Let's get married. Have kids.
I want you.
I love you.
It's done.
Jen took one deep, shuddering breath, and rode the lift all the way down to the ground floor, and then she walked on leaden feet right out of the building, stepped into the bright sunshine of a warm Monday morning, the sounds of Melbourne roaring to life filling her ears.
Leave it to Nick, she thought, to try to stave off the end of a relationship by proposing marriage. He was the most steady, most confident, most...best man she'd ever known, and he had answered her doubts with his own quiet certainty. Every obstacle she'd raised he'd carefully deconstructed, but didn't he see how that only made things worse? It was too much, coming too quickly, and it terrified her. Oh, she wasn't sure she would have accepted him if he'd proposed to her on a quiet morning when everything was blissfully uncomplicated - rather than catching her completely off guard in the midst of her attempt to break things off with him - but the way he'd sprung it on her only made her want to run. She'd made up her mind, before, and the harder he tried to change things the harder she'd dug in her heels, suddenly afraid of losing control of her life completely.
Leave it to Nick, she thought, to only say I love you when he was leaving. He wasn't cruel, or commitment-averse, or selfish; he just never felt the need to say the words. He hadn't said I love you when things were good between them, when they were lying soft and warm and tangled up in her bed together; probably, she thought, because he reckoned that was obvious. It was obvious, of course; she had known he loved her since their first morning in the house together during the Supomo operation, when she'd woken with his arms around her. Since that moment she'd felt his love in every touch of his hand, in his sure and steady presence beside her, and been content. Would it have changed things, if she'd heard him say it before now? She didn't think so, somehow. She'd known he loved her; she hadn't needed the words either.
Leave it to Nick, she thought, to come to this solution, to remove himself from her line of sight for the sake of both their hearts. Jen had only wanted a little space, a little time to think things through, had only wanted to protect both their careers while she tried to figure out what the future might look like. But Nick, Nick had been so sure, and she hadn't realized until he told her just how much it might wound him, to work with her and not be with her. They'd always been such a good team, and she'd relished it, enjoyed working with him more than anyone else, had been utterly, completely terrified of the prospect of losing his support in the professional sphere. They were both at the top of their game and surely, she'd thought, they both wanted to stay there. Apparently she'd thought wrong, though; Nick had offered to transfer for her, without question, without hesitation, and while she balked at the idea of him making such a sacrifice for her he'd gone and done it anyway. And it was only now that she was beginning to realize the mistake she'd made in thinking that the job came first for both of them. It clearly didn't come first for Nick; he'd walked away from the most prestigious department in the State Police, because he wanted her at home more than he wanted her at work.
She'd known he loved her, and, if she were being completely honest, she had known, somewhere deep down, even without him saying it, that marriage was where they were headed. A total commitment, a joining of two lives, the comfort and security of being together, always, in every way. It was the logical destination for a relationship like theirs, two people who were mature, and responsible, and madly in love with each other. It was what came next, and maybe that, more than anything else, was why she'd felt like running. Marriage had not ever been in the cards for Jen; marriage meant compromise, meant prioritizing something in her life over her job, meant being part of an us instead of just me. And Jen had been fighting, so hard and for so long, for her independence, for the right to stand on her own two feet, that the thought of being so irreversibly bound to another was terrifying. But how could she ever explain that to Nick? Nick who was so good, who had always been exactly the kind of partner she'd dreamed of, supportive and gentle and generous and kind? No man on earth would be a better husband than Nick Buchanan, but Jen wasn't sure she wanted any husband at all, and she didn't know how to explain that without breaking his heart.
Too late for that now, she thought glumly as she drifted across the square, making her way towards the coffee shop.
She had broken his heart, she knew she had. And broken her own, in the process. It had been her intent to sacrifice the home Nick for the work Nick, to preserve the least complicated, most successful of the two relationships, but now she'd lost them both. No Nick in her bed, no Nick sitting next to her at work. Once he was officially in Serious Crime they might not ever cross paths again; he'd work on a different floor, and he might be rostered on for different hours, and she'd put an end to all the nights they'd spent together. What would become of her, if she never saw him again?
