riptide_asylum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
riptide_asylum) wrote2008-12-21 09:40 pm
riptide_asylum) wrote2008-12-21 09:40 pm
"Swimmer" (Dreamtime, 1986)
Title: Swimmer
Rating: R
Summary: some recurring nightmares are worse than others.
For the past week, Nick's been having the same dream, over and over, and it's not a good one. Normally, that's not a big deal, hell, he doesn't know any vets who don't have nightmares like other people have cornflakes, but this one's different. In this dream, he's leaning over the side of the Ebb Tide, and it's night. Cody's in the water, and Nick's trying to get him out, but it's just not working: he's got his arms around Cody's chest and he's pulling with everything he's got, but Cody's not responding, and the water's full of snakes and blood and a bunch of random hands, grabbing at--
Right at the point he starts to lose his grip on Cody, yelling at him to fight, feeling the slick dead weight slip out of his arms, Nick wakes with a jolt.
And finds he's alone in his bunk.
It's been too hot to sleep together--really sleep, not that other stuff--for a couple days now, but even so, when Nick wakes up he can't help it, he gets up and slides into Cody's bunk with him, ignoring the sleepy protests, reaching for his partner's nearness, savoring his beautiful sweet, even breathing.
The first night, Cody fought; pulling Nick's hands off him he got up and went to the other bunk, half-asleep still, and grumbling about the heat. Nick couldn't blame him, but he'd never mastered the art of crying quietly, so Cody was back a couple of heartbeats later, holding him close, holding him so tight he'd heard a joint pop, so tight he couldn't breathe. They've used this method for years: when you wake up from a world gone to hell in the darkness, you don't need to breathe until you know you're safe.
The second night, Cody complained himself halfway to consciousness then gave in with a dramatic sigh; he pulled Nick close, giving him a shoulder to sleep on, rubbing his back until Nick could let the tension slip away.
The third night Nick was standing in the head, splashing cold water on his face, shaking and hanging onto the sink for dear life when he heard Cody pad along the hallway. Nick felt the familiar arms around him. Despite it being four in the morning and hot as an oven, Cody held him tight, his body pressed against Nick's back, head resting on his shoulder, murmuring softly into his skin.
Nick stared at the two of them in the mirror. It was as if the dream had been reversed and Cody was pulling him out of the dark waters of his fucked up dream. But Nick couldn't get past the fact that Cody, asleep on his feet, was laying on Nick's shoulder all slick dead weight and--
At his strangled cry Cody started sleepily, meeting Nick's eyes in the mirror.
He followed Cody to bed, and felt a hand rubbing his back long after they both should have been asleep.
Over breakfast the next morning his partners had pushed him for details and Nick had had to get up and take his coffee on deck. He couldn't decide whether it was because just thinking about the dream made him sick to his stomach or if it was simply that he was too tired to be any good at lying. There was nothing in that dream he wanted to put into words. Nothing.
That night he found Cody squashed up against the wall, waiting for him. No protests, no questions, just strength and comfort despite the suffocating heat.
Which brought them to last night.
They'd been out on a case, staking out The Waverunner, a hot-sheet motel near the park, trying to figure out if Mrs. Abel Simpson was planning on staying alone or, if as Mr. Abel Simpson suspected, she had company. Just your average bullshit smalltime job, but Mimi needs a new pair of shoes so there they were.
He and Cody had been sitting in the Jimmy for close to four full hours with nothing to show for it. Big fat nothing: no strange car pulling up outside her door. No lights on in the room. Nothing but a few tourists, one very obvious hooker bringing in johns, and a group of surfers cramming way too many people and boards in one room. The two of them were just sitting there, hour after hour doing nothing but sweating.
"Nick...do you want to talk about it yet?"
He looked up, surprised. "No, I don't. Can you just let it go?" Then, chastised by his partner's hurt expression, Nick went on. "It's just...it's a bad one, okay? I've just got this feeling if I talk about it, it'll..."
