October 9, 1940
This might have been the happiest month of Nick Buchanan's life. Maybe that was an exaggeration, but it was hard not to feel like this. Jennifer spent about three nights each week in his bed. And he spent about three nights each week in her bed. Sometimes they had to work late and could manage to take a nap at the stationhouse. That was the only time they spent the night apart.
Ever since that night at the jazz club, things had started coming together for them. They had kept a professional distance out of necessity before that. But then the levees broke and they couldn't help themselves.
Oh they were still professional at work. They had to be. And they were both good detectives and were devoted to the job. Nick knew Jen would never jeopardize her spot on Homicide, not after she'd clawed her way up to get there. He'd never do anything to endanger her job, either. She was made for this work. Nick knew he was, too. But while he loved his job, he didn't feel like he was called to it like she was.
He even asked her about it one night. They were at her apartment, lying in her bed after a particularly fun round of sex. She'd gotten up and put on her robe to get them each a glass of water. When she came back, she gave him his glass, put hers down on the nightstand, and took off the robe to get back in bed.
"How did you get the job?" Nick asked, once they'd settled back into each other's embrace.
"I asked for it."
Nick chuckled at that, causing Jen to shake slightly against his chest where she was curled up. "That all it took?"
"When Supomo debriefed me, I told him that now that I had FBI undercover experience, I deserved a spot with the NYPD. He asked me what I wanted, and I told him Homicide in Manhattan. He just nodded. Two days later, when I was back home in Harlem, a package was hand delivered with my new credentials and my gold detective's shield and a letter informing me of my assignment to our precinct and to report to Sergeant Wolfe. I think it's the least the FBI could do for me," she said.
Well, Nick couldn't argue with that. They been put through hell in Bushwick. Maybe it wasn't too bad most of the time, but they were in a hell of a lot more danger than they should have been, considering they weren't bona fide FBI. And Jen wasn't even real law enforcement at the time.
"How'd you end up going back under as Wesley Claybourne?" Jen asked.
He told her that he'd asked for the assignment, for the opportunity to get close to the man who had killed the boys who were as good as brothers to him. And then he told her of how he did in fact get close to Abe Reles, how he'd found a man who reminded him of what it was like being a part of that world when he was young. Kid Twist felt like a piece of Nick's past. And it was nice, for a time, to feel like he was home again. To spend Chanukah lighting candles and eating latkes and brisket. But of course, the past was the past. And they say you can never go home. Nick told Jen about how he'd flipped Reles and set him free from getting stuck back in that old cycle. "It was time to come back home. To my home in Manhattan," he said, and then added, "To you."
Nick had expected that Jen would look up at him and smile. He expected her to be happy at his words and to kiss him. But instead, she hummed vaguely and held him tight. She didn't look at him. Didn't smile.
They were both distracted when Jerry, Jen's orange cat, hopped up onto the bed and started walking on top of Nick's face.
But Nick had been thinking of that night and their conversation ever since it happened almost a week ago. Jen had been quiet and distant. He couldn't really put his finger on it. But something was bothering her and he didn't know how to ask what it was. He was terrified she would tell him that now that they were really together like they'd always want to be, that she didn't actually love him. Or didn't love him anymore. He didn't want to let her go, but he knew that if she wanted to go, he wouldn't stop her. How could he? He loved her more than anything in the world, and he wanted to give her anything she could ever possibly want. And if she wanted to leave him, he'd have to let her.
Weren't they happy though? Weren't they in love? When they were together, everything was just so easy. Nick was happy. He though she was, too. He didn't think anything had changed in the last week, but it must have. Maybe she just didn't love him the way he loved her. Maybe he wasn't enough.
November 1, 1940
Jennifer was cracking up. She couldn't sleep. She could barely eat. She was hanging on by a thread. Something had to give. She knew what it was, too, and it was long overdue for her to admit it to herself and to Nick.
Nick.
God, she loved him so much, she could hardly see straight sometimes. When he kissed her, the whole world stopped turning. Being in his arms felt more like home than any place she'd ever lived. He was everything. But he was still just a guy. A guy she loved, but just a guy.
They had to keep their relationship a secret at work. If anyone found out—Wolfie or the higher ups—that Nick and Jen were sleeping together, she'd be throwing her job away. And she'd worked to hard to get to Homicide and to prove herself to let it all go like that.
