2 September 2010

Nick ended the call, and Jen let out the breath she'd been holding while she listened. The thing was done; Hartono knew the Claybournes had just landed in Melbourne and were looking to get back on their feet, and he'd told them he would consider their proposition. That was all he'd given him; i'll consider it, Mr. Claybourne. They couldn't expect more from him, Jen knew, not now, not yet, not when they'd only just come bursting back into his orbit; surely he'd be suspicious of them, since it was their arrival in his life five years before that had heralded disaster. Everything had been going smoothly for Hartono, and within a year of meeting the Claybournes his business was in ruins and half of his associates were in jail. Maybe he believed the line he'd been fed, that Trish and Wesley had gone to jail, too; that might work in their favor. If he didn't believe them, though, both their lives were in danger. Starting now, tonight.

"Now what?" Nick asked softly, tucking the mobile in his pocket.

Yeah, Jen thought. Now what? How were they supposed to fill the hours, the days that stretched out before them? No friends, no fancy parties, no office to go to during the daylight hours, no Abdul Supomo - who had been murdered when Hartono discovered his duplicity - just this house, and the spooks breathing down their necks, demanding results as soon as possible and refusing to see sense.

"Supper, I guess," Jen said. Part of her wanted to stay right where she was, sitting on that bed with Nick; part of her wanted to fold herself into his arms, and never let go, wanted him to hold her until all of this went away, to fall asleep wrapped around him and wake up safe and warm in her own bed. But the more practical side of her prevailed; they had been given a job, and they would have to do it, no matter how difficult, how painful, how awkward it might be. And besides, the spooks were watching; if they didn't like what they saw they could make life very difficult for Jen and Nick. When she'd first signed up to work with them she'd been green and itching for experience; now she was a senior member of the homicide squad, with the most coveted job on the force, with the best team she could have asked for, with a clear path to advancement, with Nick. The spooks could take it all away, if she crossed them. If she fumbled this job, she wouldn't even be able to get a post writing parking tickets.

"Sounds good," Nick said, and with a groan he heaved himself upright. For a moment Jen looked up at him, his sweet face, his expression wary, and weary. They'd been up all night, furiously studying, quizzing each other on the finer points of their backstories and Hartono's operation, and they'd been busy all day, in and out of briefings, and the adrenaline caused by the phone call to Hartono had faded in to exhaustion. His hand twitched down by his side, as if he meant to reach out to her but had thought better of it, and so Jen sighed and rose to her feet, led them both out of the bedroom and back to the kitchen.

"What are the chances there's anything to eat in here?" Nick asked quietly as they went. He was trying to be lighthearted, she knew, trying to make her smile, for even a wry chuckle would be preferable to the grim tension that had settled upon them both. That was his way, always trying to make her comfortable, trying to make her happy, trying to make things better. Her mind drifted back to the Sydney house, to the pergola he'd built just for her, just because he didn't want her nose to burn in the sun. There were so many memories, a lifetime's worth of memories crammed into thirteen months when he'd held her, protected her, changed her whole life with his quiet, steady care, and they closed in on her as she found herself in the kitchen with him, Jen reaching to open the fridge while he stood close, watching. It was hardly the first time they'd found themselves sharing a meal since he'd wandered back into her life, but everything was different, now. They were being observed, and the possible threat to their lives felt more imminent now, now that the risk Hartono knew the truth of them was greater. They couldn't be Nick and Jen in this place, comfortable and quiet with one another, closer than perhaps two colleagues ought to be but protected by their careful choices and their ironclad reputations as the two wet blankets of the team. But at the same time it was hard to be Trish and Wesley, who touched each other without hesitation, called each other sweetheart even when they were alone, cuddled together on the sofa in front of a footie match. How could she allow herself such familiarity with him now, knowing that when this was over he wouldn't disappear, but would return with her to a life where no matter how badly she wanted him she could never have him?

"Not good," Jen said quietly as she swung open the refrigerator and discovered it was completely empty.

"Damn," Nick said, but he was grinning when she looked over her shoulder at him. "We'll just have to go to the shops tomorrow."

"Just like the old days," Jen murmured, closing the useless fridge. On their first full day in the Sydney house they'd gone to the shops together and bought everything they needed to decorate their home, and purchased every kind of food imaginable on SIS's dime, quietly talking about meals and their woeful culinary skills as they browsed through the grocery store. It wouldn't be like that this time; McAllister had told them in no uncertain terms that they were only to buy essentials with the company credit card, and Jen knew already what foods Nick liked, what he didn't.

"Can we have your lemon chicken tomorrow?" Nick asked, casual and comfortable as if it was just another day. He'd started rummaging through the drawers, searching for takeaway menus.

If you'll make me banana pancakes, Jen thought, but the words wouldn't leave her lips. She loved his banana pancakes, and if they were going to be stuck here she wanted him to make them for her, but asking for them felt like giving in, somehow. Admitting that they were stuck here, acknowledging everything that had gone before, felt like a capitulation to the inevitable. It also felt remarkably like flirting, and the boundaries between them were shifting so rapidly she could hardly find her way through. Maybe it would best to keep her distance, she thought. Maybe if she kept her guard up, and didn't stumble too close to intimacy with him, she'd survive this with her heart and their friendship still intact.

Behind her Nick gave a triumphant little cry, and emerged from the drawer he'd been rooting through with a stack of papers in his hands.

"Chinese?" he asked, glancing through the paltry offerings.

