A/N: The first line is from the song "The Night we Met" by Lord Huron, which inspired this chapter.
I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met.
Sydney rolled her eyes as Nigel once again got up from his desk and approached her door. She watched through the blinds as he ran his hands down his torso in an attempt to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt. This was his third attempt at entering her office and it was rather distracting.
"Nigel?" she called out. As fun as it was to see Nigel nervous, she had lesson plans to figure out, and requests from other professors in the department to address. Nigel, who had been returning to his desk once again, jumped in surprise and turned at the sound of her voice. "What is it?"
"I need to talk to you," Nigel said as he entered Sydney's office. He closed the door behind him and hesitated a moment before closing the other door firmly as well.
Sydney eyed him warily as he looked around the office as though he'd never seen it before. "Sure." She put down her pen and took off her glasses, placing them on the desk. She looked him over as she crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair – he was scratching the back of his head and not meeting her eyes. They didn't really do nervous conversations with each other at this point, both of them confident in their relationship to know that they could say anything. Whatever her assistant wanted to talk to her about, it was certainly putting him on edge.
"I – That is to say – Cate – I mean –" he cut himself off.
Sydney raised her eyebrows.
He stood up straighter and took a deep breath. His eyes locked on hers. "Cate's been assigned to Washington, and she asked me to go with her," Nigel said in a rush. The words blurred together, and Sydney wasn't sure if he was speaking unusually quickly even for him while he was worked up, or if her brain was having trouble processing what he was saying. "Now that she's in one place, she wants to give us another go. And she wants to go all in."
"I see." She suddenly felt queasy. Maybe she shouldn't have grabbed lunch from that new Indian place on campus. There was a pause. "What are you going to do?"
"What am I doing here, Syd?" he asked instead, leaning on the back of one of the chairs in front of her desk. She frowned. Before she could ask what he meant, he continued, "I mean, I've been working for you for four years. We spend almost all our time together even when we're not working or relic hunting. I'm at your place more often than I'm at mine. I haven't gone on a date in months." His eyes were steady on hers and her breath caught in her throat at the intensity she saw in them. "What are we?"
"We're friends, Nigel –" she startled when Nigel pushed off from the chair and turned, breaking eye contact. His frustration radiated from him in waves, and Sydney had never been at such a loss at how to communicate with him.
"Is that it?" Nigel asked, a note of desperation in his voice as he turned back to her.
"What else would we be?" Sydney asked him, nonplussed. This was apparently the wrong thing to say, as Nigel's face fell. He rubbed at his eyes.
"I've been applying for positions in Washington."
"Oh," was all she could force out in response. Her stomach churned and she definitely felt like she was going to be sick. She shivered as goosebumps formed on her arms. Her office was suddenly both too hot and yet freezing cold. "What –" she cleared her throat. "What do you need?"
The look he gave her was one of disappointment and, if she didn't know better, unbelievable sadness.
Three weeks later, Sydney caught herself staring at Nigel's desk through the blinds. Or rather, what was Nigel's desk. She had given him the references that he needed, and of course he had been inundated with job offers right away. The desk was now occupied by a graduate student from Stanford University who was bright but didn't hold a candle to Nigel.
Sydney felt blindsided.
They had gone from employer/employee, to associates, to friends. Sydney had never really had a relationship with anyone like she did with Nigel. From the first moment they had met, there had been a connection. Most of the males she came across were either more interested in what was under her clothes than in her head, or wanted to use her brain for their own gain. Nigel had been different.
When she had changed in her office following her demonstration of the dance performed by several different tribal cultures, she had left the blinds open on purpose. And while Nigel had looked (she had absolutely noticed), he had maintained some professionalism and hadn't taken her partial nakedness as an invitation as many of her previous teaching assistants had.
Slowly over time, they had just gotten to used to each other – they knew each other at their best and at their worst. Had seen each other hungry and thirsty, sleep deprived, injured, excited, and awed. They had slept in the same tents, the same rooms, even the same beds when necessary. Had been pressed together either in hiding or when placed in certain positions by rivals. The companionship born from all of that meant that maybe they got dinner after work, or went to exhibits together on weekends, or stayed in Italy for a few days after a hunt was over. They spent so much time together that it just felt as though they were truly inseparable.
Sydney turned her head from Nigel's – Jared's – desk and caught Karen's eye. Karen immediately looked at her computer, but Sydney felt irritation under her skin. After her conversation with Nigel, Karen had taken to staring at Sydney when she wasn't looking and at times it was as though Karen was accusing Sydney of shoving Nigel out the door. Nigel was his own person, had to make his own decisions and live his life. If that happened to be with Cate, then so be it.
And when she was laying awake in her bed at 3 a.m. every night it was a lot harder to avoid what was staring her in the face. All she could do was breathe through the pain.
"What are we?"
The words echoed in her head, over and over.
Associates, friends.
Then why did she feel so off kilter?
Why did she feel like a huge part of her life was missing, like she was grieving?
The hunt she had gone on last week hadn't been the same – had taken longer, had been lonely. Sure, she had taken Jared and had different assistants before, but now it was like the memory of Nigel clung to her, on the plane, when they stopped to eat, when they – she – found the relic. Nigel wasn't there to balance her, to keep her steady, to remind her to take breaks, or to keep her calm.
There was no other way to put it – she missed Nigel. Missed his goofy humour, his clumsy movements (although he had really improved over three years), his intellect, his charm, his willingness to argue with her, his general companionship. She missed everything about him.
She missed feeling comfortable, confident, and safe. Which was ridiculous – she had been the physical one in their partnership.
It hit her after five weeks of turning over everything in her mind – every look, every touch, every conversation.
She was absolutely, hopelessly in love with him.
And she'd give anything to get him back.
