April 19, 1939

They'd gotten through the first month of six, and things were going well. Billy Marcus had brought his friends and those friends brought friends, and they'd gotten to four days out of the week where the back room was in use. It was busy and fruitful for the FBI. No word on anything big from the mafia families yet, but they were still getting up and running and earning trust. So far so good. They were settling in well.

Nick didn't really miss home too much. He was content enough here in Bushwick with his fake wife. Actually, if it weren't for Mrs. Claybourne, Nick might miss home a whole lot. He lived alone and liked to keep to himself, but he had the boys on the squad at work, and they'd go out for beers on occasion, and he had fun with them. None of that here. Just Nick and Miss Mapplethorpe. Wesley and Trish Claybourne.

But the month hadn't gone as well for Miss Mapplethorpe. She was a whiz with the undercover work. She was sharp and thought on her feet quickly and memorized everything so easily. Trish Claybourne was the perfect shopkeeper and wife and hostess for their criminal pals. Whenever anyone was around, they wouldn't have thought anything of Wesley's wife. She was charming and beautiful and fun, and she kept everyone happy and at ease. When they were alone in the apartment, however, she was completely different. She was quiet and moody and tired all the time. She snapped at him once or twice and always immediately apologized. More often, though, she would retreat into herself. The exhaustion and almost despair in her eyes was getting too much to bear for Nick. He couldn't let her go on like this. She'd break, surely.

"Can I ask you something?" he began at breakfast one day. He was cooking up some eggs and toast for them both while she sat with the newspaper. But she hadn't been reading anything. Her eyes were glazed over, and the dark circles were showing through her makeup more than usual. He hoped that bringing it up while he was otherwise occupied like this would be a better idea than being face to face and making each other uncomfortable.

She looked up at him, brow furrowed. He turned back to the stove before she answered, "Alright."

"You don't sleep much," he said.

"That's not a question," she replied. There wasn't any venom in her voice, thankfully, but neither was there that hint of teasing humor he had come to expect from her. She was an interesting dichotomy, at once very serious and focused but also fun and funny.

Nick turned back toward her. "I guess the question is if there's anything I can do to help you sleep better."

She raised her brow at that, causing him to realize that it sounded like he was asking if he could do something to tire her out in the bedroom, which wasn't his intent at all. Well, she was very beautiful, and he'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it—fantasized, really—but he'd never cross that line. They were partners!

"I mean…warm milk or something," he stammered, trying to walk back his insinuations. "I don't like seeing you so tired, and I w—"

"Come take a walk with me," she said quickly, cutting him off.

Before he could answer, she was up and walking down the hallway towards the backdoor to the staircase that led into the alley. Nick turned off the stove and hurried after her.

She did not speak until they were down the stairs and down the alley to the end of the street. "I don't want to talk where Jones can hear me," she said, crossing her arms defensively. "I don't want the FBI to hear you talking about how you're worried I can't do the job. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and doing my job on this operation, Detective Buchanan."

"You can call me Nick if you're going to be mad at me," he answered, hoping she didn't get madder at that. He didn't like his title thrown around by an angry woman. She wasn't mad at him for his work, she was mad it him for his own stupidity. Of course she wouldn't want that talked about where the FBI could record it! He'd almost forgotten that the whole store and the apartment were wired. Obviously she hadn't let it slip her mind.

"Fine," she said flatly. "If you must know, Nick, I don't sleep well with another person in the room and knowing that I have to get up every goddamn day and lie to the world and pretend like I'm a nice cheery wife. I'm grateful for the opportunity and I know how important the work is, I'm just so damn tired."

He had a feeling it might be something like that. The venom with which she said his name troubled him, but he knew she was just taking out her frustration on him. She had nowhere else for it. "You need a break," he determined.

She scoffed, laughing humorlessly. "We don't get a break from being undercover with the FBI."

"Maybe not. But would you trust me to figure something out? We close up the store on Sundays anyway. Why don't we go somewhere?" he suggested.

"Where?" she asked warily.

"I know some places."

"Do you?"

Nick nodded. "I grew up in Brooklyn. Not too far from here, actually. But you know how it is, you don't leave your neighborhood for much until you get out for good. I still know some places that might be nice. I'll square it with Smith and Walker that we're going out on Sunday. It'll be fine. You need to have some time where you don't have to be Trish Claybourne and you can actually talk without worrying who's listening, right?"