They'd gone four years without each other, once. Leaving him at the end of that first operation had been a process of grief, for Jen. For over a year he'd been the center of her world, the only person she could trust, the strong arms that held her when she slept, the warm hand that supported her when she stumbled, the quiet voice that washed over her at meal times, reminding her that there was a piece of goodness in the world. For over a year they'd been married, brushing their teeth at the same sink, laughing together while they folded laundry, holding hands while they wandered through the market. Being married to him had been the most beautiful dream - except for the cameras, and the microphones, and the ever present threat of violence. But she'd known, when it ended, that she would never see him again, and she had mourned, just a little, for the loss of that comfort, knowing that no other man would ever compare to him.
And then he'd been returned to her and she'd looked at him and wondered if maybe it wasn't fate. If maybe it wasn't meant to be, the two of them. They fell back into step the moment they shook hands and introduced themselves properly; Jen's life had started to feel right, the moment Nick walked back into it. Maybe this is our chance, she'd thought then, our chance to do this for real. And they had done it; he'd drawn her in, and she was powerless to resist the inexorable gravity of his beautiful smile. By the time SIS snatched them up a second time she had known she loved him, and by the time that operation ended she had known she wanted him. But -
"Oi," a sharp voice said in her ear, and Jen nearly jumped out of her skin. She'd been standing in line, waiting to order a coffee, and she'd been utterly oblivious to everything around her. Allie had snuck up behind her without her noticing, and was now standing beside her, frowning, arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping impatiently.
"Give me some warning next time, would you?" Jen grumbled. "Scared me half to death."
"Did you talk to him?" Allie demanded crossly.
"Allie-" Jen sighed, but Allie cut across her at once.
"You have to talk some sense into him," she insisted. "You guys were basically married, you're the only one he listens to."
It was true, and Jen knew it. Though they had taken pains to hide their romantic relationship - and had been successful, she thought, given the fact that no one had tried to tease Jen about it - they had not been able to hide the depth of their friendship. Everyone knew they worked better with each other than anyone else. Everyone knew that Nick would always know where to find Jen, even if no one else did. Everyone knew they often shared their coffee, that there were a million other little things they shared because of what they'd been through before. Everyone knew they were a pair, Nick and Jen. It was no wonder that Allie was coming to Jen now, that Allie was so sure Jen would be the one to make him see sense, but what Allie did not know, could not know, was that Jen was the reason he'd left in the first place.
"He's ready to move up the ladder," Jen lied glumly. Nick had never wanted to be a Sergeant; he'd told Jen so himself, during one of their many conversations about Matt's disastrous leadership. Let someone else handle the politics, Nick had told her, his hand ghosting over her bare back. I want to do the investigation. I want to be on the ground, until I'm too old for it, and then I want to retire, and go fishing every day. She'd laughed, and kissed him, and breathed a sigh of relief knowing that ambition would never pull him away from her. It was funny, really, how quickly things could change.
"Bullshit," Allie said sharply. "He was in a mood all last week, biting everyone's head off and throwing his weight around, and now he announces he's going to transfer? Something's happened."
Jen didn't say anything, but then she didn't really need to.
"And you know what it is, and you aren't going to tell me."
"Just leave it alone, Allie. It's Nick's decision, and he's made up his mind."
"Fine," Allie said, pouting. "I'm going to go back upstairs before someone notices I'm gone. Get me a latte, will you?"
And then before Jen could say another word Allie was gone, and she was left alone with her thoughts once more, the queue inching slowly closer to the counter.
You know where to find me, Jen. When you're ready, when you know what you want, I'll be there.
She did know where to find him. Even if he worked on another floor, for another squad, even if she never saw him at work, she could ring him, could go round his house, could demand that they talk things through. But what more was there to say? She'd told him she didn't want him to leave Homicide, and he had. She'd told him their relationship meant everything to her, and she'd called it off anyway. The thought of being married - to him, to anyone - was no less daunting now than it had been last week. She was no more sure of what she wanted now than she had been when she'd asked for a few days' leave. What would be the point of demanding a meeting with him, only to rehash the same points?
Except things were different, now. She'd thought, that day in the car, that they could still be friends, still see one another, work together. Losing him at home she could bear, she'd thought, so long as she still had him at work. But now she'd lost him completely, and the sudden, stark emptiness she felt at that loss had shaken her to her very core.
"Next!" The kid behind the counter called, and Jen stepped up, delivering her order and trying to bring her chaotic thoughts back under control. It's done, she reminded herself. Nick's made his choice, and so have you. It's done.