up from Arson. Matt set the chair down next to her, and then plopped down in it, holding his own cup of tea.
"You're here late," he said.
Jen hummed. "Yeah."
Yes, she was here late, but there was nowhere else for her to go, not really. Her house was quiet, and there was nothing to do there but eat, sleep, and think. At work she could think about the case, could try to unravel the mystery of the hour, but at home she inevitably thought about Nick, and she didn't want that tonight. Tonight she wanted to work until she could hardly keep her eyes open, and then collapse into bed, and maybe, maybe fall asleep without the loneliness eating her alive.
"You can finish reviewing those accounts tomorrow, you know," Matt told her. "There's no reason you have to do it tonight."
"I wanted to finish it," Jen said with a shrug. He'd put too much sugar in her tea, but she drank it just the same, grateful for something to do with her hands, something to look at other than Matt's face and the endless sea of financial records on her computer screen.
Matt frowned; apparently it wasn't the answer he was looking for.
"You've been working late a lot," he said slowly.
It was clear to Jen what he was doing, why he'd brought her this cup of tea, why he was sitting beside her now. There was no one else around; oh, Homicide was never completely empty, different teams working different hours every day, but their team was gone, and their corner of the floor was quiet. Matt had seen that something wasn't right with her, and he'd come to hear her out. It wasn't so very strange, that he should take such an interest; he had been her friend, once, the person she turned to before anyone else. It felt like a lifetime ago, those days before Emma, before Nick, before Matt had sat the Sergeant's exam, before everything changed. When she looked at him now she found it hard to believe that she had ever wanted him, had ever sought out his companionship; he wasn't the man she wanted to bring her tea, to offer her comfort.
Maybe that was unfair to him, though. Matt was a good man, despite his stumbles. He always tried his best. And he didn't know why Jen's heart was aching, why she'd been so dedicated to her job over the last six months, didn't know why she'd rather be here than at home. It wasn't his fault, that she'd kept secrets from him. It wasn't his fault he wasn't Nick.
"You can talk to me about it, you know," he said. "Whatever it is. We're mates, aren't we? The three musketeers."
Jen smiled a bit sadly at that. There were actually four musketeers, you know; Matt and Simon and Dunny and Jen, saving the world, sharing pints at the pub all the coppers frequented, all of them single and miserable and bound together by their isolation. They were all still here - well, not Simon, god only knew where Simon was these days - but that camaraderie had faded. They hardly ever went out for drinks together any more.
Maybe we should, Jen thought then. Maybe we should try. Maybe this lonesomeness would fade, if only she reached out, and reconnected with the people around her. Maybe it would get easier, in time. Maybe she'd be all right.
"Yeah, we're mates," she said. "I'd just rather be here than at home, right now."
It sounded pitiful when she said it, but she knew Matt would understand, wouldn't judge her for it. After all, he had lingered in his office long after everyone else had knocked off; he was at work in the middle of the night, too.
"It's crap, isn't it?" Matt said. "We give everything to this job and we've got nothing left over."
As far as Jen was aware Matt had not seen anyone since Emma. Emma who was good for him, and who'd left him behind when he chose the job over her. It was a funny, terrible sort of coincidence, Jen thought, that they were both sitting here, having lost the ones they loved for the sake of Homicide. Wolfie was divorced, Rhys prowled the bars and went home alone more often than not, the only woman Duncan ever saw was his sister. Jarvis had never married, never had kids, never seemed the type. And of course there was Waverly, Waverly who had lost everything, and still came to work each day, as if she didn't know what else to do with herself.
Christ, we're a sorry lot, Jen thought.
"Yeah," she said. "It's crap."