"Come true? Nick, you don't honestly believe that, do you?"
"Let it go, Cody."
They sat in silence for a few minutes. The Waverunner's neon sign, a stylized wave cresting over a fleeing surfer, flickered, then went out. Nick squinted at his watch, then turned on the tiny light in one corner. 4:19. He sighed, his hands dropping to his lap.
"Maybe this thing's a wash."
"What, the dream? Or this case?"
Nick glared. "Maybe there's a perfectly innocent explanation for Mrs. Simpson's behavior. Maybe she just wants some peace and quiet for a night."
"Her husband's been wound pretty tight about this thing. I wouldn't blame her if she wanted to get away from him for a couple days." Cody looked over. "Living with a guy that tightly wound is exhausting."
Nick ignored the hint. "Maybe she wanted to spend the night in a bigger bed, maybe she likes the room service here--"
Cody snickered.
Nick relaxed with a sigh. "Yeah, maybe we've been in this Jimmy too long, I get it, I get it." He looked around the motel parking lot. Their truck didn't look too out of place amidst the cars there. An old VW bug, a Cadillac sedan, Mrs. Simpson's white Cabriolet convertible--
Two gunshots shattered the darkness.
Grabbing their guns from the glove compartment, the two of them snuck across the parking lot to take cover behind Mrs. Simpson's little Cabriolet.
It was eerie. The Waverunner stayed silent: no lights came on, no windows or doors opening, no nosy neighbors. For all Nick knew, he and Cody might have been the last two people alive in Redondo.
Cody turned to him, sketching a plan in the night, gestures and expressions. Nick nodded assent but then as Cody turned to go, he put a hand on his partner's back. Cody spun back around.
They said everything they needed to without a word; one look in Nick's eyes and Cody understood and promised all at once before slipping away into the darkness.
Under the thin new moon, Nick could barely see his partner crouched under the motel room window. Cody was popping up and down, trying to get a peek inside when the door burst open and Mr. Simpson stood backlit in the doorway, gun in hand.
It turned out their client hadn't wanted proof so much as vengeance.
His shirt was open at the collar, tie loose and askew. The front of his undershirt was stained dark red. Mr Simpson caught sight of Cody huddled underneath the window. "She was, you know," he said brokenly. "That lousy bitch was cheating on me." He bit back a sob, and Nick crept towards the hood of the little convertible, wracking his brain for a plan. Mr Simpson continued. "You know what the worst part is? The very worst part?"
Cody stood up, hands raised in a conciliatory gesture. "Mr. Simpson, I know things seem bad right now, but you've gotta believe me: it's gonna be okay."
Nick bit the inside of his cheek. He wasn't in love with Cody's changes to their plan so far, but hadn't come up with anything better.
"What do you know?" Mr. Simpson sobbed. "She was sleeping with my goddamn brother. My own brother!"
"Okay, that is pretty bad," Cody admitted. "But that's over now, right? How about you give me the gun? Trust me, sir, it's going to be okay."
"You think?" Mr. Simpson punctuated the statement with a wild wave of his gun.
Nick shook his head. Diplomacy was going down in flames. He stood up from behind the car, his own gun in hand. "Drop your weapon, Abel."
Showing no surprise at his appearance, Mr Simpson turned slowly from Cody to Nick. "I might've known you'd be around here somewhere. You buy one, you get the pair, huh?"
Nick took a few slow steps towards Cody. Mr Simpson didn't move, so he took a few more, until he was standing in front of his partner.
"Nick, what are you doing?" Cody whispered.
Before Nick could answer, their client raised his gun. Nick dropped to a crouch, pulling Cody to the ground behind him, sheltering his body with his own. His finger tightened on the trigger; and then he realized he needn't have bothered.
As the final gunshot echoed from the surrounding buildings, Nick understood the last bullet wasn't for either of them.
