25 September 2011
They didn't make it to Bondi Beach in September of 2010 the way they'd planned. In September of 2010 Jen's arm was still healing, their hearts were still so uncertain, and there was still so much bloody work to be done. We don't need to go, Jen had whispered to him the night of the 23rd, wrapped up in his arms in her bed. The bandages had come off the week before but she still flinched sometimes when she used that arm. It would take time. You don't need to look for me. I'm right here.
That had been enough for Nick, then. He didn't need to go to Sydney, to stand with his toes in the sand, scanning the crowds of early spring tourists for a woman in a white dress, a woman with a familiar smile. She was right there, in his arms.
Not that she'd stayed there long. The job reared its ugly head, the way Nick had always known it would. They never took that vacation Jen had promised him - not that he'd expected it, really. Words said in the heat of the moment, when they both feared they stood on the brink of losing one another, could not be taken as gospel truth. He hadn't given her a hard time about it. There was no point; she gave him as much of herself as she could, but then it all became too much for her. The lies, the fear, the impending threat of losing the job or him or both, had shattered her resolve, and restored her previous belief that they could not be anything more than colleagues to one another. For a few months that's all they were, dancing around the grief and trying not to get stuck at the bar after everyone left. But then came Dane Majors and Juliette Gardener and that prick Lombardi. Everything sort of blew up, after that.
And when the dust settled, Jen was back in his arms. It doesn't matter, she'd told him. Not anymore. She'd seen the light, caught a glimpse of what her life would look like without him in it, and she'd turned a page in her heart. For real this time; he could see it in her eyes every time she looked at him. After one too many close calls, after one too many natural disasters, Jen was tired of putting things off, as tired of pretending as Nick was himself. When he went home at night it was to her house as often as it was to his, but it was to her, every night, without fail. Jen was making noises about sitting the Sergeant's exam and her clothes were slowly migrating to his house, one blouse at a time, and there was a small bowl on his bedside table where she put her earrings when she laid down next to him at night. Everything was happening, exactly the way it was supposed to.
September rolled back around and they both had leave time owing, and they took it together, and decided to let the brass think whatever they wanted about that. It was another sign of Jen's commitment, Nick thought; she was testing the boundaries, now, watching people's reactions, not telling anybody anything out right but not hiding it, either. The day might soon come when they'd have to come clean, confess to everything, but it hadn't come yet, and for now, life was good.
Their holiday started in Sydney, on the 23rd of September, six years to the day since the first undercover operation came to a stunning conclusion and Jen was ripped away from him. Jen wore a white dress, and they ate dinner at a quiet restaurant near the harbor, and when they went to Bondi Beach to walk along the sand Nick caught hold of her hand with one of his, and tucked the other in his pocket. He hadn't bought a ring yet - he was looking, though, searching for the perfect one - but if he had that would have been the moment. The sun going down over the water, Jen's hand in his, his jacket around her shoulders, that white dress brushing the soft skin of her thighs just above her knees. There will be other moments, he told himself. He wasn't even sure she'd say yes. He hoped she would, though.
The next day they chartered a boat, and set off on the water. Nick had the whole thing planned out; where they'd go, what they'd do, the best paths to take, the best places to stop. There was a bit of food and a bit of booze on the boat, and a few little harbors marked out on the map he'd spread out next to the steering wheel, places they could dock and stretch their legs and have a nice dinner. There was bait and tackle in a big plastic box and six different fishing poles, and come Monday Nick was determined to teach Jen how to fish. He was sure she'd hate it, but they'd have fun, and that was all that mattered.
Today was Sunday, though, and they'd dropped anchor in a quiet little cove one of Nick's footie mates had told him about. There were no other boats about, just clear blue water and clear blue skies and birds wheeling high overhead. Both their mobiles were turned off, for once. Oh, Jen would turn hers on sometime after dinner, just to check, but for the most part it was just them, out there, alone. It was perfect.
Nick was intent on doing a bit of fishing, and so he'd gone below decks to gather his supplies, grumbling good-naturedly while Jen just grinned and stretched out on a towel on the boat deck. I'm just here for the sunshine, Buchanan, she'd told him. I feel like I haven't seen daylight in weeks. That was true enough; they'd caught three cases back to back just before they left, and they'd been run ragged trying to get everything in order before they skipped town. They were both overdue for a bit of R&R.
He emerged into the sunshine, juggling his tackle box and his fishing pole, and made his way over to the railing near the spot where Jen had settled herself. They'd dropped anchor for the afternoon; if the weather stayed fine, and no one else turned up, Nick thought they might just stay there all night. They didn't have anywhere else to be, no agenda, no case, no bosses. Just them.
