7 August 2005
Jen sighed and pressed herself more firmly against Wesley, watching the sun sinking low over the water. It was a beautiful view, Bondi Beach at sunset, sitting on a blanket next to her husband, his arm warm where it wrapped around her waist. They didn't often get a chance to run off like this, to enjoy the city they'd called home for a year now, and she was savoring the moment as best she could. It had been Wesley's idea, going down to the beach; the clock was ticking on Hartono's operation, now that the Claybournes had proven themselves useful, now that they were certain a container of human cargo was on its way to them, and Wesley had suggested they do something touristy, something fun, while they still could. SIS had learned as many lessons over the last year as Trish and Wesley had done, and they were certain that this time, they'd catch Hartono out. If they were right, that meant Jen and her Wesley didn't have much time left, either, and so she had not protested, had only smiled, and let him lead her out of the house, a blanket slung over his arm. They sat on that blanket now, comfortable with one another.
"I can't believe it took us this long to come down here," she said, mostly just to have something to say. It was nice, talking with Wesley, and she wanted to do it as much as she could, for as long as she could. The day was fast approaching when she'd be parted from him, and she'd never hear his voice again.
"We had other things to worry about," he answered softly. That was true; they weren't a happily married couple, wealthy and bored, with nothing to do but neck like teenagers and run down to the beach. It was all a job, in the end; the wedding rings, the bed they'd shared, the dances at glittering parties, the quiet, lazy Saturdays in the garden, all of it had been work. Well, maybe not all of it. Kissing him, that wasn't work. Holding him tight between her thighs in the backseat of their borrowed car, that wasn't work either. That was something else, something she couldn't think about too long for fear she might burst into tears.
"You think we'll get him, this time?" she asked. Jen reckoned she knew the answer to that one already; they would. She felt it in her bones. Live cargo wasn't like crates; Hartono couldn't afford to just leave it sitting. He'd need serious manpower to keep his charges docile during the unloading, and he probably planned to separate them, to cart them off to a half dozen different places at least. The dry cleaners were up and running, four of them in Sydney now and two in Canberra, and talk of a few more opening up down in Melbourne. To get his cargo to the shops he'd need several trucks, ready the minute his container unloaded. Every one of his men would have to be on sight, for this one, and not a damn one of them could feign ignorance. A porter might protest that he didn't know what was in a box, that he was just carrying it, but a man hauling a living, breathing woman off to a terrible fate couldn't pretend he didn't know better. To keep the men in line, to organize the whole setup, Hartono would want to be on site, Jen was sure of it.
"Yeah," Wesley said. "Things are different this time."
Jen hummed, to let him know she understood, because she did. Everything was different, now. The plan was different, the logistics were different, and the way Jen felt about her Wesley had changed, too. His steady warmth, his soft voice, his comforting presence; he had become the beginning and the end of everything for her, in a way she never could have imagined a year before. The thought of waking up one day without him beside her was unbearable; she had all but forgotten what it was to be without him, and she didn't want to remember, now.
"Trish?" he said, his voice low and strangely uncertain. It wasn't like him to doubt himself; Wesley always seemed to know just what to do.
"Yeah?"
"Will you tell me your name?"
Jen sucked in a sharp breath and pulled away from him slightly, the better to lift her chin and gaze up in to his dear face. There was an earnest, almost desperate sort of sincerity shining in his dark eyes, and it tore at her heart, left her feeling weak and wretched. It was not an easy thing he was asking, was not a simple gift she could bestow and then forget; if she told him her name he would carry it with him, always, could use it one day, if he wanted, to track her down, to find her again. To give him her name would be to make him a promise, a promise that if one day he turned up on her doorstep she would not send him away. It was a promise Jen wanted to make, with everything she had. For a moment she tried to imagine it, opening the door of her little house and finding him standing there, smiling that gentle smile he reserved just for her, taking his hand and leading him into her home, into a place where there were no cameras, no microphones, no one but them. She tried to imagine it, the sound of her own name falling from his lips, and nearly wept with bitter longing. She wanted it, but she could not have it, and she knew it. It was a dream too sweet to ever be made real.
"You know I want to," she answered softly. On impulse she reached out, ran her fingers tenderly through his soft hair while his eyes went sad and lonesome, watching her while she broke both their hearts. There were a few other people on the beach, but none of those people were SIS, and none of them were watching the couple slowly falling apart on their faded blue blanket, and so Jen saw no reason not to touch him. Even in the act of hurting him, she longed to comfort him; Christ, what a mess they'd found themselves in.
