Work Text:
Jennifer couldn't sleep.
It wasn't unusual. Sleep had been elusive since the Institute, since the writing, since the weight of everything she'd seen and everything she'd become. But tonight was different. Tonight, the restlessness had a shape. A purpose. A pull.
She got up, padded quietly through the Agency's back hallway, and stopped in the doorway of the main office.
Nick was at his desk. Feet propped up, hat pushed back, a cigarette burning low between his fingers. His optics were dimmed, focused on something in his hands. A file, maybe, or a case note. The green-shaded lamp cast long shadows across his face, softening the hard lines of his chassis, turning the exposed metal of his jaw to something almost gentle.
He didn't look up. He didn't have to.
"Can't sleep, doll?"
She didn't answer right away. She just stood there, watching him.
And the longing hit her.
Not the physical kind, not the wanting-to-touch kind, though that was there too. Something deeper. Something sharper. The kind of longing that comes from realizing how deeply you love someone and suddenly becoming painfully aware that you don't have infinite time with them.
She was going to grow old. She was going to die.
And he wasn't.
He would stay exactly as he was: timeless, unchanging, a fixed point in a world that kept spinning. And she would fade. She would leave him. She would become a memory, and then even that would blur at the edges, and then—
"Jen?" His voice was soft. Concerned. He'd looked up now, his optics bright with worry. "You okay?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she crossed the room, sat down in Ellie's chair, and curled herself up there. Knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around them, chin resting on top. She watched him.
He watched her back.
Finally, she spoke. Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.
"Have you ever looked at someone and never wanted to stop looking?"
Nick was silent for a long moment. Then he set the file down, leaned forward, and rested his forearms on his knees.
"What brought that on?" he asked.
She didn't look away. "I don't have forever."
He blinked. "Jen—"
"I'm not going to live forever." Her voice was steady. Firm. "And I don't want to close my eyes."
"Jennifer." His voice cracked on her name. He leaned closer. "Why?"
And she told him.
"Because if I spend eight hours sleeping every day, that’s eight hours I won’t get with you.” Her eyes filled with tears that didn’t fall. “I don’t…I’ll miss…eight whole hours out of every twenty-four."
He felt…he didn’t know what he felt.
"I don't want to miss your terrible jokes. The ones you make at the worst possible moments, when I'm covered in blood or muck or both. I don't want to miss your dry witticisms. The way you say something so perfectly Nick that I can't help but laugh even when everything is falling apart."
She paused. Her voice softened.
"I don't want to miss those rare smiles. The ones you think no one sees. The ones that crinkle the edges of your eyes and make you look almost... young. Almost human. Almost like the man you were before the bombs, before the Institute, before everything."
Another pause.
"I don't want to miss the moments when you're absolutely brilliant. Solving a case, piecing together a puzzle, seeing something no one else sees. The way your mind works. The way you choose to use it."
She swallowed.
"I don't want to miss the way people reach for you while simultaneously pulling away. The way they trust you and fear you in the same breath. The way you keep showing up for them anyway, even when they don't deserve it."
The tears were falling gently now. She didn't care.
"I don't want to miss waking up and seeing your silhouette. The way the morning light catches the edges of your frame. The way you're always there, always watching, always present even when you don't have to be."
And then her voice broke entirely.
"And I don't want to miss those two rings of light in the darkness. Your eyes. Glowing. Telling me I'm safe. Telling me I'm home. Safe with you. Safe because of you." She met his eyes.
Silence.
Nick had gone very still. His optics were fixed on her, bright and unwavering. His jaw was tight. His hands were trembling.
"Jen..." he breathed.
He reached out. His flesh hand, the warm one, the one he chose, cupped her cheek. His thumb brushed away a falling tear.
"So…have you? Have you ever looked at someone and never wanted to stop looking?"
"Oh, sweetheart." His voice was low. Raw. Certain. "Every damn day."
She stared at him.
He smiled that rare, real smile, the one he usually kept hidden.
"Every damn day, I look at you and I don't want to stop looking. Every damn day, I think about how I don't have forever with you—how you don't have forever, and how I'll have to live without you someday. And every damn day, I choose to be here anyway. Because the alternative—missing you entirely—is worse."
He wheeled his chair closer and leaned in. Their foreheads touched.
"I don't want to miss a thing either, Jen. Not one damn thing."
She closed her eyes. Then he stood, bringing her with him.
“Come on.”
He led her to the back room. Helped her lay down, then took his shirt and shoes and socks off and climbed into bed with her.
She faced him as he took her into his arms. “Sleep, sweetheart. You won’t miss a thing other than me not looking away while you sleep.”
She swallowed hard. “I love you,” she whispered.
“And I love you. Now sleep. I’ve got you.”
For the first time in days, she did.
And Nick finally understood how much losing her someday was going to hurt.
He chose to stay anyway.