Post Awakening Chapter 3

Jack woke with a start, his heart thumping as he sat up abruptly.

The memory of terrified screams echoed in his ears as he ran a shaking hand over his eyes. He let out a long breath, consciously trying to relax the muscles in his neck and shoulders. He flexed his hands and winced, looking at the bruising on his knuckles – the sight brought back the memory of last night. Of sitting and staring at Nikki's startled, frightened face in the flashing lights from the approaching police cars – the blood dripping from her nose.

The screams hadn't been from last night. He had a vague memory of Nikki shouting at him to stop as he continued to punch Brian Hawke, of her startled gasp as the man lashed out in her direction, of her harsh, quick breaths when he finally knocked Hawke out and collapsed on the ground next to him.

Strangely, his sleep problems had grown worse once he knew Nikki was back in the country.

Before, he'd been in a state of suspense. Almost without realizing it, he had been waiting for something to happen and feeling oddly numb as he went about his usual routines at work and at home. Waiting for Nikki to make the first move, because until she did, there was nothing he could do. In a sense, she held all the cards.

But now - now he knew she was at home on sick leave, and if he was going to take any action, now was the time. It would be perfectly easy to pop round there to see how she was doing. He could easily fall into the familiar old routine. And he could finally give her all the things that he'd yearned to do during those fifteen terrible hours of her disappearance. All the hugs, all the light kisses and gentle touches, all the many little ways that he'd wanted to show her how he felt, even if he couldn't bring himself to say those three simple words. Despairing in the knowledge that he might never get the chance again.

Well, he could now…and yet, he hesitated.

It wasn't as if he would be intruding. Going by the sheer number of calls and texts he received, she was desperate for him to get in touch. He'd been wondering if she needed him at all after she'd gone to Harry, but she clearly did. Although, as his inner voice pointed out with icy logic, only when Harry was no longer there to comfort her.

And he felt angry. Not with her – well, maybe a little if he was entirely honest – but mostly with himself. He lay awake each night, living through his clumsy, slow responses over and over. How he was duped into getting El Buitre out of prison, only to see him gunned down. How he'd realized it was Eva just a little too late. How he'd believed everything Nikki had told him; how he'd rushed around that scrapyard, utterly convinced he was about to dig her out. The black despair when he finally realized what she had done – too late, Jack! Too trusting, too stupid…

When he could take it no longer, he'd get out of bed and take his feelings out on his punchbag. When that stopped helping, he'd take the gloves off and batter his knuckles bloody instead. The pain helped for a while.

He'd taken up running again. Pounding the streets in the early mornings, music roaring in his ears to block out the screams. The gym, working out until the sweat dripped down his face like tears. The boxing ring, where he could forget for a few precious minutes as the fierce sweet adrenaline of battle took over. Anywhere but at home, where the memories of Mexico seemed to become more vivid rather than less as the weeks passed.

At first, he really hadn't intended to ignore Nikki. Initially, it was a case of not feeling quite ready to talk to her, but he would - tomorrow, the next day, when he had some time, when he felt able. Somehow, 'tomorrow' or 'the next day' never came, and as the weeks passed, it became harder to contemplate the right time ever coming.

The trouble was he knew it would be a painful conversation. The next time he saw her, she'd probably be back to her usual well-groomed, self-confident self, but he'd still be seeing the pale, bruised, traumatized woman who had turned her back on him at that airport. He didn't think he'd ever forget seeing her at her most vulnerable, and it made him angry, because it hurt like hell and he still didn't know how he was supposed to deal with that pain.

And so, he withdrew. He did as Clarissa had recommended; sought to protect himself by keeping away altogether. It was harder than he imagined to keep ignoring the calls, but he assumed she was seeking some kind of help – and what could he really do apart from remind her?

And if she was struggling…for the most part, he told himself firmly, he would be as sorry to hear it and wish her well, as any colleague might. And yet, there was just a miniscule, nasty little germ of a feeling that said the pain might be justified. This was the anger he couldn't help feeling towards her for turning away from him at the airport. It was what stopped his finger from pressing the answer button; it was what made him delete her messages without reading them.

The stalemate had gone on for two months and seemed like it might go on forever. Which was why it was a severe shock to walk into work one day and see her standing there as if nothing had ever happened.

To be brutally fair, he mused as he pounded the pavement, his newly returned colleague hadn't entirely looked as if nothing had happened. She was well-turned out, of course – that much he could see from the initial brief look he allowed himself. Surreptitious glances showed him that she was almost too carefully groomed; the usually light make-up applied more thickly as if to cover pallor, the fingernails bitten to the quick but carefully filed, the clothes selected to disguise weight loss. No, Nikki was not fine – quite clearly.

