I'd let him talk, first.

And oh, did he.

Told me all about what it was like to wake up as this thing the Institute had made him, about the life-altering adjustments he'd had to make over time, about the prejudice and hate that's been leveled at him, despite his general acceptance in society, such as it is.

Told me about fucking Eddie Winter.

Oh, the horrific irony of that bastard becoming probably the first ghoul, of all things.

Nobody deserved immortality less than he.

Of course, I immediately agreed to take the fucker down. Anything it took. I'd bring everyone in on this if I had to. Told Nicky so, too.

He'd just shaken his head. "No, doll. I'd rather keep this quiet. We're the only two who remember all this... who remember Jenny. If we end up having to bring more in, so be it, but I'd rather try to get the creep just between the two of us."

I'd acquiesced after some reconsideration.

The rest... well, the rest would have to come after.

After Winters' head was already rolling.

"So, ya got somethin' for me? Maybe a pocket full of tapes belonging to an old ghoul?"

"Finally got 'em all," I nod, handing over the stack with a sigh of relief, beyond glad this squirrel hunt is over. "Here."

"No foolin?" He asks, sounding a bit surprised and impressed as he accepts the tapes, peering down at the top one as he sets them all on the desk I've all but given him in my apartment. "Well, that's some real solid detective work." He picks up a few at random, one or two nearly falling apart at the seams, even as he examines them. "Eh, they're older than dirt, but they've got Eddie's paw prints all over 'em. These are the real deal. And I'll bet ya anything they've still got the code pieces in 'em! Lemme just run 'em through the ol' processor here..." He shoves the first in the series into a portable holotape drive, hooking the data transfer cable into the back of his head. A soft whirring sounds out, clicking like an old computer terminal running through its paces, a hard disk seating itself. He ejects the tape, sets the next in, then the next, and the next. A few minutes pass, only interrupted by the sounds of the tape deck and his processors working overtime. "Got it! One, nine, five... three, seven, two, eight... four, zero, six."

His eyes zero in on mine with a vicious sort of eagerness. "That old thug's holed up in Andrew Station." His lip curls, teeth barring in a snarl as he growls out, "Now, let's go bring down Eddie Winter."

It's... done.

It was a hell of a fight, getting down to the prick's makeshift vault room, but holy hell did it feel satisfying to watch Nick take him down.

Finally, justice for our little guardian angel, Jenny Lands.

I follow him up and out, squinting at the faded light of the gray day up top, trodding over to where he stops and kneels down.

"This is it." He almost-points at a place on the busted asphalt before him. "In this spot, two hundred years ago, one of Eddie's boys gunned down my... Nick's fiance. Now Eddie's as dead as Jenny and Nick. And I... I'm at a loss." He frowns, sucks in a deep breath and stands, facing me. "All I know is... without you, Eddie'd still be at large."

I frown with a bit of concern at the way he refers to himself but keep up a soft smile in support of him. "Taking down Winters... it's a big deal, I know. Are you... alright?"

He looks down, to the side, searching. "I dunno. It's a lot to take in." He meets my gaze, though it really seems like he's looking through, not at me. "Winter was it—the only reminder left of the original Nick Valentine. The last proof, outside of some long-lost Institute archive, that I was ever more than just a mechanical copy of some cop from a by-gone era." He finally breaks the thousand-yard-stare he'd been giving my eyes and focuses on me, properly, expression pinched. "I'm not sure how I feel."

I try to force a smile past the uncertainty I feel, though I'm not sure how successful it is. "You're not just a copy, Nicky. I never would've recognized you, if you were. I think you're bein a little harsh on yourself, there."

He shakes his head, giving me a smile that's as full of regret as it is dreaded resignation. "Ah, I wish it was that easy. But it's not."

He picks at his hand for a moment, then squares his jaw and looks at me head-on. "Because I was Nick Valentine. I had his memories. His fears. All that poor bastard's hope. I remember getting the call to head to some lab in Cambridge to get that neurotrans-whatever. And the next thing I know, I'm in a trash heap, my family, my home, you, my entire life, gone. Then I discover, all those things, they weren't even mine. Everything I ever was belonged to Nick."

I blink, watching him agonize over it all, just now starting to realize all the shit that's been plaguing him in the background, everything he's been holding in all this time, all these years, with nobody around to understand.

He frowns, jaw ticked to the side in thought, shoulders rising and falling with a sigh. "I'd hoped with Winter gone, the last hint of that old world snuffed out, I could finally be free." He shakes his head. "But being out here with you, what I finally realized after all this time was that taking down Winter, it wasn't about Nick or Jenny or even you or me. It was about justice, about doing what's right. And that act of goodness, that's ours. All the good we've done? That's ours and ours alone. And even if that's the only thing in this world I can ever claim as mine, not Nick's, not the Institute's, but mine, then I can die happy."

