"Without You" (Dreamtime, 1985)
Sep. 9th, 2009 02:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
riptide_asylumTitle: Without You
Rating: R
Summary: Cody awakes to a strange new world, where things are not quite as he left them.
Cody woke up fevered and hurting and disoriented, missing the comforting rock of the Riptide. The sounds were wrong, a distant radio playing classical music, children's voices and the hum of a lawnmower. The sounds of the suburbs: the sounds of the life he'd left.
He rubbed a hand across his face, feeling his skin burning, an ache throbbing behind his eyes. With an effort, Cody raised himself on his elbow.
The room was cool and white, long curtains at the window, pale sunshine filtering through trees outside. On the nightstand sat a glass of water and Cody reached for it gratefully.
His hand was more unsteady than he thought and the glass teetered away, spinning from his fingers and over the side, the crash loud in the quiet house.
Cody dropped back against the pillow, unexplained fear welling inside him. He could feel himself shaking and squeezed his eyes shut.
He didn't remember this house, didn't know why he felt so ill, couldn't remember the case that had brought them here. Nick... where was Nick? Cody wracked his brains.
They'd played a game of volleyball while Murray ran some finance records... had that been yesterday? Cody couldn't remember. The memory of the sea swam hazily behind his eyes, blue and shimmering in the sunlight, and he thought of Nick, smiling, at his side. Maybe if he went to sleep... maybe Nick would be back when he awoke. Cody curled up small.
"Cody! Did you break the glass?" The voice was jarring and Cody opened his eyes again, turning his head, not understanding.
"Janet?" he whispered. "What are you doing here?"
"What do you mean, what am I doing here?" Janet, stylish and trim as always, swept her way over to stand at his bedside. "I live here, Cody." She bent down and touched his forehead. "Still feverish, I see. The doctor will be back this afternoon. Next time, perhaps you'll take Daddy's advice and take a holiday when he says you should."
"Next time...?" Cody blinked at her without understanding. "Janet, I don't understand. Why am I here? Where's Nick?"
Janet frowned at him. "You're in bed because you didn't listen when Daddy said to take a holiday and now you've got the flu. And who's Nick? Is he someone from work?"
"Nick - " Cody pushed himself up on his elbow again, fear rising in his chest. He didn't understand any of this. "Janet, Nick's my partner. You've met him. Where is he? And where's Murray?"
"Cody, stop it." Janet frowned again and took a step back. "I don't know any Murray either. You're scaring me. Lie back down, the doctor will be here soon. Please?"
"Janet..." Cody's head swam and he fell back against his pillow, trembling. "Janet, please tell me what's going on here."
"You're sick, honey." Janet spoke more gently, and laid her hand against his forehead. It felt clammy and cold, and Cody shivered. "Rest, okay? You'll feel better soon. The doctor's coming."
"Please, call Nick," Cody whispered.
"Sure, Cody. Sure I will."
Cody couldn't fight the darkness any longer, and the next thing he knew was a man's deep voice, dragging him back to consciousness. "Cody, are you awake?"
"Huh?" Cody got his eyes open and found a stranger bending over him, a stethoscope clutched in his hand. "Nick?"
"Doctor, we don't know any Nick." Janet stepped into view at the doctor's shoulder. "He's scaring me."
"Now, c'mon, Cody." The doctor smiled at him good-humoredly and patted his shoulder. "I need you to do better than that, huh? You can't be scaring your wife, now."
"Not my wife," Cody started to say. His eye fell on the picture on the nightstand, and his voice died in his throat. It was a wedding photo, himself and Janet, smiling against a background of tropical green. The green of the jungle.
Cody summoned all his strength and pushed himself to sit up, fighting his spinning head. "What the hell is going on?" he rasped, and grabbed for the picture. "This never happened. I didn't - " The picture fell from his hand and smashed against the floor. Janet screamed.
The doctor's hand was heavy on his arm and Cody struggled. "Keep calm, Cody. You'll feel better soon." He was too weak to fight, and the bite of the needle in his arm ushered in the darkness again.
The next time Cody woke up, it was dark. Even breathing came from beside him, but he knew immediately it wasn't Nick. His eyes adjusted slowly to the dark and he realized it was Janet with him in the bed.
Cody recoiled from her, and got unsteadily out of the bed. He felt better than he had earlier, but his legs were still weak and shaky, and he made his way across the room, feeling like an old man.
The first door he tried was a bathroom, all cool white tiles and beige towels, and he relieved himself thankfully before slipping out through another door, into a wide, balustraded hallway.
Moonlight poured in the windows, illuminating oak paneling and a wallpaper patterned with vine leaves, all the color leached away by the moon. Cody crept down the staircase, bare feet silent on the pale, deep pile carpet, holding the banister for support.