Even that irritated him. There was a reason why he was off his game from the moment she came back; why bloody David Cannon was able to make him look like an amateur. While she was absent from work, he could push his anxieties to the back of his mind and carry on with at least a semblance of normality. Now she was back, it was impossible for him to do that. Just a single glance at her, just a glimpse of her large eyes, dark with fear and a lack of sleep, and he was right back there in Mexico. His thoughts would scatter, his concentration would be shot to pieces. In the past, the presence of that slight blonde figure at a crime scene had always been a comfort, an important background to his focus, but now he was hyper-aware of her, his eyes taking in every momentary hesitation, hand tremor or frozen expression. The tension was palpable. He knew perfectly well that she was not fit to be working, and it was bloody selfish of her to make life more difficult for him by insisting on it.

Of course, once he realized what was really going on with Cannon, it explained some of the tension, but then that pissed him off even more – particularly the knowledge that Nikki and Thomas had kept him out of the loop. He supposed he ought to feel grateful that she'd turned to him for support when she'd made the breakthrough, even if only for the convenience of collecting forensic evidence from the car. And then, naturally, he'd had to chase down the suspect and use his fists to lay him out – the role of the police if they'd bothered to believe her in the first place. He sometimes felt he should charge the police a commission fee – or danger money, anyway.

He glanced at the clock and groaned – 05:21. He knew from bitter experience that sleep wouldn't return, so he pushed back the duvet. Ten minutes later, he was leaving the house and jogging down the street.

The gym opened at 6. It hadn't been his intention to go this morning due to his knuckle injuries, but somehow his feet took him in that direction. He knew it would be a tricky day. Thomas would certainly fire Cannon, if he hadn't already done so, and Clarissa would have no end of questions…and what about Nikki? Would she be back on sick leave now the deception was over?

He timed his run to arrive just as the gym opened, found his usual locker, and regarded his hands with a professional eye. Some taping should help, and he wouldn't go all out on the punchbag today. Yes, why not?

Andy, the gym's owner passed as Jack was sorting out his supplies and winced at the sight of the bloody knuckles. "You been doing some bare-knuckle somewhere, Jack? I thought you only fought here these days and none of the rough stuff. Won't the girlfriend tell you off?"

It didn't matter how many times Jack explained. Nikki was still his 'girlfriend' as far as Andy was concerned. In fact, Jack had given up the fighting for a while because he knew Nikki didn't like it and he'd had to endure Andy's teasing about 'the little woman'. Even when he resumed, he was more cautious and not so likely to agree to high-risk matches, although his attitude had changed in recent weeks.

Anyway, Andy wasn't such a bad bloke. He knew his stuff. "I'd go easy today if I were you. Actually, if you fancy a bit of sparring… Got a girl starting today. She's very keen."

"A girl? Seriously? My hands aren't that bad."

"Nah, she's alright. Not a total beginner. She could do with an experienced partner to help her technique."

Jack shrugged. "Yeah, why not?"

Andy smirked. "She's quite easy on the eye too…"

DI Naomi Silva was a breath of sweet fresh air. She was almost everything that Nikki was not – or not at the moment, anyway.

She was sparky, fun-loving, amusing, flirtatious. She adored boxing and was an excellent pupil. They had several interests in common, including football. In general, she loved going out and having fun whenever her busy schedule allowed her, and she was not averse to going wherever Jack wanted, in addition to introducing him to bars and restaurants. And, as Andy had said, she was very definitely easy on the eye.

In some ways, their relationship was similar to the one he'd had with Nikki in the very early days before Leo's death – when both the job and their relationship was new and fun and open to possibility, and not over-shadowed by pain and regret. Naomi never made him feel like he'd let her down in some undefinable way. He never felt guilty if he had to postpone a date; he knew she understood the nature of his work, and he likewise understood if she couldn't see him for several days. Her job was deeply important to her, and he admired and respected her determination to see a case through.

Fond though he was of her, Jack couldn't have described her as 'the one'. He loved her in a casual, undemanding way, and she had a certain smile and glint in her eye that could get his pulse racing, but he certainly never thought in terms of buying rings and meeting the family. He knew that she felt the same way. She was ambitious, working as hard as she played, but whenever she was off duty, she was generous with her time and affection. They didn't plan ahead. One day, perhaps, they would part with fond regrets and good memories, but for now, what they had worked. He was sleeping far better these days, and he was happy. He might even say content.

