Another 'what if' for the ending of 4.22. A sort of play on taxicab confessionals (which I've actually never seen), also I googled a map of Melbourne for this story... I'm geographically challenged in my own life let alone in fic, just go with it. My usual disclaimer - I stink at being succinct.

Rated K+.

I own nothing. Everything belongs to the keepers and creators of City Homicide. I'm just taking Nick and Jen out to play (mostly Jen)

He switched off the radio with a sigh, having heard more than enough of Richard Hill vilifying the state police and slut-shaming for one night. He was reaching for his newspaper when a group of women, more specifically a woman in a glossy blue dress, caught his attention. He watched as she slowly extricated herself from her friends, and with a few parting hugs and a kiss on the cheek, she stepped away waving her final goodbyes. She turned herself and squared her shoulders as her fierce stride carried her towards his car, her bright smile dissolving into a wistful countenance.

The woman approached the passenger side of his taxi and stopped at the open window. Resting her hand on the door she leaned down, and he noticed she wasn't wearing a wedding ring. "Can you take me to Abbotsford?"

"Yeah," he nodded with a friendly smile, dropping his newspaper on the seat next to him. "Sure."

She was pretty, by far the best-looking fare he'd caught in a while, and the sorrowful look in her eyes told him there was a story there; his curiosity was piqued.

Jen scooted into the backseat, rattling off her destination as she made herself comfortable. He looked over his shoulder, the stiffness in her posture and contemplation written over her features told him she wasn't interested in small talk. He nodded quickly and she offered him a small, fleeting smile before she turned to look out the window. He faced forward and started the car and then the meter. He checked his side mirrors and glanced up to his rearview in time to watch her drop her elbow on the door and prop her chin onto her hand. The taxi pulled away from the curb.

"Good night?" He asked, trying to sound gentle and unobtrusive.

Jen kept her chin resting on her hand as she turned to look at him. "Yeah," she responded lightly as her eyes turned down to look at her phone sitting in her lap. She picked it up.

The taxi rolled to stop; the red light allowed him a moment to glance back at her through the rearview mirror. He watched as she scrolled through a list on her screen, then click on a name and open a message thread. He looked to the lights, the through-traffic still had a green, so he glanced back at his patron who appeared to be reading something, presumably text messages, on her phone.

He considered himself an adequate judge of character, usually able to figure people out fairly early on; but this one, she was guarded, in a stoic sort of way, and he guessed that even those close to her struggled to really know her. On the surface, she seemed kind though, and friendly enough, with an easy confidence about her. Her overall aesthetic was natural, a perfect combination of strength and beauty, and he sensed a certain humility there when it came to her appearance, which made her seem all the more attractive. He took a risk and looked directly at her eyes. They were big and beautiful and shimmering with a plaintive reservation that he couldn't decipher; was it heartbreak or longing, rejection or despair? The light turned green, and he was forced to look away.

As the car began to move Jen lifted her head, first studying the man she knew had just been watching her, and then she looked out the window to gain her bearings. After giving the driver another steady glance, Jen moved her attention back to her phone.

She stared at the open text box for a moment, the cursor blinking readily. Minutes passed before she began typing in a message, a message that she promptly deleted. After a moment she tried again, and once again found herself unsure, so she cleared the message straight away. This process repeated several more times until, finally, she had a few words she was satisfied with. Her thumb hovered over the send button, but something was stopping her. With a heavy sigh, she tore her eyes away from the screen and turned to look out the window.

It had rained that evening, and by the looks of things, it had only recently stopped. She stared out the window in a daze, watching the streetlights reflecting off the wet pavement as Waverley's words swirled inside her head, 'I allowed the job to cost me my marriage.' Fate had attempted to intervene, not once but twice, by bringing Nick Buchanan into her life, and still, the price for that happiness was too high. Her eyes began to burn, the threat of tears offering her an early warning of the breakdown that was sure to come. She looked down at her phone, to the screen glowing in the darkness. Jen started to delete her words, stopped herself, and retyped them.