---
The next morning the heat wave finally broke, dawn coming cool and misty on the oceanfront, so they pulled the Riptide out of King Harbor, heading for open water and good fishing. Mimi's new pistons were on order and by lunchtime there was fresh snapper on the grill and cold beer in their hands. Laughter, card games, sunburn.
After lunch Murray headed inside, no longer able to ignore the siren call of his latest invention, and Nick and Cody slipped over the stern onto the fantail. While Nick was content to sit dangling his legs in the water, finishing his beer, Cody dove into the waves, gone before Nick even had time to remember the dream.
Water. Snakes. Blood.
The beer turned sour in his mouth and he scanned the ocean's surface, waiting for his partner to emerge.
A minute went by.
Nick was just about to jump in when Cody popped out of the water directly in front of him. Cody's expression turned from happiness to concern in the space of a moment and Nick wondered what his partner had seen in his own face. He wanted to reach for Cody, to pull him back up onto the boat, but his arms had stopped obeying his brain and he just sat there, mute and staring.
Finally Cody reached out to him. Nick grabbed his hand and pulled and just like in the dream, nothing happened; Cody was still in the water and Nick was powerless.
Just as the water closed over his head, Nick understood Cody's plan.
The ocean was cold and bracing, the perfect counterpoint to the afternoon sunshine. Nick closed his eyes and let himself fall in the soothing depths, saltwater rushing around him, holding him gently, washing away the nightmare end to this case, driving the dreamsickness out in a great rush.
When he surfaced, Cody was treading water next to him, watching with a pleased expression. "Feeling better?"
"Like a million bucks, pal."
Cody grinned. "Thought you needed to cool off."
Nick smiled back and reached for Cody, wanting to slide up against him in the water, taste the salt on his skin. Cody promptly dunked him again.
Sputtering with laughter, Nick resurfaced. "Point taken. Now c'mere."
"I got you, Nick." Cody pulled him close, this time, and Nick reveled in the feel of his partner in his arms, warm and vital and alive.
"Whaddaya say we take this somewhere drier?"
Rating: R
Summary: some recurring nightmares are worse than others.
For the past week, Nick's been having the same dream, over and over, and it's not a good one. Normally, that's not a big deal, hell, he doesn't know any vets who don't have nightmares like other people have cornflakes, but this one's different. In this dream, he's leaning over the side of the Ebb Tide, and it's night. Cody's in the water, and Nick's trying to get him out, but it's just not working: he's got his arms around Cody's chest and he's pulling with everything he's got, but Cody's not responding, and the water's full of snakes and blood and a bunch of random hands, grabbing at--
Right at the point he starts to lose his grip on Cody, yelling at him to fight, feeling the slick dead weight slip out of his arms, Nick wakes with a jolt.
And finds he's alone in his bunk.
It's been too hot to sleep together--really sleep, not that other stuff--for a couple days now, but even so, when Nick wakes up he can't help it, he gets up and slides into Cody's bunk with him, ignoring the sleepy protests, reaching for his partner's nearness, savoring his beautiful sweet, even breathing.
The first night, Cody fought; pulling Nick's hands off him he got up and went to the other bunk, half-asleep still, and grumbling about the heat. Nick couldn't blame him, but he'd never mastered the art of crying quietly, so Cody was back a couple of heartbeats later, holding him close, holding him so tight he'd heard a joint pop, so tight he couldn't breathe. They've used this method for years: when you wake up from a world gone to hell in the darkness, you don't need to breathe until you know you're safe.
The second night, Cody complained himself halfway to consciousness then gave in with a dramatic sigh; he pulled Nick close, giving him a shoulder to sleep on, rubbing his back until Nick could let the tension slip away.
The third night Nick was standing in the head, splashing cold water on his face, shaking and hanging onto the sink for dear life when he heard Cody pad along the hallway. Nick felt the familiar arms around him. Despite it being four in the morning and hot as an oven, Cody held him tight, his body pressed against Nick's back, head resting on his shoulder, murmuring softly into his skin.