Janet's house, she'd said. She'd also said she was married to him, said he was sick. Cody's stomach did flip-flops. It couldn't be true. Yesterday... or the day before? He'd been on the beach with Nick, playing volleyball, fooling around. They'd sat on deck that night, Cody remembered, and he could still feel the warmth of Nick's hand on his shoulder, still taste the tang of the cold, imported beer.
Cody only wished he could remember the case that had brought him to this house.
At the bottom of the stairs, a door on his left gave into a shadowy sitting room, mahogany furniture and flower-patterned cushions. And on the sideboard stood a phone. Shaking with relief, Cody hurried to the instrument, dialing with a hand that trembled, holding his breath as it rang.
Were Nick and Murray home? He wished he could remember something.
The receiver clicked and crackled, and a bored voice drawled, "Clam Cooker Specials, best in town. How can we help?"
Cody gulped. In his hurry, he must have misdialed. "Sorry," he muttered, cutting the connection, dialing again, slower, checking each number.
"Yeah, Clam Cooker Specials?" This time, the voice came straight away, and Cody dropped the phone back in the cradle, bile rising in his throat.
"Cody! What are you doing out of bed?" Janet appeared in front of him, grabbing his arms, and Cody shook her off, dropping onto the nearest couch.
"Where's Nick?" he asked dully. "What's happened? Where's my boat?"
"Cody... you're not making any sense." Janet bent over him. "I don't know any Nick. And you don't have a boat. I know we talked about maybe getting one... if Daddy makes you partner next year like he talked about, well then, maybe we can... but you know I told you, I don't like to go out on the water. I'd rather we took a nice skiing holiday."
"What?" Cody blinked at her. "Skiing? Janet, what are you talking about? Where's the Riptide? Where's Nick?"
"I don't know what you mean, Cody." Janet put a cold hand on his cheek. "Who's this Nick you keep asking about? Is he a man you're working with? A client, perhaps?"
Cold descended on Cody, spiraling down his spine, settling like a block of ice inside his heart. "My partner," he said, forcing the words out through his closing throat. "The agency... Janet, we fought together - "
"I don't know what agency you mean." Janet frowned. "Cody, why don't you come back to bed, all right? Let's not talk about boats and work now. Tomorrow, you'll be feeling better, and maybe Daddy will want to talk to you about the case he's handling for you. Come on."
Numbly, Cody allowed himself to be led back up the wide, cold stairs and into the white bedroom. He got back between the sheets and turned his back on Janet when she slid in beside him, curling himself up small and tight, burying his head in his arms.
Nick will come, he told himself, remembering every time that Nick had pulled him out of trouble in the past. He thought longingly of the Screaming Mimi's grotesque face. He'd called the chopper names but he'd give anything to hear her rotors now. "C'mon, Nick," he whispered, very low. "Need you, buddy. Hurry, okay?"
He fought away the panic that arose whenever he remembered the lazy voice announcing the Clam Cooker at the number where the Riptide should have been.
The pain was gone the next time Cody awoke, and he sat up slowly. His head had stopped spinning and he looked around the unfamiliar white room, seeing it properly for the first time.
On the wall opposite hung another photograph, and Cody climbed out of bed, padding softly across the carpet. He lifted it down from the wall, staring uncomprehendingly.
On a lush green lawn backed by tropical vegetation stood a bridal party. Janet in white, and her bridesmaids in peach, her father looking fat and satisfied. And the groom, smiling and happy and holding Janet close, was Cody. Cody blinked and looked again, but the picture hadn't changed. He'd married Janet.
Slowly he put the picture down on the dresser and turned away, his breath coming fast. The Riptide, Nick, Murray. They were somewhere close by, they had to be. It was the only thing that made any sense. The photo could be a fake, he was sure Murray could whip up something like that in an hour. There had to be some way to get in touch with them.
He found a pair of tan slacks in the closet, and his diamond sweater was in the drawer, neatly folded. Seeing the familiar garment nearly made him cry with relief and he slid it on gladly. He'd bought it on a shopping expedition with Nick, and he could still remember his partner's appraising glance, his smile and nod. "Suits you," Nick had said, and Cody had bought it straight away.
Cody went downstairs with trepidation, and found Janet in the kitchen. "Cody!" She ran to him and took his hands. "Are you feeling better?"
"Yes," he told her, wary, biting his lip. "I still don't underst-"
"Good!" She cut him off, smiling brightly. "And you're wearing your lovely sweater at last! I was so disappointed when you didn't like it. It was very expensive, you know."