She made Jack feel young again, and he only had to see the grin on Clarissa's face to know that she liked Naomi and approved of the change in Jack's life. Thomas seemed to like her too and, rather surprisingly, he realized how much he cared about his boss's opinion. It occurred to him that Thomas, while not supplanting Leo in his affections, was a genuinely good friend as well as a colleague.

It also surprised him to realize how much he cared about Nikki's good opinion. At one point, he wouldn't have cared (or at least would have convinced himself that he didn't care), but his feelings had undergone a major reversal since the Hamilton Ashe hospital case. He didn't feel quite the same way as he had before Mexico, but if anything, their relationship was better. More mature, perhaps.

His initial reaction to finding Nikki's medical notes had been horror. He'd assumed that she'd had therapy following Mexico but, perhaps naively, had envisaged a six-week counseling programme long since over. It hadn't occurred to him that she was still in therapy and perhaps might be for weeks or months yet. Jack had a limited understanding of post-traumatic stress (he would certainly never have viewed his own nightmares and sleep disturbances as 'post-traumatic' indicators). He probably shouldn't have been as shocked as he was.

The thought of invading her privacy made him sick to the stomach, not least because he feared he might recognize some of the emotions she would have disclosed to her therapist. There might be shared trauma that they could have worked through together much sooner if he hadn't been so selfish in ignoring her all those weeks. The actual contents made him cold. Had he known that she felt defeated, dead inside?

He'd been too busy focusing on what Nikki had done; on the decisions she'd made that had angered him. She'd pushed herself out of the box without needing his help, so she hadn't been helpless – not defeated, and certainly not dead. And then she'd taken herself off to New York and then had returned to work against advice. Making decisions for herself as usual – surely not the acts of someone who had felt dead inside? How had she managed to keep herself going all these weeks with such awful memories?

Mere words were inadequate, so he'd done the only thing he could do. He'd enveloped her in his arms, trying to pour all the apology and regret and concern and sheer love that he felt into her body. There was nothing remotely sexual in the embrace; it was an act of pure and unconditional giving. And, after the initial start of surprise in her body, he felt the affection being returned as her arms encircled him…and he knew then that they were going to be OK.

He had reveled in the sheer warmth of her for the first time in so long, burying his nose into her hair and inhaling the familiar scent of shampoo and perfume. They'd stood together for the longest time, perhaps neither of them willing to be the first to break the connection for fear of hurting the other…so long in fact that the emotion began to shift towards something more intimate. His hand had slipped automatically over her back, feeling a new boniness that concerned him (he hadn't realized how much weight she'd lost). She had trembled slightly at the gentle touch and he had felt just a hint, a sudden expectation of something more…

It was perhaps just as well that Clarissa's politely reticent cough had reminded them that there was still work to be done – and they had stepped apart with sheepish smiles and slightly flushed cheeks.

Since then, they'd kept carefully apart, but there was a silent understanding between them. They both still had their separate issues to be worked out, but they knew instinctively that each had the others' back once more. He knew she'd found a new therapist; she knew that he was trying to sort out his personal life, but they were a team again.

He recalled that hug with pleasure from time to time, remembering the brief sensation of intimacy, of the possibility of tipping over into something else. It wasn't a new feeling for him; he'd long known that even a casual touch from Nikki could get his pulse racing. What was different now was that he was happy to let it be; he felt no desire to pursue the matter, as he might have done before Mexico. What would be would be.

But, in the meantime, since the hug, they still hadn't really talked.

One evening, while Naomi was heavily involved in a case and he was at a loose end, he took out his phone and gazed at Nikki's number for a few moments… Well, why not?

Pizza? He sent the message and grinned, his heart lightening at the almost instantaneous reply.

Sure. Come over?

It was all the encouragement he needed.

She'd already uncorked the wine when he arrived, bearing a large pepperoni. "You're a life-saver – honestly. That bloody barrister…"

She'd been in court all afternoon and looked tired but relieved to be at home. Her hair was damp from a shower and she was wearing a baggy old t-shirt over her most comfortable leggings, along with a pair of joke fluffy socks that he'd bought her for the Secret Santa a few years ago, and she looked utterly perfect. He smiled, a little ruefully. It seemed somewhat disloyal to Naomi, but the reality was that he was never going to be able to look at Nikki without admiring her beauty. It was just a fact.

"Finished?"

"Yes, hopefully. There's nothing more I can tell them, anyway. Plate?"