"Yeah," Jen agreed. She didn't bother giving him her order; he knew what she liked. In a moment he'd pulled the mobile back out of his pocket, and dialed the number, and a rueful smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she listened to him rattle off the list of their favorite dishes. She'd taught him how to use chopsticks, too. Before. That was something Trish had done for Wesley, something none of Jen and Nick's friends knew about, but it was Jen's memory, and a fond one.

"Be here in half an hour," Nick said to her when the call was through, tucking his mobile in his pocket and dropping the Chinese menu on the counter.

"Half an hour," Jen repeated, looking around their shitty little house. There were no books on the shelves, not even a bloody TV. What were they supposed to do for half an hour? Sit on the shitty sofa in the shitty sitting room and talk about the weather?

"Hey," Nick said, reaching out and brushing his fingertips against her arm. Jen jumped as if he'd burned her, and he frowned. "You all right?"

"It's a lot to process," she said, shrugging. That was, she thought, the understatement of the century.

"Yeah," Nick agreed heavily.

It was too much, really. The silence of that cold house, the terrible, threatening blandness of the furniture reminding Jen that this time around she and Nick weren't going to be given the star treatment, but were instead under immense pressure to deliver results now, driven by people who could not have cared less about them or their safety, the fact that this time she had not signed up for this job but had instead been forced into against her will, the knowledge that Nick was with her, not a handsome, agreeable stranger but her best friend in the whole world, a man she could have loved, if things had been different, the thousand memories swirling through her mind; it was more than a lot. It was overwhelming, and she hardly knew what to say, or even if she ought to bother at all.

"At least there's a radio," Nick said, gesturing toward the kitchen counter. He fiddled with the nobs for a second, scanned through static and a few terrible pop songs until he found something quiet and bearable.

"That's better," he said, satisfied. It was strange, Jen thought, that he felt the need to fill the silence now; it had never bothered him before.

"It's going to be ok, Jen," he said then, very quietly, and suddenly she understood. He hadn't turned on the music for his own sake; he'd done it to cover the sound of his voice, to give them a moment's privacy from the spooks. Slowly he approached her, stopped so close by her side that they were almost touching, and hung his head low by her cheek.

"We've done this before, and we'll do it again. I've got you."

What Jen wanted more than anything else in that moment was to hold him; her hands itched to reach out to him, but she held herself back, remembering the promise she'd made to herself only minutes before, to keep him at arm's length. There didn't seem to be any other choice, but her resolve was fading as quickly as it had risen; they were alone, and she was scared, and Nick was just there.

"This is a nightmare," she whispered to him, closing her eyes so that she didn't have to see the worry flickering across his face. It was the nightmare, as far as she was concerned, ripped out of the life she'd built for herself, stripped of her independence, flung back into chaos, forced to share her home, her bed, her life with Nick, indefinitely, while not being allowed to touch him, to love him, as she dearly longed to do. The only thing worse than having him so close would be to lose him completely, and somehow she felt herself in danger of suffering from both.

"Hey," he said, letting his arm brush hers. "It's going to be all right. It wasn't all bad, was it?"

She looked up at him sharply, and as she did her eyes caught his, and held, and she drowned, lost in a sea of longing, an ocean of memories. No, it hadn't all been bad. There had been that beautiful, terrible kiss on Hartono's yacht, there had been the moment their resolve finally shattered and Nick took her in his arms for the first time, their bodies twining together, rocking her to her very core. There had been every time after that, every breathless moment they stole for themselves, greedy and hungry for one another. All the gifts, all the quiet Saturday afternoons, all the whispered conversations in their bed, and there had been that day, her birthday, when he had taken her in his arms, and danced her round the kitchen, and her heart had swelled full of love in her chest.

"No," she agreed breathlessly. "It wasn't all bad."

That was what he had been waiting for, she knew. From the moment he'd stumbled across her path in Matt's kitchen he had been waiting to hear her say that, to say that the moments they'd shared, the way he touched her, kissed her, loved her, mattered to her, that it wasn't all some fever dream she was desperate to forget. He had been waiting, as always, for her to step into the moment with him, to bring the two halves of their lives back together, to acknowledge that everything they had done as Trish and Wesley they had also done as Nick and Jen. She didn't need such reassurances from him; one look in his eyes told her exactly how much it had meant to him. The same as it was for her; it meant everything.

"Dance with me," Nick said softly, holding out his hand to her.

She should have said no. She should have walked away, stuck to her guns, kept him at arms' length. But she couldn't. He was too handsome, too sweet, too gentle, and she wanted him too badly. To take his hand now would be to step off into madness with him, but they had fallen so far already, and if she was going to plummet to her doom she wanted to hold his hand on the way down.

In silence she accepted his hand, let him pull her in close. This time there was no hesitation; she pressed herself as close to him as she could get, rested her head on his shoulder, felt the warmth of him as his free arm wrapped around her back, and sighed. It was not the first time they'd danced, not even the first time they'd danced in a kitchen, but this moment was something special, and they both knew it. Their hearts whispered to one another, in voices too soft for ears to hear, acknowledging that truth so long kept buried. She needed him, as he needed her; they had neither of them forgotten what it was, to be with one another, and they both wanted it so badly now they could not keep their distance, no matter the promises Jen had tried to make to herself.

We're in trouble, Jen thought, but the solid breadth of Nick's chest pressed to hers reassured her somewhat. Whatever happened with the operation, everything between them had changed. There would be no going back from this, but he had made her a promise once, and she knew he meant to keep it. I'll be your net, and you be mine. They were falling hard and fast, but they would catch one another. They always did.