Cody choked, pulling away from her. "Janet, stop it," he said, half angry, half pleading. "You didn't buy this for me. We're not married. You can stop this now, all right? Stop it and tell me what the hell is going on."
"Don't, Cody." Janet's face crumpled, tears filling her green eyes. "How can you say something so awful to me? Is it because I can't have children? I know you're upset about that but this is a terrible way to punish me. I love you, Cody."
Sickness rose in Cody's throat but he fought it back, forcing himself to go to the sobbing woman. Carefully he eased an arm around her. "I'm sorry, Janet," he said quietly. "Don't be upset." His anger had disappeared, and in its place a terrible, cold dread was growing. Something was desperately, horribly wrong. "Come and sit down."
He guided Janet to her chair and took the one beside her, holding her hand as her sobs abated. "Janet," he said, hearing his own voice crack. "What... what year did we get married?"
She wiped her eyes daintily. "Nineteen - nineteen seventy four," she said, her voice catching. "Right after you graduated and Daddy gave you your job. We were so happy back then, Cody."
"Right after I graduated," Cody repeated. The words spun in his brain, horrifying and meaningless. "Janet... did I - did I join the Army?"
"The Army? Cody, what on earth do you mean?" Janet looked up sharply. "You're scaring me, you know that? Perhaps I should call the doctor again."
"No, don't do that." Cody patted her hand, struggling to keep his breathing steady. "I'm fine, I promise you. Just fine. In fact, I'm going to take a little walk, all right?"
He got out of the kitchen without hearing her protests, shaking her clinging grip off his arm. He got himself out of the quiet garden and headed off down the suburban street, feeling like his head was stuffed with cotton wool.
No Army. He'd graduated and gone to work for Janet's father. No Army, no war.
No Nick.
The idea was impossible, terrifying. He'd fought a foreign war, he carried the memories. He and Nick had made it through, made it home, made it together. Made it to the Riptide and the life they'd built together. Their home.
Cody kept walking, head down, blind to everything around him. The Riptide. Nick. Murray, the agency, everything he'd ever done in his entire adult life, was out of reach.
He didn't know how long he'd walked when he found himself in the memorial square. He dropped to the bench in front of the monument and looked at the stone numbly, shivering. His comrades, men he remembered fighting beside. Men he'd seen fall, men who'd died in his arms.
He struck tears from his eyes, shaking his head angrily. It couldn't be true. The memories in his head were real, they had to be. The life Janet described was the lie. Standing abruptly, he laid his hand on the memorial stone, bowing his head.
Nicholas J Ryder.
The name jumped out at him and Cody's vision blurred, bile rising in his throat. Shaking, he fell to his knees, retching helplessly, his mind screaming in denial.
Nick was alive, Nick had come home, beside him on the transport. Nick had not fallen, they had fought and lived together.
"It's not true," Cody gasped brokenly, pushing himself to his feet. He'd misread the stone, it was another name. But when he looked again the words were there, carved imperviously, silent and final.
Nick was gone.
Darkness filled his vision, blotted out the words, the stone, the garden, and Cody didn't even try to fight it. There was nothing left to fight for. He thought once of the Riptide, and let himself fall.
*
"Doctor, what on earth is wrong with him?"
Cody frowned and curled up tighter.
"He's scaring me! Do you think the fever will break soon?" A low, masculine voice answered the woman and Cody tried to burrow into the blanket at his back, desperate to escape them both.
"Nick," he whimpered. "Nick! No, please...no!" Cody wept, sobs wracking his frame as he pictured Nick's wide, easy grin and remembered the feel of Nick's hand on his shoulder. Cody thrashed against the blanket surrounding him and tried to return to the darkness. Without Nick, he didn't ever want to wake up, didn't want to open his eyes and find his whole life had been a lie. Cody whined as Janet's shrill voice penetrated his haze of memories, allowing him no respite or relief.
Someone jogged quickly up a set of stairs nearby and there was the sound of a tv set briskly snapping off. "Cody? Cody, man, you okay?"
Cody gasped, still fighting. "Nick? Nick, come back!"
The feel of a body dropping heavily down next to him startled Cody's eyes open. Orange carpet. The rattan base of a chair.
Then a hand dropped on Cody's shoulder, warm and welcome and impossible. "Aw, man, I'm sorry, Cody. I didn't hear you from the head."
Cody craned his head around and relief flooded through him. "Nick? Nick!" As Cody clawed himself upright, the rest of the Riptide's salon swam into focus but he ignored it in his desperation to hold Nick, to touch him and make sure he stayed real. He launched himself at Nick, burying his head against his partner's neck. For a minute it was all he could do to breathe.
"Whoa." Nick put a hand on the back of Cody's neck. "You're burning up, man. That flu's doin' a real number on you, huh?"