Her shoulders sagged as she relented. "Yeah, alright. I could use a break."

Impulsively, he put a hand on her arm. "We both could. We've still got five months of these. We've gotta find ways of getting through it. And we're partners. I look out for you, and you look out for me."

She softened considerably, looking up at him with the smallest hint of a smile. "I've never had a partner before."

"Well you've got one now. We've gotta take care of each other, alright?"

She nodded again. "Thanks, Nick."

"You're very welcome, Miss Mapplethorpe," he replied.

"Jennifer," she corrected. "You can call me Jennifer when the microphones aren't around."

"Right. Jennifer." The name came off his tongue quite nicely. He liked the way it felt on his lips. It also didn't hurt that she smiled when he said her name. The first genuine smile he'd seen from her in the six weeks he'd known her. And he liked that very much.

April 23, 1939

Sunday rolled around quickly. And the knowledge that Nick was taking her out somewhere to escape the FBI and the Claybournes for the day had boosted her mood all the rest of the week. She was excited about something for the first time since the FBI came knocking. Excited instead of anxious. Oh the days still exhausted her and she still wasn't sleeping well, but she had something to look forward to, and that somehow made all the difference.

But now the day had come, and she had no idea what Nick had in store. Jennifer had lived in New York all her life, but she'd rarely ever made it further outside the neighborhood where she grew up than Central Park. When she finished school and went out on her own, she'd gone as far away as she could while still staying in Manhattan: Harlem. And she'd been there ever since. She couldn't recall having ever left the borough before the FBI drove her to Brooklyn. For a private detective who had seen her fair share of things, she was shockingly sheltered. It hadn't bothered her before right now, going somewhere in Brooklyn with a man she hardly knew. Well, maybe she could learn more about him today. The FBI wouldn't be listening in. That thought in and of itself was a relief.

Nick told her to dress in something casual and comfortable with shoes that would be easy to walk in. She found a lightweight green blouse and a pair of wide-legged beige slacks to wear with comfortable shoes. Nick appeared wearing a short-sleeved bright blue shirt and brown pants. "Ready?" he asked.

"Since I don't know where we're going…"

"You're dressed perfectly fine," he said.

Well, that was good at least. She was terribly curious, but she had a feeling he wouldn't tell her anything more, so she had to just accept her curiosity for the time being.

They walked to the subway station and put their tokens in the machine and walked through the turnstiles. It had been a whole month since Jennifer had ridden the subway, and she'd missed it. Nick led her to the platform he wanted that would take them wherever it was they were headed.

The trip was longer than she expected. "Where are we?" she asked, when he finally indicated that they should get out.

"Still in Brooklyn," he said. And then he pointed to the sign showing the name of the station.

Coney Island.

Jennifer had heard of Coney Island, of course. Beaches and amusement parks. She'd never seen it, other than in pictures in the newspaper or magazines.

"Come on," he said, taking her hand and leading her from the station through the crowds. Jennifer couldn't help but notice how nice their hands fit together.

There were people everywhere. She was from Manhattan, she knew how to handle crowds, but with the sun beating down and children and parents and whatever else shouting, it was all a little overwhelming. And the closer they got to the amusement parks, the worse it got. Sounds of screaming people on the rides, the bright colors of them assaulting the skyline, the smells of the food stalls.

"Let's go to the beach first," Nick offered. He must have noticed that she was a little uncomfortable.

Though if she were honest, the prospect of going to the beach wasn't much better. The crowds did not lessen, but Jennifer just held onto Nick's hand as she let him lead her along.

At last, there was a break in the slew of people. There was a staircase they were going down, but Jen could hardly look where she was going. In front of her was stretch of pale yellow beach with people under umbrellas and on blankets dotted along. And beyond that was the ocean.

Nick let go of her hand so they could walk down the stairs to the beach. She did not reach out to him or even look for him when she got to the sand. She felt a magnetic pull of awe, and she followed it. It was hard to walk on the beach. She got sand in her shoes. But Jen couldn't possibly care about that now. She did not stop until she got to the edge of the water. And she stared out at the sparkling blue expanse before her.

"Nice day, it looks like," Nick commented. He was standing next to her, obviously having had no trouble following her.

"I've never seen the ocean before," she said quietly, still staring out at the water.

"Never?" he asked in surprise.