Now and then he would glance up and watch her in the mirror, as she desperately retyped her message for the dozenth time, he gently cautioned, "don't do it."

Jen's head snapped up. Her eyes flashed and met his in the mirror. Her brow furrowed. "Excuse me?!"

"Forgive me, I don't mean to intrude." He apologized, quickly looking back to the road. "You've been working on that message for the past 5-minutes," he swallowed. "I think if you were sure, you would have sent it straight off."

Her irritation dissipated as her mouth dropped open, stunned by the driver's impertinence yet impressed by his detective work. "...I," unable to complete her thought her voice hitched with a sigh.

"From my experience," his eyes darted through the intersection as he made sure it was clear to turn. He casually glanced in the mirror; her eyes were watching him. "It won't…" he searched for the right words. "It won't solve things."

"And what experience is that?" Jen demanded suspiciously, choosing to address his first presumption.

He grinned, "I've been doing this job for a long time. I've seen so many things happen in this car."

A combination of disbelief and disgust crossed her expressive face as Jen looked down at the seat next to her, trying not to cringe.

"Not that," the driver laughed with earnest and he garnered the first genuine, albeit small, smile from his customer. He looked over his shoulder to check his blind spot, briefly catching her eye, then accelerated and merged onto the expressway. "I've met all sorts," he changed lanes, "and I'm good at reading people." He looked up and nudged towards the mirror, "I've driven many people before and after they've sent the message." His eyes focused back on the road, "more often than not there is regret."

Jen watched him suspiciously and wondered just how well he was able to read her. She shook her head against his implication, "it's not like that." She looked down at her phone, the black and white message; neat and clear and unsent. "I mean…not exactly."

"So. What's stopping you then?" He asked gently.

Looking out the window she exhaled slowly. The burden of her decision had weighed on her so heavily that for weeks she had been tortured by uncertainty and guilt and heartache. She saw that same torment when she looked at Nick, felt sickened by the agony in his eyes. It was the same pain that consumed her thoughts and halted her sleep, a pain that she had caused. Mercifully he had withdrawn from her, giving them both a chance to breathe and tend to their wounds, but in his absence, she was suffocating. Her eyes dropped to her cellphone and then up to the rearview mirror where she met the drivers' gentle eyes. "I don't know," she whispered sadly as she turned her phone over, hiding the glow of her desperation.

"Hmm," the driver nodded.

Fear of judgment led Jen to explain. "We have so much history..." she trailed off, knowing that even in this confessional there were limits to what she could say. "It's complicated and we work together." She sighed, "relationships are highly discouraged."

"They usually are," he said with a smile as he looked back over his shoulder. He checked his side mirrors and then moved the car into the next lane. "So, friends first and then colleagues?"

"Uhm…" A contemplative sound escaped her throat, "something like that." After a beat she added, "like I said, it's complicated."

His eyes glanced up to the mirror quickly, knowing the risk he was taking with his next question. "...And more than colleagues?"

A soft, reminiscent smile lifted her cheeks. "Yes," she answered quietly. "For a while."

His voice remained steady and neutral, "But now it's over?"

Jen was silent as her thoughts drifted back to the last time that they made love. She knew then that it was over and yet she still… "Yeah." Her voice was soft, and she struggled to swallow her remorse.

"Because you work together?"

She watched the twinkling kaleidoscope of raindrops and streetlights on her window. The answer to his question was simple; yes, but it also wasn't that simple either. She had been overwrought for weeks, struggling with her ambivalence and agonizing over her decision. Thinking about it now made her falter. "It's not like…" she stumbled over her words. "It…" '

"It's complicated?" He offered.

There was something about his tone that provoked her, and she turned to glare at his profile. "It is!" She said with more force than necessary, but by the time her final words were out, her tone had softened considerably, "he's my best friend."