"Nah. I'll have mine from the box." He put the pizza on the coffee table, kicked off his shoes and sank into the depths of her sofa.

She grinned, bringing the glasses through. It was a funny thing about Nikki – she was always beautifully turned out (in public, anyway) and her home was incredibly tidy and clean, but she never minded being slobby. Right now, she subsided onto the sofa next to him, tucking her socked feet up, and grabbed a slice of pizza.

"Naomi still busy on that case?"

"Yeah…" he paused, putting his slice down again before it reached his mouth. "You do…like her, don't you?"

"Naomi?" She frowned at him in surprise. "Yes, of course – she's lovely. Why do you ask?"

"Oh nothing. It's just…we've never talked about her. And, well…it matters. To me. That you approve of her."

Her face softened. She understood without further words. There was a slightly uncomfortable pause, and then she laughed very gently.

"It's a shame we ever stopped talking."

"Yeah… I was a bit of a bastard, to be honest," he admitted.

She laughed again, more loudly. "You were a bit. Not that I couldn't have handled things a bit better. I really wish I'd told you what was going on with David Cannon."

He shook his head. "You said it yourself. How could you have talked to me when I wasn't returning your calls?"

She paused. "I don't blame you for cutting me off." Her voice was very quiet. "I did it first – remember?"

He took a sip of his wine to get up his courage. "We've never talked about that either…"

As so often in their relationship, she understood what he wanted to know. She sighed and whispered it. "New York."

"Yes. I – I don't blame you for doing what you did – not if it was right for you at the time…?" His tone was tentative, inquiring.

She smiled to herself and then shook her head. "It was right – it was wonderful for about 48 hours… And then, suddenly, it wasn't wonderful after all. I couldn't get home quick enough."

"It wasn't what you thought it would be?"

She shook her head and gulped down her wine, her eyes downcast.

"He didn't -," Jack couldn't think how to put it. He was certain Harry Cunningham wouldn't have hurt Nikki; whatever he might feel about the man, he knew instinctively that he wouldn't be cruel. "Did he, um…upset you?"

She paused in the act of putting down her glass and stared at him in obvious confusion. "Who?"

"Um…" His face prickled with embarrassment. "I assumed you'd gone to see Harry."

"Harry?"

"Yeah, you know. Harry Cunningham. He lives in New York, right?"

Her face was working in an odd manner. For a moment, she looked as if she wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. "You thought I was with Harry Cunningham?"

"Well, I -," he wriggled with embarrassment. Had he been mistaken the whole time? "I know he's a – a good friend…"

"I haven't seen Harry Cunningham in years." Her voice was suddenly stony as she looked down at her hands.

"I'm sorry – I didn't mean to offend…"

She sighed. "You didn't. I wasn't with Harry. I wasn't with anyone in New York."

"Then why…?"

"Because I wanted to feel normal," she burst out. "I've always loved New York. I wanted to check into a hotel and go shopping and go to shows, and just – just be anonymous. Just be anyone. I didn't want to be a victim. I didn't want to – and please don't take this the wrong way, Jack – I didn't want to be with you." She shook her head, impatient with herself. "No, wait - that's not entirely true and it's not fair. In some ways, I did want to be with you. Maybe too much…if you know what I mean?"

She threw him a quick glance, her cheeks flushing, and he felt his own redden in response. So, he hadn't been wrong to suspect there was something there… If only the circumstances had been different...

She caught his eye and shook her head. "It wouldn't have been a good idea. If I hadn't been kidnapped and put you through hell, things might have been different, but as it was…neither of us was in a good place at the time. If we'd…got together just afterwards, it would have been a – an emotional response to trauma. It might have screwed us up forever. We'd always have known why it had happened – and not for good reasons. I didn't want to do that to you."

He coughed to clear a suddenly dry throat. He supposed he ought to feel bitter. All that time, all those wasted opportunities... "I get it. I do understand… So, you wanted to get right away…"

She nodded. "Not just from you… from everyone and everything. But I quickly discovered that you can't run away from your problems. So, I came back."

"And I wouldn't talk to you," he muttered.

She reached over and squeezed his arm. "Don't beat yourself up about it. It would have been nice to have had my best friend around," she smiled. "But, in the end, I had to sort my problems out myself. You couldn't have helped me with that."

"And, of course, we might have fallen into bed by mistake." He couldn't resist it.

She laughed and he loved the carefree sound of it. "Honestly, Jack! I might have known that you'd focus in on that!"

"Can you blame me? All that flirting over the years… And there was me thinking it'd all been a waste of time."