As he dropped the box at his feet he turned to look at Jen, intent on teasing her for being so lazy, maybe prodding her into having her little fishing lesson now, but the breath caught in his throat as he looked at her. Jen had laid her bright blue towel out along a raised section of the deck, and she'd stretched out there on her stomach, her arms crossed beneath her head, her face turned towards him but her eyes closed. It was hot, for September, and so she hadn't bothered to put anything on over her pristine white bikini. She looked like a work of art, he thought; that little bikini tied at the nape of her neck, and left the smooth, tan expanse of her back perfectly bare to the sun. Nick's eyes followed the curve of her spine appreciatively down to those white bikini bottoms slung low around her hips, to the perfect swell of her ass just peeking out beneath them, to her long, lean legs. Christ, he'd never, in his life, seen anything as gorgeous as her.
The fish can wait, he thought, and propped his pole up against the railing. Slowly, silently he made his way over to her, stepped lightly around her and then settled himself down on the deck beside her. Jen's face was turned away from him now, her breathing deep and even; if he didn't know better he might have thought she was sleeping, but he had learned long ago how to tell the difference between the sound of her asleep, and the sound of her pretending. She was wide awake, and she knew damn well what he was doing. She was waiting for him.
Slowly, very slowly, he leaned in, let his lips brush against her bare shoulder while his fingertips trailed gently down the curve of her spine. At his touch she shivered, and he smiled, and kissed her again.
"This is nice," she said, her voice very quiet.
"It is," he answered. He leaned a little closer, let his bare chest brush her arm while his lips found their way to her neck. That blonde hair he loved so well was tied back, and left him more than enough room to work, to kiss her in all the places he dreamed about, even now, after all this time. The hand that was slowly travelling down on her back continued on its way, down, and down, until he could settle his palm over the curve of her bum. He gave her a squeeze for good measure, and smiled against her skin when she laughed.
"I can't believe it took us so long to get here."
For six years Nick had been dreaming about this, about being out on the water, alone and unobserved, with the woman who had been a stranger, and his wife, his lover and his partner and his best friend. For six years he had been waiting for this, for her, waiting for the moment when she loved him more than she feared that love, when his quiet, earnest love of her finally convinced her that they were worth this risk. For six years he had loved her, missed her, had her and lost her and waited, just for this.
"It happened when it was meant to," he said.
Jen turned her head to face him, blue eyes watching him seriously while still he kept his grip on her bum, needing that connection to her, the warmth of her beneath his hand reminding him that this was real, that they were here, that they had survived. The two halves of their lives, the before and the after, had come crashing together so magnificently he was still surprised, sometimes, to think they'd made it through the collision unscathed. To think that the trust, and the understanding, and the love they'd cultivated in Sydney had not been tampered by time, or the job, or the return of Trish and Wesley, but had instead flourished. One day, maybe one day soon, he meant to make her his wife. For real, this time. His wife, not Wesley Claybourne's. His Trish, his Jen, his heart made flesh; no force on earth could take her from him now, not even her own fear. She was growing braver by the day; he could see the certainty in her eyes when she looked at him now. Jen had made her choice, and she'd chosen him.
"You mean that, don't you?" she asked him quietly.
"They could have sent any woman in the world to Sydney," he answered. "You weren't the only pretty blonde on SIS's payroll. But they sent you to me. And when I saw you that night, at Matt's, when I saw your face, I knew. It wasn't an accident. It was always you and me, Jen. It was always us."
"That's awfully philosophical of you, Detective Buchanan," she teased him lightly. They didn't go in for religion, either of them, didn't believe in God or astrology or karma or any of the rest of it, but when Nick looked at her, he knew that there was one thing he did believe in. He believed in her. God, or fate, or the universe, or whatever the hell, had thrown her into his path not once but twice. Every choice, every remarkable coincidence, every miraculous step of every day of the last six years had led him here, to her. She was his destiny, and he was grateful for it every day.
"You don't agree?" he said, raising his eyebrow at her. She wasn't the only one who could tease.
To his surprise, though, her face grew suddenly serious, and she reached for him, let her fingertips drift softly along the length of his jaw, tracing through the two days' worth of stubble growing there. She'd made some offhand comment about how she couldn't imagine what he'd look like with a beard, and he'd taken it as a challenge. By the time this trip was through she'd know the answer. If she liked it, maybe he'd keep it. He'd do anything for her.
"I do. I know you're right. You weren't the only handsome man on SIS's payroll," she told him. "They sent you to me. It was always us."
Nick smiled, then, and leaned in slowly, and she met him halfway, her lips soft and sweet, her breath warm against his cheek. The time stretched out in front of them, a long hazy expanse of forever, and they sank into it willingly, and Nick did not fish at all that day. He couldn't have been happier.