Cody slowly drew back and stared. Nick. The same dark hair, olive skin, and intense blue eyes, currently filled with worry. Cody put his hand to Nick's face, tracing the contours of it.
"Cody?" Nick asked softly. "Was it bad? Jesus, you look like you've seen a ghost. C'mere." Nick tightened his grip. "Spill. Tell me what happened, big guy."
It took Cody a full two minutes before he stopped shaking long enough to start talking. Quietly, and as calmly as he could manage, he told Nick where he'd been--the empty white house, Janet, the photos he didn't remember, the strange town. Wincing, Cody started to describe the war memorial; when he told Nick of reading the names on it his voice broke, and Nick stopped him with a soft, gentling noise. "No, baby. No. None of that is real. Oh God, Cody, I'm sorry. None of that happened. You're just sick, that's all. Ssh."
Cody tried to nod against Nick's shoulder, but the memory of those letters etched in cold granite loomed large in his mind. A shiver ran through him and Nick pulled back. Cody looked up, alarmed.
Wordlessly, Nick took Cody's hand. He brought it up to the soft, vulnerable skin just below the base of his throat, and slid it inside the neck of his polo shirt. The cotton ripped as Nick settled Cody's hand against his skin, just over his heart.
Cody looked from Nick's eyes to their hands and back again. The pale blue eyes he knew better than his own were filled with pain and worry. Under Cody's palm, Nick's skin was warm, the thick hair of his chest tickling and wiry. Swallowing hard, Cody nodded.
The phone rang on the side table across the room and Cody jumped, suddenly wary again. Nick tangled his hand in Cody's hair, fingers gently rubbing Cody's scalp. On the third ring, Cody heard the phone picked up belowdecks. "Riptide Detective Agency." Murray's voice was indistinct but still discernible. "Oh hello, Lieutenant. Listen, I'm glad you called. I've got a bone to pick with you about the Ferguson case. Now, when we first arrived at the house, we definitely saw a set of tire tracks that could only be made by a very specific vehicle..."
Cody let the sound of Murray's voice fade into the background, and leaned into Nick. Their hands were still stuck awkwardly down the open neck of Nick's stretched and ruined shirt and they detangled only reluctantly. As Nick reached for him, Cody pulled away, sitting back on the bench and stared down at the the pine tabletop. "I must sound like a first-class banana, huh, Nick?"
"No, Cody. You don't." Nick said softly. "Hell, man, I'd've had a dream like that? They'd've heard me screaming down in San Diego."
Cody smiled, and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, and it was all he could do to keep the nightmare from pushing back in round the corners of his eyes. That white bedroom, with the curtains. The whole damn house in white. The stinging cold of the metal bench in the memorial square, the pale, mocking granite, standing defiantly between him and this life, between him and Nick, his best friend and partner. His whole life.
"Hey, hey, Cody. Cody." Nick murmured his name, pulling him back, anchoring him. Cody's eyes flew open. His shiver turned into uncontrollable shaking, even as he clung to the sound of Nick's voice, even as Nick embraced him again. The thought of it, the stark finality of it.
Cody looked at Nick and saw his own pain and fear reflected in his partner's expression. He opened his mouth but no words came out, and he continued to shake.
Nick's eyes filled with tears. He put a hand on Cody's shoulder and sketched the sign for Follow me, then looked at Cody questioningly. Cody nodded jerkily.
Nick slid out of the booth, still keeping one hand on Cody. Cody got to his feet unsteadily, his hand on Nick's hip. The blanket he'd been wrapped in hung over the bench, half of it on the floor. Eyes on his, Nick tugged Cody's hand and knelt on the orange carpet. Cody did the same, then watched in confusion as his friend crawled under the table, into the corner formed by the bench. His hand never left Cody's arm, and when Cody hesitated, Nick drew the sign again. Follow me.
Cody crawled gingerly under the table next to Nick, the two of them squeezing together in the tight space. With his free hand, Nick pulled the blanket down on top of them. Cody curled against Nick as he fussed with the blanket, lip held between his teeth as he tucked it around them.
And then it was just the two of them. Curled up together in the shadowed daylight, holding each other tight til the danger passed. Nick's hand moved to Cody's shoulder and memories flooded back in a rush. Memories of all the other nightmares he and Nick had fought back into the darkness: the waking terrors of patrols in 'Nam; huddled together in their ratty apartment at Fort Ord; waiting out the dreamsickness in the Mimi's sweltering hold. The times one or the other of them had been knocked down by a hard case or a monster, unexpectedly loosed from the past.
As they hid from the rest of the world, squeezed into each other's space, Nick drew another sign on Cody's shoulder. This time the two of them cried together, in relief. With you, Nick drew, over and over again. With you, Cody.