The atmosphere in the car was almost Freudian; a faceless voice asking questions, a hypnotic pattern of shadows cascading through the windows, the ambient sound of the tires splashing over wet pavement, made it feel safe to speak openly. The anonymity of the situation sparked a candor and a sincerity that she rarely afforded anyone. "I love him," she continued sadly, without hesitation. "I never ever wanted to hurt him! But when I weigh it all out…" she left her thought unfinished as Waverley's voice filled her mind, 'the job is satisfying and rewarding, but that comes at great personal cost.'

"And when you weigh it all out…" He repeated her last thought with hopes that he would prompt her to continue.

'But the truth is, no one has an easy life' the Commander's voice reminded her, but Jen knew the truth to be a nebulous thing when you're comfortable living a lie. And she was acutely aware that the life of a detective, a female homicide detective, most certainly wasn't easy.

"The risk is too high." She said sadly.

"What. Why?" Her answer surprised him. "How?"

Jen found grim humor in his dumbfounded response to her calamity, her cheek lifted in a half-smile while her thoughts raced. Because I am a woman. Because I don't want to sacrifice any more than I already have. Because I've worked so hard. Because of the job. Because I am terrified to lose everything. Because I'm afraid of losing him.

"Are you his superior?" He asked without taking his eyes from the road.

The question was unexpected, and she gave a quick laugh in response. "No," she shook her head. "I'm not his boss."

He looked up to the mirror and glanced at her, the wrinkles around his eyes told her he was smiling. "Ahh, but you could be?"

She simply hummed her reply.

He put on his turn signal and merged onto the exit ramp. "And just to be clear, you don't want to leave your job?"

"No." A simple answer to a very complex question. The car slowly drifted off the expressway and merged back onto a busy city street. Once they were settled in their lane she spoke, "I'm good at my job, but together… he makes me better."

"I imagine that you're quite good at your job, all on your own." He paused a moment, pondering what he wanted to ask next. "What's your name?"

Jen was taken aback, the conversation had gained some momentum and this question was disarming, and perhaps his most intimate ask yet. "Jen…" she hesitated. "Jennifer."

"Jennifer." He said her name as if he was testing its suitability, then he introduced himself. "I'm Gil."

Jen smiled as more of her tension slipped away.

He continued, "So, Jennifer, you love him, he makes you better. He's your best friend." Gil looked up to the mirror, catching her eye. "Help me understand."

Waverley's voice circled through her thoughts once more, 'Only you can decide what is important for you.'

"The lies," she shrugged weakly. "We were, are, constantly lying to everyone around us." Jen looked down at her hands and murmured "that's not a life." She exhaled heavily, "I hate it... and we've done it for so long." Her voice trailed off sadly as flashes of Trish Claybourne's life flooded her, taking her back to a time when she was married to a man named Wes, and once again her eyes began to burn.

Gil could tell she was suffering, her voice wavered with the sincerity of a woman compounded by grief. "That makes sense," he offered sympathetically. "But of course, there is more to it than that..."

She nodded into the silence, her thoughts drifting back to the day it all came to a head. Would it have been different if she was paired up with Rhys or Dunny? If she wasn't exhausted? Or utterly annoyed with Matt? Would she still be blissfully trapped in their lie? Would that be better than feeling as broken as she felt now?

"I need to be able to stand on my own two feet." She told him with the same conviction she once gave Nick. "And if we stayed together, the way we were… I would always feel unsteady." She shifted in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest, bracing her insecurity. "My job is…" she sighed. "I don't expect you to understand."

Gil listened carefully to everything she wasn't saying, and he found himself wondering about the other person in this equation. "Does he though? Understand, I mean." He caught her eye in the mirror and she quickly looked away as uncertainty settled over her features and her brow arched in contemplation. He slowed the car for a stop sign, looked both ways, and turned the corner; Jennifer remained silent.