Nick stared at the two of them in the mirror. It was as if the dream had been reversed and Cody was pulling him out of the dark waters of his fucked up dream. But Nick couldn't get past the fact that Cody, asleep on his feet, was laying on Nick's shoulder all slick dead weight and--
At his strangled cry Cody started sleepily, meeting Nick's eyes in the mirror.
He followed Cody to bed, and felt a hand rubbing his back long after they both should have been asleep.
Over breakfast the next morning his partners had pushed him for details and Nick had had to get up and take his coffee on deck. He couldn't decide whether it was because just thinking about the dream made him sick to his stomach or if it was simply that he was too tired to be any good at lying. There was nothing in that dream he wanted to put into words. Nothing.
That night he found Cody squashed up against the wall, waiting for him. No protests, no questions, just strength and comfort despite the suffocating heat.
Which brought them to last night.
They'd been out on a case, staking out The Waverunner, a hot-sheet motel near the park, trying to figure out if Mrs. Abel Simpson was planning on staying alone or, if as Mr. Abel Simpson suspected, she had company. Just your average bullshit smalltime job, but Mimi needs a new pair of shoes so there they were.
He and Cody had been sitting in the Jimmy for close to four full hours with nothing to show for it. Big fat nothing: no strange car pulling up outside her door. No lights on in the room. Nothing but a few tourists, one very obvious hooker bringing in johns, and a group of surfers cramming way too many people and boards in one room. The two of them were just sitting there, hour after hour doing nothing but sweating.
"Nick...do you want to talk about it yet?"
He looked up, surprised. "No, I don't. Can you just let it go?" Then, chastised by his partner's hurt expression, Nick went on. "It's just...it's a bad one, okay? I've just got this feeling if I talk about it, it'll..."
"Come true? Nick, you don't honestly believe that, do you?"
"Let it go, Cody."
They sat in silence for a few minutes. The Waverunner's neon sign, a stylized wave cresting over a fleeing surfer, flickered, then went out. Nick squinted at his watch, then turned on the tiny light in one corner. 4:19. He sighed, his hands dropping to his lap.
"Maybe this thing's a wash."
"What, the dream? Or this case?"
Nick glared. "Maybe there's a perfectly innocent explanation for Mrs. Simpson's behavior. Maybe she just wants some peace and quiet for a night."
"Her husband's been wound pretty tight about this thing. I wouldn't blame her if she wanted to get away from him for a couple days." Cody looked over. "Living with a guy that tightly wound is exhausting."
Nick ignored the hint. "Maybe she wanted to spend the night in a bigger bed, maybe she likes the room service here--"
Cody snickered.
Nick relaxed with a sigh. "Yeah, maybe we've been in this Jimmy too long, I get it, I get it." He looked around the motel parking lot. Their truck didn't look too out of place amidst the cars there. An old VW bug, a Cadillac sedan, Mrs. Simpson's white Cabriolet convertible--
Two gunshots shattered the darkness.
Grabbing their guns from the glove compartment, the two of them snuck across the parking lot to take cover behind Mrs. Simpson's little Cabriolet.
It was eerie. The Waverunner stayed silent: no lights came on, no windows or doors opening, no nosy neighbors. For all Nick knew, he and Cody might have been the last two people alive in Redondo.
Cody turned to him, sketching a plan in the night, gestures and expressions. Nick nodded assent but then as Cody turned to go, he put a hand on his partner's back. Cody spun back around.
They said everything they needed to without a word; one look in Nick's eyes and Cody understood and promised all at once before slipping away into the darkness.
Under the thin new moon, Nick could barely see his partner crouched under the motel room window. Cody was popping up and down, trying to get a peek inside when the door burst open and Mr. Simpson stood backlit in the doorway, gun in hand.