With you.
Rating: R
Summary: Cody awakes to a strange new world, where things are not quite as he left them.
Cody woke up fevered and hurting and disoriented, missing the comforting rock of the Riptide. The sounds were wrong, a distant radio playing classical music, children's voices and the hum of a lawnmower. The sounds of the suburbs: the sounds of the life he'd left.
He rubbed a hand across his face, feeling his skin burning, an ache throbbing behind his eyes. With an effort, Cody raised himself on his elbow.
The room was cool and white, long curtains at the window, pale sunshine filtering through trees outside. On the nightstand sat a glass of water and Cody reached for it gratefully.
His hand was more unsteady than he thought and the glass teetered away, spinning from his fingers and over the side, the crash loud in the quiet house.
Cody dropped back against the pillow, unexplained fear welling inside him. He could feel himself shaking and squeezed his eyes shut.
He didn't remember this house, didn't know why he felt so ill, couldn't remember the case that had brought them here. Nick... where was Nick? Cody wracked his brains.
They'd played a game of volleyball while Murray ran some finance records... had that been yesterday? Cody couldn't remember. The memory of the sea swam hazily behind his eyes, blue and shimmering in the sunlight, and he thought of Nick, smiling, at his side. Maybe if he went to sleep... maybe Nick would be back when he awoke. Cody curled up small.
"Cody! Did you break the glass?" The voice was jarring and Cody opened his eyes again, turning his head, not understanding.
"Janet?" he whispered. "What are you doing here?"
"What do you mean, what am I doing here?" Janet, stylish and trim as always, swept her way over to stand at his bedside. "I live here, Cody." She bent down and touched his forehead. "Still feverish, I see. The doctor will be back this afternoon. Next time, perhaps you'll take Daddy's advice and take a holiday when he says you should."
"Next time...?" Cody blinked at her without understanding. "Janet, I don't understand. Why am I here? Where's Nick?"
Janet frowned at him. "You're in bed because you didn't listen when Daddy said to take a holiday and now you've got the flu. And who's Nick? Is he someone from work?"
"Nick - " Cody pushed himself up on his elbow again, fear rising in his chest. He didn't understand any of this. "Janet, Nick's my partner. You've met him. Where is he? And where's Murray?"
"Cody, stop it." Janet frowned again and took a step back. "I don't know any Murray either. You're scaring me. Lie back down, the doctor will be here soon. Please?"
"Janet..." Cody's head swam and he fell back against his pillow, trembling. "Janet, please tell me what's going on here."
"You're sick, honey." Janet spoke more gently, and laid her hand against his forehead. It felt clammy and cold, and Cody shivered. "Rest, okay? You'll feel better soon. The doctor's coming."
"Please, call Nick," Cody whispered.
"Sure, Cody. Sure I will."
Cody couldn't fight the darkness any longer, and the next thing he knew was a man's deep voice, dragging him back to consciousness. "Cody, are you awake?"
"Huh?" Cody got his eyes open and found a stranger bending over him, a stethoscope clutched in his hand. "Nick?"
"Doctor, we don't know any Nick." Janet stepped into view at the doctor's shoulder. "He's scaring me."
"Now, c'mon, Cody." The doctor smiled at him good-humoredly and patted his shoulder. "I need you to do better than that, huh? You can't be scaring your wife, now."
"Not my wife," Cody started to say. His eye fell on the picture on the nightstand, and his voice died in his throat. It was a wedding photo, himself and Janet, smiling against a background of tropical green. The green of the jungle.
Cody summoned all his strength and pushed himself to sit up, fighting his spinning head. "What the hell is going on?" he rasped, and grabbed for the picture. "This never happened. I didn't - " The picture fell from his hand and smashed against the floor. Janet screamed.
The doctor's hand was heavy on his arm and Cody struggled. "Keep calm, Cody. You'll feel better soon." He was too weak to fight, and the bite of the needle in his arm ushered in the darkness again.
The next time Cody woke up, it was dark. Even breathing came from beside him, but he knew immediately it wasn't Nick. His eyes adjusted slowly to the dark and he realized it was Janet with him in the bed.
Cody recoiled from her, and got unsteadily out of the bed. He felt better than he had earlier, but his legs were still weak and shaky, and he made his way across the room, feeling like an old man.
The first door he tried was a bathroom, all cool white tiles and beige towels, and he relieved himself thankfully before slipping out through another door, into a wide, balustraded hallway.
Moonlight poured in the windows, illuminating oak paneling and a wallpaper patterned with vine leaves, all the color leached away by the moon. Cody crept down the staircase, bare feet silent on the pale, deep pile carpet, holding the banister for support.
