Chapter 34 #2
“Besides,” says Nicky with a grin that I can hear in his voice even with my eyes closed, “look at how much ass you kicked today. You don’t need a protector.”
A smile twitches my lips despite everything. “Nicky, you are so sweet. Dealing with one life and death situation doesn’t mean I’m fixed.”
“I know,” he agrees easily, simply and effortlessly.
As if the knowledge that he is going to have to help carry the weight of my damage for the rest of our lives is no big deal. As if loving someone broken, is just what you do, not a burden to be borne but a choice to be celebrated.
The casual acceptance of it, the complete lack of resentment or frustration, makes something warm bloom in my chest. This is real. This is lasting. This is the kind of love that doesn’t give up when things get hard.
My heart pounds, and butterflies dance in my stomach. Not from fear this time, but from something else entirely. Something that feels suspiciously like joy.
I lean forward and kiss my Nicky with all of the love in my heart.
He moans softly against my mouth and kisses me back. Tenderly, passionately, lovingly. His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing over my cheekbone with infinite gentleness, like I’m something precious that might break if he’s not careful.
I sink into it and allow everything else to fall away. The fear, the trauma, the lingering adrenaline, all of it fades into background noise as I focus on the warmth of his lips, the solid reality of his body pressed against mine, the steady rhythm of his breathing that my own gradually syncs to.
Eventually, we fall asleep like that. Wrapped around each other, breathing in sync, safe in the cocoon we’ve created. And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I don’t have nightmares.
Iwake to pale predawn filtering through the curtains and the sound of traffic beginning its morning symphony outside. For a moment, I’m disoriented. The bed is wrong, the light is wrong, something fundamental about my surroundings doesn’t match my expectations.
Then I remember. Home. I’m home, in our bed, safe in our apartment. Not in prison, not in a Russian safe house, but home with Nicky sleeping peacefully beside me.
I turn my head carefully, not wanting to wake him, and just watch him for a moment.
In sleep, his face loses some of its careful control, softening into something younger and more vulnerable.
His dark hair is mussed against the pillow, and there’s a small crease between his eyebrows like even in sleep he’s worrying about something.
Probably me. Almost certainly me.
Moving as carefully as I can, I extract myself from the tangle of limbs and blankets. Nicky makes a small sound of protest but doesn’t wake, just reaches out for the pillow I leave behind and pulls it close like a substitute for my warmth.
The apartment is quiet as I pad to the kitchen, my bare feet silent on the hardwood. The abandoned tea-making supplies from last night are still scattered on the counter. The kettle, long gone cold, the mugs waiting empty, the tea bags sitting forlorn in their box.
I fill the kettle and set it to boil, then set about making myself a proper cup of tea. The routine is soothing. Familiar motions that require no thought, just muscle memory and the comfort of repetition. Tea bag in mug, hot water poured, splash of milk, gentle stir.
I’m halfway through my first sip when I hear movement from the bedroom. The soft shuffle of feet, the creak of floorboards, the small sounds that mean Nicky is awake.
Without thinking about it, I reach for the coffee tin and start making his morning cup.
He takes his first cup of the day black with one sugar, strong enough that lesser mortals would probably consider it a health hazard.
I’ve got the timing down perfectly now, so by the time he appears in the kitchen doorway, sleep-rumpled and squinting against the light, his coffee is ready and waiting.
“Morning,” he mumbles, accepting the mug I hold out to him with a grateful sound.
I don’t answer with words, just step close and press a quick, affectionate kiss to his lips. He tastes like sleep and home, and the casual intimacy of it makes my heart do something complicated in my chest.
He takes a long drink of his coffee, eyes closing in appreciation, then reaches for my hand with his free one.
“Come on,” he says, tugging me gently toward the living room. “Let’s watch the sunrise.”
We take our drinks over to the large window that dominates the living room, the one that offers a view of London sprawling out below us.
Dawn in winter comes late, so the city is already fully awake.
Lights are flickering in windows across the skyline, while the first rays of sun paint the clouds in shades of pink and gold.
We stand there in comfortable silence, sipping our drinks and watching colors return to the world. Nicky’s arm finds its way around my waist, and I lean into him, letting him take some of my weight while we watch the day begin.
“What day is it?” I ask, suddenly realizing I’ve completely lost track.
“Tuesday.”
“Crap, I’m supposed to go to work.” The realization brings a spike of anxiety. Dr. Torrino is expecting me, there are probably patients scheduled. My week off so I can go into hiding is over.
But Nicky just chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest where I’m pressed against him. “Dr. Torrino understands that being abducted by Russians is a good excuse for not coming to work.”
I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of that sentence. “I suppose it is.”
“He’ll want you to take all the time you need,” Nicky continues, pressing a kiss to my temple. “No rush. Your job will be there when you’re ready.”
The reassurance settles something in me. I’m not going to lose this opportunity, this purpose I’ve found. It can wait until I’m ready to return.
“What about you? Do you need to go to work today?” I ask, suddenly worried that I’m keeping him from important business, that there will be fallout from yesterday’s rescue mission that requires his attention.
“The only place I need to be is with you.”
The simple certainty in his voice makes my throat tight with emotion. No qualifications, no “but I should really” or “I probably need to.” Just absolute clarity about his priorities.
We stand there as the sun climbs higher, painting London in golden light, and I think about how far we’ve come. From that first awkward reunion to this moment of peaceful domesticity, watching the sunrise together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I love you,” I say quietly, the words almost getting lost in the morning sounds of the city going about its day.
“I love you too,” he replies immediately, his arm tightening around my waist. “More than anything.”
And standing there in our apartment, safe and warm and loved, I finally believe it completely.