A smile starts to slide onto his face, brightening with every second that passes. "And none of it would have ever happened if it weren't for you." He ducks his head a bit bashfully. "I'm not sure I'll ever be able to thank you for that."

I shake my head, offering the best smile I can muster, in return, resting a hand on his shoulder in comfort and solidarity. "You don't have to, Nicky. We're partners, that's what partners do."

He lets off a soft chuckle, still keeping his head lowered, though he lifts it enough to look me in the eye, past the brim of his beat up hat. "You just can't stop being noble, can you?"

My brows arch in moderate surprise, my smile gaining a more genuine quality. "'Noble'? It's just the truth, Nicky. If anyone here is noble, it's you. You sought out justice for our little guardian angel, when anyone else would've just let Winter rot in there, forever. You put an end to an evil that plagued us both. Like you said, that's yours. And it was noble as anything."

My smile is a bit tighter but still genuine, as I continue, "The only question left now is, was there anything else you needed to do, anything else left over from..." I swallow the lump in my throat that threatens to undo me, "from the Nick I knew?"

He frowns, head cocking as I finish my query. "'The Nick you'... Shana, you still know... ah. I suppose I brought that one on myself, didn't I?" He grimaces, hand reaching up to rest on his neck, rubbing his data ports like a nervous tic for a few seconds, before straightening, hand falling to his side. "Look, Shana, I'm still the same... person. I'm still Nick. It's just... now, I can at least try to pretend I'm my own man... synth, whatever."

He takes a step closer, reaching up to gently lift my hand from his shoulder, gingerly holding it in both his hands. "I had to do this, for all of us, for me, you, Nick, Jenny. So there was closure for us. So we can make our lives ours, now. So we can put old ghosts to rest, once and for all."

I squeeze his hand gently, offering him the best smile I can muster. "I'm glad you did, Nicky. It's good. Closure's good."

He lifts the hand atop mine—his right hand—up, eyes tracking it as he slowly, ever so attentively presses the flat of one warm metal finger against the worry creased into my brow, smoothing it out with the greatest of care. Just as deliberately as he'd raised it, he lowers his hand back to mine, his eyes meeting mine, a soft smile pulling onto his lips. He hesitates for a few seconds, then finally admits, "...Been wanting to do that, for a while now. You worry so much about so much, I just... want to help, shoulder some of that weight on your shoulders, you know? After all, what kind of partner would I be, if I didn't return the favor, after you've helped lift my burden from me?"

I can feel the heat on my cheeks, eyes widening as I swallow, twice, suck in a quick breath, and push out the words before I can second-guess myself, "Is that... what w-we are? j-just p-partners?" Christ. Real smooth. Well, to hell with it, it's out there, now.

He stares down at me, a mere nine inches away, with something between confusion and the barest hint of incredulous hope. "Is... that all you want? 'Cause I'll be honest, doll, if it is, you're sendin' some crazily mixed signals here that I don't know what to do with."

I snort a single, somewhat hysterical laugh, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, only now realizing that I'm trembling in my boots and squeezing his had just a touch too hard. I open my eyes and try to steady myself, fail miserably, and push on. "N-no, Nick, that's..." I half shake my head, "that's not all I want. I want what I'm... not even sure I have the r-right to ask for, but I have to because it's eating me up and I can't stop it anymore." I bring my free hand up, resting it on his cheek. "It's you. It's always been you. Always."

His eyes flick down to my lips, then back up, and my breath catches, anticipation climbing the walls of my mind and pushing most rational thought out of the way on its way up. He frowns slightly. "Are... are you sure that's what you want, doll? I know this mug ain't exactly what you'd call pristine—"

"Nick," I interject, "I don't care about that. Trust me, I don't. Besides, I told you, new skin, remember?" I smirk a bit cheekily, hoping he takes the hint.

He quirks a brow at that, drawling, "Well are you sure you wouldn't rather wait until I get the new—"

"Nicky, I swear to god, if you don't—"

And this, ladies and gents, is the moment he finally dives in and kisses the fool out of me.

His left hand cradles my head and neck, right drawing around my waist and pulling me snug to him; tongue teasing my lips apart and diving for mine, the texture of it just a touch different than human, but still every bit as enjoyable.

My own hands slide up his chest and curve around his neck, my left mirroring his left on the back of his head, the right mostly hanging on for dear life as he deepens the kiss, delving and bending me back in his ardor, chasing my lips with every ounce of this passion I never knew was hiding inside the shy, rough-and-tumble bookworm of a detective that was Nick Valentine.

Maybe this really is a new leaf for him. Maybe he's letting himself just... be.

All I'm really sure of is one thing:

I've never, ever been happier to be interrupted.