Janet's house, she'd said. She'd also said she was married to him, said he was sick. Cody's stomach did flip-flops. It couldn't be true. Yesterday... or the day before? He'd been on the beach with Nick, playing volleyball, fooling around. They'd sat on deck that night, Cody remembered, and he could still feel the warmth of Nick's hand on his shoulder, still taste the tang of the cold, imported beer.
Cody only wished he could remember the case that had brought him to this house.
At the bottom of the stairs, a door on his left gave into a shadowy sitting room, mahogany furniture and flower-patterned cushions. And on the sideboard stood a phone. Shaking with relief, Cody hurried to the instrument, dialing with a hand that trembled, holding his breath as it rang.
Were Nick and Murray home? He wished he could remember something.
The receiver clicked and crackled, and a bored voice drawled, "Clam Cooker Specials, best in town. How can we help?"
Cody gulped. In his hurry, he must have misdialed. "Sorry," he muttered, cutting the connection, dialing again, slower, checking each number.
"Yeah, Clam Cooker Specials?" This time, the voice came straight away, and Cody dropped the phone back in the cradle, bile rising in his throat.
"Cody! What are you doing out of bed?" Janet appeared in front of him, grabbing his arms, and Cody shook her off, dropping onto the nearest couch.
"Where's Nick?" he asked dully. "What's happened? Where's my boat?"
"Cody... you're not making any sense." Janet bent over him. "I don't know any Nick. And you don't have a boat. I know we talked about maybe getting one... if Daddy makes you partner next year like he talked about, well then, maybe we can... but you know I told you, I don't like to go out on the water. I'd rather we took a nice skiing holiday."
"What?" Cody blinked at her. "Skiing? Janet, what are you talking about? Where's the Riptide? Where's Nick?"
"I don't know what you mean, Cody." Janet put a cold hand on his cheek. "Who's this Nick you keep asking about? Is he a man you're working with? A client, perhaps?"
Cold descended on Cody, spiraling down his spine, settling like a block of ice inside his heart. "My partner," he said, forcing the words out through his closing throat. "The agency... Janet, we fought together - "
"I don't know what agency you mean." Janet frowned. "Cody, why don't you come back to bed, all right? Let's not talk about boats and work now. Tomorrow, you'll be feeling better, and maybe Daddy will want to talk to you about the case he's handling for you. Come on."
Numbly, Cody allowed himself to be led back up the wide, cold stairs and into the white bedroom. He got back between the sheets and turned his back on Janet when she slid in beside him, curling himself up small and tight, burying his head in his arms.
Nick will come, he told himself, remembering every time that Nick had pulled him out of trouble in the past. He thought longingly of the Screaming Mimi's grotesque face. He'd called the chopper names but he'd give anything to hear her rotors now. "C'mon, Nick," he whispered, very low. "Need you, buddy. Hurry, okay?"
He fought away the panic that arose whenever he remembered the lazy voice announcing the Clam Cooker at the number where the Riptide should have been.
The pain was gone the next time Cody awoke, and he sat up slowly. His head had stopped spinning and he looked around the unfamiliar white room, seeing it properly for the first time.
On the wall opposite hung another photograph, and Cody climbed out of bed, padding softly across the carpet. He lifted it down from the wall, staring uncomprehendingly.
On a lush green lawn backed by tropical vegetation stood a bridal party. Janet in white, and her bridesmaids in peach, her father looking fat and satisfied. And the groom, smiling and happy and holding Janet close, was Cody. Cody blinked and looked again, but the picture hadn't changed. He'd married Janet.
Slowly he put the picture down on the dresser and turned away, his breath coming fast. The Riptide, Nick, Murray. They were somewhere close by, they had to be. It was the only thing that made any sense. The photo could be a fake, he was sure Murray could whip up something like that in an hour. There had to be some way to get in touch with them.
He found a pair of tan slacks in the closet, and his diamond sweater was in the drawer, neatly folded. Seeing the familiar garment nearly made him cry with relief and he slid it on gladly. He'd bought it on a shopping expedition with Nick, and he could still remember his partner's appraising glance, his smile and nod. "Suits you," Nick had said, and Cody had bought it straight away.
Cody went downstairs with trepidation, and found Janet in the kitchen. "Cody!" She ran to him and took his hands. "Are you feeling better?"
"Yes," he told her, wary, biting his lip. "I still don't underst-"
"Good!" She cut him off, smiling brightly. "And you're wearing your lovely sweater at last! I was so disappointed when you didn't like it. It was very expensive, you know."
Cody choked, pulling away from her. "Janet, stop it," he said, half angry, half pleading. "You didn't buy this for me. We're not married. You can stop this now, all right? Stop it and tell me what the hell is going on."