She smiled, her face still a little flushed. "Because of Harry Cunningham?"

He hesitated, his own smile fading. "I feel a bit stupid, now I come to think about it."

She paused, as if wondering how much to tell him. "I was…very young when I came to work at the Lyall. Young and rather naïve… Not that naïve, since I already had a marriage behind me -."

"You what?"

She giggled. "I'll tell you about that another time… So, Harry. Intelligent, sophisticated, attractive, ridiculously handsome, flirty, very sexy…"

"I'm not sure I'm enjoying this story much," he observed.

She flicked his arm. "You wanted to know, so listen. For a while, I think everyone thought we were endgame. Leo certainly did. It seemed to be the perfect match. We were both passionate about our work. We loved being together, both in and out of work. I learned so much from him. He could always make me laugh – you know? – take me out of any situation, no matter how stressful it was. I think I rather adored him."

He gulped his wine. "So why didn't you marry him?"

"Good question." She frowned at her hands. "I guess he was just…the one that got away. We never got to that point." She smiled, gently. "Rather like you and me, in fact, except that…well, Harry would never wait. He kept moving on, there was always some new woman. I – I loved him, but I was scared of becoming just another woman." She choked on the last words and paused to clear her throat before going on. "I think, in retrospect, that he was always trying to find something – someone. Maybe someone who didn't exist. At one point, he may have found her…and then she died. Her name was Anna…. After that, something died in Harry. I couldn't reach him, no one could. He carried on, but it was never quite the same – for us. I think – no, I know…in the end, it was a relief when he left. It felt like I could finally move on with my life, which I couldn't do as long as he was there, distracting me. I did miss him like crazy, of course."

"Why didn't he come to Leo's funeral? I've often wondered that."

She laughed shortly. "There's no big mystery. Harry really did move on. He was on his honeymoon in Hawaii when I contacted him. Didn't get the message until three days after."

He wasn't quite sure what to say. "That was um…quick, I guess."

"Yes, considering he'd only been in New York for a year." Her voice was brisk, but he could see she was more hurt than she wanted him to know. She might have wanted to move on from him – and for him to move on too – but the speed of his marriage must have been a shock. "Anyway…that's Harry, and that's all I have to say about him. I wish him well… I'm sorry I never told you about him before. I had no idea you were even thinking about him."

"Well, you know… Just curiosity. I suppose I – I kind-of wanted to get to know you."

He was uncomfortably aware that she was looking at him with curiosity; he munched on a slice of cold pizza to try to avoid the knowledge in her eyes.

"You know, sometimes I feel that I've really screwed you up."

Her voice was sad, and his head shot up in denial. "No! No, don't ever think that!" He grabbed her hand, entwining his fingers with hers, almost desperately. "Please – don't. You've made me so much more than I ever was before. Believe me! I was a mess, with all that crap in Yorkshire. Clarissa helped to keep me on the straight and narrow, but I never really moved on until I met you and Leo. I wouldn't change a thing."

She gave him a knowing look. "Really?"

He subsided a little. "Well, obviously I wish that Mexico had never happened… And Leo. I'll never get over Leo…"

She sighed, shifted over slightly while still holding his hand, and dropped her head onto his shoulder. "I think I miss him even more as time goes on."

He closed his eyes, breathing in the beloved scent of her soft hair. "Me too."

After a few minutes, she broke the warm silence. "Wonder where we'd be now if – if Leo hadn't…"

"I can't think about that now." His thumb rubbed over her hand, seeking comfort as much as trying to provide it. "It's too…big."

She sighed. "You're right. All I can do right now is just…be. I can get by at work if I try not to think too much about the past. As it is, I get too much of that with my therapy."

"How is that going now?"

She moved her head slightly, her hair tickling his neck. "Better. At least, I'm feeling more positive about it. He doesn't try to lead me either. It's on my terms." She paused, then asked. "And you? How are you sleeping?"

"Much better." He smiled, despite himself, at the thought of Naomi.

As if she could read his thoughts, she said, "I'm happy for you. She's done you good. You seem so much happier now."

"Ah well – we have fun," was all he could think to say in response. He wasn't going to suggest it was anything other than what it was - a casual relationship. It would be petty to even think of trying to make Nikki jealous – and it didn't seem as if she would be, anyway. Maybe that was one indicator that their relationship had matured.

She squeezed his hand and pushed her head into the crook of his neck. "I'm so glad you came over tonight."

"So am I." He closed his eyes again and let the gentle warmth and silence enclose him. It wasn't perfect but, for now, it was enough.