It was just too hard to manage everything. Matt was getting suspicious, wondering why she never spent time with him anymore, thinking it was because of his promotion. And when she assured him that it had nothing to do with that, he got even more suspicious. Duncan was watching Jen and Nick more closely than she was really comfortable with. Jen could have sworn Duncan saw when she gave Nick his watch back at a crime scene because he'd left her bed too early in the morning and forgot it on the nightstand.
And after weeks of trying to bury her head in the sand, Jen knew she had to do something about it. Nick knew something was off. He probably knew what it was, too, but she'd been insisting she was fine and distracting him with sex or work whenever possible. But she was at her wit's end.
"Step outside with me for a minute," she requested during a slow minute in the squad room.
Nick nodded and followed her out. Down the elevator. To the parking garage. Into his car. Doors closed. As much privacy as they could get on NYPD property.
She sat there, staring out the front windshield. She could feel his eyes on her. And she took a chance looking over at him.
He had the most beautiful, heartbreaking expression on his face. "You've decided to end it, haven't you?" he asked quietly, breaking the tense silence between them.
Jen didn't respond. She couldn't. The lump in her throat was going to make her voice crack and then she'd never be able to get through it.
"This isn't a casual fling," Nick continued, his voice soft but radiating his hurt.
"I know," Jen whispered.
"Do you?"
She pressed her eyes shut to keep the tears from falling. "Nick, this means everything to me," she told him. Beseeched him.
"Great," he answered. "That's the way I feel, too. Let's get married. Have kids."
Jen felt her heart flip in her chest, and she scoffed, not knowing what else to do when he dropped a bombshell like that. He wasn't serious. He couldn't be. Not about that. Not when they'd never even hinted at anything like that.
"I've never wanted that with anyone before, but I want that with you."
"What if we do all that and then, in two years' time, we split up? What if we make each other miserable and one or both of us runs out?"
"Well, it's worth taking the risk, don't you think?"
Jen's tears started to flow, and she couldn't stop them. Her voice was barely audible as she started blabbering every thought in her head. "Yeah, but I'm the one that's taking all the risk. If we stay together, one of us is gonna have to leave Homicide, and you and I both know that it's gonna be me. A woman on Homicide is one thing, but a married woman detective? The brass wouldn't hear of it. Nick, I've worked my whole life to get this job. If I leave Homicide, I don't know who I am anymore. Just like Trish Claybourne, arm candy for her husband and busy fixing food and drinks for men who get to have jobs and purpose?"
"Okay," he said calmly, cutting off her ranting. "I'll transfer out."
"You want a family," she protested.
"I want you," he insisted.
Jen felt her resolve cracking. "But I don't know if I'm ready to have children," she said, feeling desperate and insane even as the words came tumbling from her mouth. "Or if I want them at all. I…I never thought that was for me. I wanted to be a detective. I am a detective."
"Well, that's something we can decide in the future," Nick pointed out in a very rational, kind manner. But he was getting just as desperate as she was. "You're a detective. And that's all you ever have to be, if you want. I just want to be with you. Now and always."
She shook her head, tears still streaming down her face. "I'm sorry. I just…I don't have the answer yet, and it's not fair to keep you waiting until I do."
When Jen looked over at Nick, she saw the tears in his eyes, too. "Son of a bitch," he said with a humorless laugh. He took a slow breath and said, "I've got an interrogation to do."
Jen tried to protest as he got out of the car, but he slammed the door behind him, making her jump. It occurred to her that neither of them had said 'I love you' to the other. It was understood between them. At least she thought it was. He hadn't said it to try and convince her not to end it. She expected him to do that. But then again, Nick had never been the type to manipulate her. Not in their relationship or their work or in anything. He was better than that.
The truth of the matter was that she loved him too much to string him along when she knew it would end terribly, one way or the other. At least this way they could still work together at least. They'd done that for months without any problem. They could have that again, couldn't they.
But as Jen got out of the car and tried to compose herself so she could go back to work, Jen knew that they couldn't have things back to the way they were. Jen had broken his heart—and her own in the process—and maybe they wouldn't be able to come back from that at all.