"Don't, Cody." Janet's face crumpled, tears filling her green eyes. "How can you say something so awful to me? Is it because I can't have children? I know you're upset about that but this is a terrible way to punish me. I love you, Cody."
Sickness rose in Cody's throat but he fought it back, forcing himself to go to the sobbing woman. Carefully he eased an arm around her. "I'm sorry, Janet," he said quietly. "Don't be upset." His anger had disappeared, and in its place a terrible, cold dread was growing. Something was desperately, horribly wrong. "Come and sit down."
He guided Janet to her chair and took the one beside her, holding her hand as her sobs abated. "Janet," he said, hearing his own voice crack. "What... what year did we get married?"
She wiped her eyes daintily. "Nineteen - nineteen seventy four," she said, her voice catching. "Right after you graduated and Daddy gave you your job. We were so happy back then, Cody."
"Right after I graduated," Cody repeated. The words spun in his brain, horrifying and meaningless. "Janet... did I - did I join the Army?"
"The Army? Cody, what on earth do you mean?" Janet looked up sharply. "You're scaring me, you know that? Perhaps I should call the doctor again."
"No, don't do that." Cody patted her hand, struggling to keep his breathing steady. "I'm fine, I promise you. Just fine. In fact, I'm going to take a little walk, all right?"
He got out of the kitchen without hearing her protests, shaking her clinging grip off his arm. He got himself out of the quiet garden and headed off down the suburban street, feeling like his head was stuffed with cotton wool.
No Army. He'd graduated and gone to work for Janet's father. No Army, no war.
No Nick.
The idea was impossible, terrifying. He'd fought a foreign war, he carried the memories. He and Nick had made it through, made it home, made it together. Made it to the Riptide and the life they'd built together. Their home.
Cody kept walking, head down, blind to everything around him. The Riptide. Nick. Murray, the agency, everything he'd ever done in his entire adult life, was out of reach.
He didn't know how long he'd walked when he found himself in the memorial square. He dropped to the bench in front of the monument and looked at the stone numbly, shivering. His comrades, men he remembered fighting beside. Men he'd seen fall, men who'd died in his arms.
He struck tears from his eyes, shaking his head angrily. It couldn't be true. The memories in his head were real, they had to be. The life Janet described was the lie. Standing abruptly, he laid his hand on the memorial stone, bowing his head.
Nicholas J Ryder.
The name jumped out at him and Cody's vision blurred, bile rising in his throat. Shaking, he fell to his knees, retching helplessly, his mind screaming in denial.
Nick was alive, Nick had come home, beside him on the transport. Nick had not fallen, they had fought and lived together.
"It's not true," Cody gasped brokenly, pushing himself to his feet. He'd misread the stone, it was another name. But when he looked again the words were there, carved imperviously, silent and final.
Nick was gone.
Darkness filled his vision, blotted out the words, the stone, the garden, and Cody didn't even try to fight it. There was nothing left to fight for. He thought once of the Riptide, and let himself fall.
*
"Doctor, what on earth is wrong with him?"
Cody frowned and curled up tighter.
"He's scaring me! Do you think the fever will break soon?" A low, masculine voice answered the woman and Cody tried to burrow into the blanket at his back, desperate to escape them both.
"Nick," he whimpered. "Nick! No, please...no!" Cody wept, sobs wracking his frame as he pictured Nick's wide, easy grin and remembered the feel of Nick's hand on his shoulder. Cody thrashed against the blanket surrounding him and tried to return to the darkness. Without Nick, he didn't ever want to wake up, didn't want to open his eyes and find his whole life had been a lie. Cody whined as Janet's shrill voice penetrated his haze of memories, allowing him no respite or relief.
Someone jogged quickly up a set of stairs nearby and there was the sound of a tv set briskly snapping off. "Cody? Cody, man, you okay?"
Cody gasped, still fighting. "Nick? Nick, come back!"
The feel of a body dropping heavily down next to him startled Cody's eyes open. Orange carpet. The rattan base of a chair.
Then a hand dropped on Cody's shoulder, warm and welcome and impossible. "Aw, man, I'm sorry, Cody. I didn't hear you from the head."
Cody craned his head around and relief flooded through him. "Nick? Nick!" As Cody clawed himself upright, the rest of the Riptide's salon swam into focus but he ignored it in his desperation to hold Nick, to touch him and make sure he stayed real. He launched himself at Nick, burying his head against his partner's neck. For a minute it was all he could do to breathe.
"Whoa." Nick put a hand on the back of Cody's neck. "You're burning up, man. That flu's doin' a real number on you, huh?"