The busyness of Melbourne began to fade away as the car moved out of the city core and into the suburbs. He slowed and turned, then turned again. He was deep in his thoughts, having gained some insight into her anguish when she blurted out "wait!" Her voice startled him, and he turned back to look at her as the car began to decelerate. Her eyes had glossed over. "Please, will you just... keep driving."

He lifted his foot off the brake pedal and slowly accelerated. He looked over at the house that corresponded with the address she had given. It sat in total darkness, save for the light next to the front door. There was a dark-colored pick-up truck parked out front, and a realization sank in. As they neared the end of the street he looked up into the rearview mirror; her eyes were downcast, and she had her fingertips pressed over her lips. "I am sorry," he offered gently.

She swallowed thickly, "me too." Her voice sounded strangled as she told him her address, and he turned the car towards Richmond.

Her decision to take a step back had halted everything, not just the sex, not just the quiet deskside chats, not just the looks, the inside jokes, the subtle touches, the smiles – everything. And it was agony. Nick had not said anything to her, outside the context of professional necessity, until earlier that evening when he offered to take over for her. Hearing his voice caught her off guard, and she hesitated. She quickly closed her laptop, grabbed her things, and offered a passing 'thanks, Nick' as she left, but by the time she got to the lift tears had filled her eyes, his kindness and care for her stung like an arrow through her heart.

Occasionally Gil would look up to the rearview mirror and watch her, his silence the best support he could offer. Jennifer settled into a pensive reverie, and he found himself impressed by her resolve. It was clear to him that she was warring with the choice she had made, and admittedly he struggled to understand that choice, the notion of sacrificing personal happiness for professional satisfaction puzzled him. But, he justified, she had her reasons, and his understanding held no bearing whatsoever.

The silence was easy and they stayed quiet for quite some time.

Other than Nick there was no one that she trusted with her vulnerabilities, but here, now, having this impromptu conversation with this faceless stranger, she felt lighter and freer, and almost relieved. It was cathartic to give voice to the secrets of her heart, to feelings she had carried for so long. It was a blessing to feel validated. To know that her love for Nick was real, that the pain and heartache were real. She looked over to Gil, knowing that he had been checking on her in the mirror and she was grateful for him too, for his caution and concern.

"I made the decision alone... without even talking to him." He looked up quickly and held her gaze as long as he could, encouraging her to continue. "I broke his heart, and in the process, I broke mine." Jen let out a deflated sound. "To answer your question, I don't know if he understands… but he is understanding." Her voice broke, "we just haven't spoken since it happened."

"And that's why you…" he nodded, acknowledging the reason for their detour through the suburbs.

"Yeah." She said softly as she reached for her purse. "But you were right," she looked out the window as they slowed in front of her house, "it would have been a mistake."

Gil pulled the taxi over, under a streetlight, and put the car in park. He turned to face her, and she finally got a proper look at his kind, gentle face. She reached forward to hand him some money. "You don't know that for certain." He said, offering a tepid smile and accepting the cash. "Perhaps I shouldn't have been so presumptuous."

"No," she said firmly. Knowing that it was too soon. Knowing that she wasn't strong enough. Knowing that while she needed Nick, she still wanted him too, and seeing him tonight would have inevitably led to something. "We need more time." She started fumbling in her purse for her keys, nodding to herself "It's better this way."

He extended his hand, attempting to return some of the money she had given him, "this is too much."

Jen smiled woefully as she backed away towards the door, reaching for the handle. "Keep it."

"Thank you, Jennifer." He returned her smile as he shuffled the bills between his hands. "You know... it takes a lot to put aside your heart for your integrity. That's a commendable thing. And, if he cares about you, the way I suspect that he does, I'm sure he'll understand."

Jen managed to make it to her front door before her tears started to fall, just as they had been threatening to all night. Gil watched her walk away, the light reflecting off her luminous dress extinguished as she pushed through her front door and into the darkness of her house. He pulled the gearshift into drive and moved away from the curb, his thoughts drifting back to Richard Hill's talkback radio show.