She shook her head. She did not turn to look at him. "I grew up in Hell's Kitchen, just two blocks from the piers on the Hudson. I figured that water is water. But it's not. This isn't like the river at all." It was endless. The sky was bright blue and there wasn't a cloud in sight. On clear days like this, you could see Jersey across the Hudson. Looking out over the ocean, there wasn't anything to see except more ocean. The world was so vast, and it was easy to forget in the hustle and bustle of New York. It seemed like the city was the center of the universe. Maybe it was, in a lot of ways. But there was so much more.

"My grandfather took me to this beach when I was a kid," Nick said, his voice as quiet and reverent as hers had been. "We'd get a hot dog from Nathan's and come sit on the beach all day. I loved playing in the water and reading a book in the sunshine when I dried off. The amusement parks came later, but me and my grandfather always had fun when we could get away from real life and come to the beach. I thought you could use something like that."

Jen finally tore her eyes away from the water to look up at him. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"Do you want to get in the water? We can buy swimming costumes," he offered.

"No, this is perfect. Thank you."

"We can stay here as long as you want. But I'd like to check out some of the rides at some point today."

She smiled. He was almost embarrassed to admit that he wanted to go on the rides. There was a childlike quality to him in that moment that made her heart flutter in her chest. "How about one of those hot dogs?" she suggested. "And then we can look at the rides. We can come back to the water later if we want to." In truth, something felt like it shifted inside her soul looking out at the ocean, and she feared what might happen if she stood there looking for too much longer.

The hot dogs at Nathan's were incredible. Better than the street vendors in Manhattan, if such a thing was possible. They each had a hot dog and a cold bottle of Coca-Cola.

While they ate, Jen asked Nick about his time in Coney Island as a child. He asked her about growing up in Hell's Kitchen. She didn't tell him much, only because there wasn't much to tell. It was just Jennifer and her mother on a block run by the Irish mob, and they kept to themselves. She had friends in the neighborhood that she went to school with. Her mother died shortly after she turned eighteen. Nick told her that his grandfather died just after he turned twelve and he hadn't come to Coney Island since.

"It's nice to be back. With you," he said quietly.

"Thank you for bringing me here. I'm glad I could come with you," she replied.

They sat at their little table under an umbrella, gazing at each other. Nick's hazel-green eyes were easy to look at. All of him was easy to look at. He was a handsome man. Not very striking in any particular way but handsome. She saw his eyes flick down to her lips before looking back at her eyes. Jen felt the pull to lean forward.

A balloon popped nearby, startling them both. Jennifer sat back and blinked back to reality. "Come on, let's go check out some of those rides," she said.

They wandered around the amusement park, content to watch others play games than play any themselves. Most of the rides looked like they were a lot of fast, spinning things. There was one roller coaster called the Tornado, which seemed like deathtrap to Jennifer, a metal cart hurling over a track with a million twists and turns.

"How about that?" she asked, pointing up. There was a big colorful wheel at the end of the boardwalk with the words Wonder Wheel emblazoned on it in red.

Nick hesitated for a moment but agreed. They did their best to weave in and out of the crowds so they could get in line for their tickets. Jennifer was actually quite excited for the big Ferris wheel, but Nick had gone quiet. He was a quiet man most of the time, so she didn't pay much attention.

As soon as they got in their gondola and the ride took them up, swinging back and forth as it did. Jennifer eagerly looked out at the rest of Coney Island and the beach and the ocean far below them. It felt like flying. She'd been up high in the Manhattan skyscrapers, but this was different, moving like this. It was more fun that she could ever remember having.

But then Jen did start to notice something to dampen her enthusiasm. Nick had his hands on the edge of the metal seat, white-knuckled. The ride stopped periodically for other riders to get on and off, and Nick grimaced every time that happened.

"Are you alright?" she asked, now concerned.

"I don't like heights," he muttered.

Guilt coursed through her. "Why didn't you say!? We could have done something else!"

"You were excited. It's fine. I'm fine."

He sure didn't look fine. Jen pried his right hand off the seat and held it in her left. "Hey. We're partners. I look out for you, and you look out for me, right?"

Nick opened his eyes to look at her. "Right," he agreed softly.

"So that's all there is to it. I won't let anything happen to you. We'll be fine."

He nodded but chose to stare down at his shoes for the rest of the ride. Jen gazed out at the view. She held his hand the whole time.