It turned out their client hadn't wanted proof so much as vengeance.
His shirt was open at the collar, tie loose and askew. The front of his undershirt was stained dark red. Mr Simpson caught sight of Cody huddled underneath the window. "She was, you know," he said brokenly. "That lousy bitch was cheating on me." He bit back a sob, and Nick crept towards the hood of the little convertible, wracking his brain for a plan. Mr Simpson continued. "You know what the worst part is? The very worst part?"
Cody stood up, hands raised in a conciliatory gesture. "Mr. Simpson, I know things seem bad right now, but you've gotta believe me: it's gonna be okay."
Nick bit the inside of his cheek. He wasn't in love with Cody's changes to their plan so far, but hadn't come up with anything better.
"What do you know?" Mr. Simpson sobbed. "She was sleeping with my goddamn brother. My own brother!"
"Okay, that is pretty bad," Cody admitted. "But that's over now, right? How about you give me the gun? Trust me, sir, it's going to be okay."
"You think?" Mr. Simpson punctuated the statement with a wild wave of his gun.
Nick shook his head. Diplomacy was going down in flames. He stood up from behind the car, his own gun in hand. "Drop your weapon, Abel."
Showing no surprise at his appearance, Mr Simpson turned slowly from Cody to Nick. "I might've known you'd be around here somewhere. You buy one, you get the pair, huh?"
Nick took a few slow steps towards Cody. Mr Simpson didn't move, so he took a few more, until he was standing in front of his partner.
"Nick, what are you doing?" Cody whispered.
Before Nick could answer, their client raised his gun. Nick dropped to a crouch, pulling Cody to the ground behind him, sheltering his body with his own. His finger tightened on the trigger; and then he realized he needn't have bothered.
As the final gunshot echoed from the surrounding buildings, Nick understood the last bullet wasn't for either of them.
---
The next morning the heat wave finally broke, dawn coming cool and misty on the oceanfront, so they pulled the Riptide out of King Harbor, heading for open water and good fishing. Mimi's new pistons were on order and by lunchtime there was fresh snapper on the grill and cold beer in their hands. Laughter, card games, sunburn.
After lunch Murray headed inside, no longer able to ignore the siren call of his latest invention, and Nick and Cody slipped over the stern onto the fantail. While Nick was content to sit dangling his legs in the water, finishing his beer, Cody dove into the waves, gone before Nick even had time to remember the dream.
Water. Snakes. Blood.
The beer turned sour in his mouth and he scanned the ocean's surface, waiting for his partner to emerge.
A minute went by.
Nick was just about to jump in when Cody popped out of the water directly in front of him. Cody's expression turned from happiness to concern in the space of a moment and Nick wondered what his partner had seen in his own face. He wanted to reach for Cody, to pull him back up onto the boat, but his arms had stopped obeying his brain and he just sat there, mute and staring.
Finally Cody reached out to him. Nick grabbed his hand and pulled and just like in the dream, nothing happened; Cody was still in the water and Nick was powerless.
Just as the water closed over his head, Nick understood Cody's plan.
The ocean was cold and bracing, the perfect counterpoint to the afternoon sunshine. Nick closed his eyes and let himself fall in the soothing depths, saltwater rushing around him, holding him gently, washing away the nightmare end to this case, driving the dreamsickness out in a great rush.
When he surfaced, Cody was treading water next to him, watching with a pleased expression. "Feeling better?"
"Like a million bucks, pal."
Cody grinned. "Thought you needed to cool off."
Nick smiled back and reached for Cody, wanting to slide up against him in the water, taste the salt on his skin. Cody promptly dunked him again.
Sputtering with laughter, Nick resurfaced. "Point taken. Now c'mere."
"I got you, Nick." Cody pulled him close, this time, and Nick reveled in the feel of his partner in his arms, warm and vital and alive.
"Whaddaya say we take this somewhere drier?"