"No one would ever need to know," he said. It was a feeble protest at best, and they both knew it, but this was what they did. When presented with a problem they worked through it together, came at it from every angle, talked it out until a solution presented itself. The solution was obvious, in this case, but she didn't begrudge him the attempt at searching for alternatives.
"They're not going to be watching us when we go home, and even if they are, they won't do it for long. I could lay low for a year or so, and then look you up."
"What if you don't want to know me a year from now?" she pointed out. He opened his mouth to protest but she cut across him at once. "So much can happen in a year." The last twelve months they'd spent together was proof enough of that, for it had completely upended Jen's life in ways she had never anticipated, never could have even fathomed until now. "Who knows where we'll be, or what we'll want? You might meet some nice girl-" he scoffed, and she smiled but carried on - "or what if we live on opposite sides of the country? Can you imagine leaving behind your whole life just to be with me? You don't even know me, Wes. Not really."
"You know me," he said. Gently he caught hold of her hand, and pressed her palm against his chest, just above his beating heart. She could almost feel it, through the warmth of his shirt, and she turned her fingers against the fabric, clinging to him. "You know everything that matters."
Somehow, she rather thought he had the right of that. She didn't know where he'd grown up, or anything about his family, didn't know what he did for work or where he lived, but she knew how he kept his house, and how he took his tea, how he reacted when faced with a challenge, how he handled disagreements, how he held her. The big things, the important things, she had learned about him months before. Still, though, her head knew what her heart did not. There was a house waiting for her in Melbourne, and a job at the State Police, and a life's ambition for advancement and prestige. Could she leave all that behind, venture to Perth or Adelaide or wherever it was that he lived, just to have him? Could he do the same for her? It seemed to much to ask for either of them, when there was no guarantee they wouldn't be found out, when the risk of SIS's vengeance - and criminal charges against them - hung over their heads. She couldn't ask him to trade his life, his future, for her, and she knew she could not bring herself to do the same for him, no matter how she might have wished things were different.
"I do," she said. "I do know you. And I…" I love you, she thought, but she caught herself, didn't let the words pass her lips. Once said they could never be taken back, and Jen knew that if she only told him, told him that she loved him, that she needed him, he would move heaven and earth to find her, and damn them both in the process. Someone had to be strong enough to walk away; for both their sakes, Jen decided that it would be her. She would hold this love deep within her heart, and remember him for all the rest of her days, for she loved him too much to let him trade his future for her.
"We could-"
"We can't. You know we can't. If SIS ever found out, we could both face charges. And I can't let you walk away from your whole life, just for me. And I can't do that for you. No matter how much we might think we want to now."
They had been alone and wholly reliant on one another for so long, perhaps it was inevitable that they should fall for one another. Out in the world, when their lives weren't in danger, when they did different jobs, saw different people, spent time with different friends and slowly shed the Claybournes' skin, perhaps this love would waver, and fade. Perhaps that's all this was, all this had ever been; a momentary madness, a Folie à deux that was always meant to end when the lid finally came off the pressure cooker and everything settled back to normal.
"This really is the end, isn't it?" His voice was gruff with sorrow, but resigned, too; he wasn't fighting her, any more. He never really had been.
"Not tonight," she answered. "Not even tomorrow. We have a little time, Wes."
How long she couldn't say. From the chatter they'd picked up and the requests Hartono had made it appeared that the human cargo was coming in September. They had about a month, to make their plans, to set their trap, to say their goodbyes. After a full year of living someone else's life, a month seemed like no time at all.
"And we'll make the most of it, won't we?"
Jen smiled, wondering how it was possible to be both devastated and relieved at once. He had accepted her logic, and would not press her for her name again. He would hold her, as long as he could, and then he would let her go. They would be happy together, they would be parted. It was all true, the good and the bad and everything in between, and she felt it all at once.
"Yes," she told him. Yes, they would work damn hard, and make sure they put Hartono away for good. Yes, they would take every opportunity to hold one another, from now until the end. Slowly Jen rose up onto her knees, her hands on his shoulders to keep her steady, and Wesley caught hold of her hips, guided her to him as she gently slotted her lips over his. As she kissed him everything else seemed to fade away, and her heart found peace, if only for a moment.