Cody slowly drew back and stared. Nick. The same dark hair, olive skin, and intense blue eyes, currently filled with worry. Cody put his hand to Nick's face, tracing the contours of it.
"Cody?" Nick asked softly. "Was it bad? Jesus, you look like you've seen a ghost. C'mere." Nick tightened his grip. "Spill. Tell me what happened, big guy."
It took Cody a full two minutes before he stopped shaking long enough to start talking. Quietly, and as calmly as he could manage, he told Nick where he'd been--the empty white house, Janet, the photos he didn't remember, the strange town. Wincing, Cody started to describe the war memorial; when he told Nick of reading the names on it his voice broke, and Nick stopped him with a soft, gentling noise. "No, baby. No. None of that is real. Oh God, Cody, I'm sorry. None of that happened. You're just sick, that's all. Ssh."
Cody tried to nod against Nick's shoulder, but the memory of those letters etched in cold granite loomed large in his mind. A shiver ran through him and Nick pulled back. Cody looked up, alarmed.
Wordlessly, Nick took Cody's hand. He brought it up to the soft, vulnerable skin just below the base of his throat, and slid it inside the neck of his polo shirt. The cotton ripped as Nick settled Cody's hand against his skin, just over his heart.
Cody looked from Nick's eyes to their hands and back again. The pale blue eyes he knew better than his own were filled with pain and worry. Under Cody's palm, Nick's skin was warm, the thick hair of his chest tickling and wiry. Swallowing hard, Cody nodded.
The phone rang on the side table across the room and Cody jumped, suddenly wary again. Nick tangled his hand in Cody's hair, fingers gently rubbing Cody's scalp. On the third ring, Cody heard the phone picked up belowdecks. "Riptide Detective Agency." Murray's voice was indistinct but still discernible. "Oh hello, Lieutenant. Listen, I'm glad you called. I've got a bone to pick with you about the Ferguson case. Now, when we first arrived at the house, we definitely saw a set of tire tracks that could only be made by a very specific vehicle..."
Cody let the sound of Murray's voice fade into the background, and leaned into Nick. Their hands were still stuck awkwardly down the open neck of Nick's stretched and ruined shirt and they detangled only reluctantly. As Nick reached for him, Cody pulled away, sitting back on the bench and stared down at the the pine tabletop. "I must sound like a first-class banana, huh, Nick?"
"No, Cody. You don't." Nick said softly. "Hell, man, I'd've had a dream like that? They'd've heard me screaming down in San Diego."
Cody smiled, and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, and it was all he could do to keep the nightmare from pushing back in round the corners of his eyes. That white bedroom, with the curtains. The whole damn house in white. The stinging cold of the metal bench in the memorial square, the pale, mocking granite, standing defiantly between him and this life, between him and Nick, his best friend and partner. His whole life.
"Hey, hey, Cody. Cody." Nick murmured his name, pulling him back, anchoring him. Cody's eyes flew open. His shiver turned into uncontrollable shaking, even as he clung to the sound of Nick's voice, even as Nick embraced him again. The thought of it, the stark finality of it.
Cody looked at Nick and saw his own pain and fear reflected in his partner's expression. He opened his mouth but no words came out, and he continued to shake.
Nick's eyes filled with tears. He put a hand on Cody's shoulder and sketched the sign for Follow me, then looked at Cody questioningly. Cody nodded jerkily.
Nick slid out of the booth, still keeping one hand on Cody. Cody got to his feet unsteadily, his hand on Nick's hip. The blanket he'd been wrapped in hung over the bench, half of it on the floor. Eyes on his, Nick tugged Cody's hand and knelt on the orange carpet. Cody did the same, then watched in confusion as his friend crawled under the table, into the corner formed by the bench. His hand never left Cody's arm, and when Cody hesitated, Nick drew the sign again. Follow me.
Cody crawled gingerly under the table next to Nick, the two of them squeezing together in the tight space. With his free hand, Nick pulled the blanket down on top of them. Cody curled against Nick as he fussed with the blanket, lip held between his teeth as he tucked it around them.
And then it was just the two of them. Curled up together in the shadowed daylight, holding each other tight til the danger passed. Nick's hand moved to Cody's shoulder and memories flooded back in a rush. Memories of all the other nightmares he and Nick had fought back into the darkness: the waking terrors of patrols in 'Nam; huddled together in their ratty apartment at Fort Ord; waiting out the dreamsickness in the Mimi's sweltering hold. The times one or the other of them had been knocked down by a hard case or a monster, unexpectedly loosed from the past.
As they hid from the rest of the world, squeezed into each other's space, Nick drew another sign on Cody's shoulder. This time the two of them cried together, in relief. With you, Nick drew, over and over again. With you, Cody.
With you.
