riptide_asylum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
riptide_asylum) wrote2009-10-25 05:39 pm
riptide_asylum) wrote2009-10-25 05:39 pm
Entry tags:
"Worm in the Hole" (Deep Water, 1977)
Title: Worm in the Hole
Rating: PG
Summary: Working the wormhole on an oil rig is the dirtiest, hottest, most dangerous job available, and somehow, Cody's managed to get stuck with it.
Everyone knew Nick flew choppers in Nam, and everyone knew why he never flew the bird that ferried people and supplies back to the mainland: there was only room for the pilot.
Nick never even went near that chopper. Never gave it a second glance, not even the time it sat on the skypad belching thin black smoke into the sky and the joker they sent with it just stood there scratching his ass and bellowing for someone to call Central.
Nick had been on a break from working the lead tongs on the off-driller side of the drilling floor, tripping pipe and trying to get the mud to stay where it was supposed to. He could tell at a glance that too much spray had gotten into the chopper's pistons, and given an hour, maybe two, she'd dry out and fly right again. But it wasn't his place to say anything.
Over the edge of the platform, far down below, whitecaps dotted the waves, and the forecast called for rough weather the next twenty-four hours. They'd be battening the hatches and hunkering down while the wind wailed and the sea shoved itself right up against the pipes. Be
impossible to fly then.
Hell, if Nick's thinking was right, that guy had maybe a three-hour window to hightail it back to land, and sure, Nick knew a couple tricks for getting those pistons dried out in a hurry, but that wasn't his job. Not anymore.
Resolutely refusing to look up at the Bell 1201-R sitting sorrowfully on the pad, Nick turned from the railing and went back inside, making his way back down the stairs into the grimy dark, already uncomfortable at having left Cody for as long as he had. He could do five minutes at a stretch now, sometimes ten if there was a guy around he knew, but any more than that and Nick started to feel uneasy, and his gut tightened and cramped, like there was something inside there, trying to gnaw its way free.
Cody looked up as Nick returned and in that glance, Nick knew something was wrong.
Something other than Cody getting stuck working the "wormhole" again. It was shitwork that no one wanted--the hottest, dirtiest, loudest shitwork on the rig--so they kept giving it to Cody.
And nobody ever objected when Nick offered to trade into the hole and spring some other poor bastard free.
Macallister, the beefy derrickman, stood behind Cody with his arms crossed, chewing something in his cheek. Frowning, he pointed back up the stairs. "Ryder! Topside!"
The thunder of the drillbit and the hiss of steam made it too loud for much more than that down here.
One look at Cody though, Nick shook his head and got ready for a fight.
Macallister frowned. He was a big man, close to three bills with the leathery, lined look of a lifetime of hard work and the red cheeks and nose of the drink that went with it. "Chopper's down, asshole! Go!"
Nick hesitated.
Cody was a hard worker and could pull his own weight, even down here in the hole, keeping the metal drill bit in its guide, adding water to the mud to keep the bit cool, slopping out the extra when it overflowed. He stayed focused and got the job done, hour after hour, without complaint. Still, the top deck was too damn far away if something happened. And Nick had spent a long time keeping Cody safe; too long to lose him to some industrial fuck-up in the middle of the ocean.
Nick opened his mouth to yell back, but stopped at a look from Cody. Go, the look said. It'll be fine.
Nick hesitated.
Cody looked from the door to Macallister and back. We don't need any trouble, Nick. I'll be fine.
"Ryder!" Macallister's eyes narrowed. "Go on!"
Nick didn't like it, but Cody was right. They'd each been in their share of fights on board the rig--that many guys, no place to go, no way to blow off steam and fights were inevitable. And Nick well knew there'd be more. With a nod at the derrickman and last look at Cody, Nick went, taking the stairs two at a time, boots clanging on the steel risers. He was about to fix this bird faster than anyone in the history of flight.
The pilot's name was Webb, like the spider, he told Nick with an easy grin. He pointed his finger like a gun and Nick looked at it carefully before turning his attention to the wounded Bell. It only took a few minutes to reroute the main rotor's exhaust to the pistons, and then maybe twenty minutes of easy spin to dry them back out again.
Nick counted every second. Webb leaned against the chopper and smoked, looking out at the gathering clouds and the waves and told Nick things he didn't want know. Like how Webb was banging some poor typist from the steno pool while his wife had no idea, pfft, no idea at all, pfft. Puff puff.
Meanwhile, Nick stared out at the same clouds and waves and worried while he waited.
Cody...he was just one of those guys who seemed to attract trouble wherever he went. The one grenade in a hundred whose pin was faulty? Cody picked it up. His were the patrols that were ambushed without fail, and Nick still saw the figure in the orange shawl and skirt,
hobbling along towards them on the trail, frail and in need of Cody's help. Help he'd been only too happy to provide until Nick saw the glint of the rifle barrel and knocked Cody flat. Near the end, the other guys had started calling Cody "Jake"; the card no one wanted to show up in their hand.
A guy got to call him that exactly once, then Nick stopped his mouth with a fist.
Webb slapped Nick on the back too hard and gestured at the tiny Bell. The smoke had thinned out, it was true, but this flyguy was too eager, too cocksure. He'd get himself killed and take a good bird with him, sending them both to the bottom of the deep blue sea.
Nick looked over his shoulder at the chopper. She was round and light, and she deserved a helluva lot better.
Nick's gaze returned to the horizon. Cody'd been out of his sight way too long already. A horror movie played in his head: boiling mud spraying up and scalding Cody's soft skin; the sharp metal edges of the spinning bit slicing into his hand; Macallister, with his reputation for taking it out on the new guys, the guys he knew scared easy, shoving his weight around.
Nick's stomach churned alarmingly and he glanced back in the direction of the door to the wormhole. Cody scared easy. "Another half hour, maybe," Nick said, rising, "you should be good to go." He brushed off the seat of his coveralls and turned determinedly in the direction of
the wormhole.
"Hey, wait a minute, pal," Webb grabbed Nick's shoulder. "Where you think you're--whoa!"
Growling, Nick slammed Webb up against the side of the cockpit. "Don't touch me, man! Don't ever touch me!" The Bell rocked on her moorings.
Webb's cigarette dropped from his slack jaw to the hot metal deck and he held his hands up in surrender. His eyes bugged from his head and he stared at Nick in confusion.
A bead of sweat rolled down Webb's temple as Nick fought for control. He swallowed hard, fists still full of corporate flyboy jumpsuit.
Webb's expression changed. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Snarling, he broke Nick's hold on his jumpsuit with both hands and shoved. Nick went sprawling to the deck.
"You think you're hot shit, cowboy?" Webb kicked Nick in the ribs. The force of it rolled him off the helipad. "You're nothing, asshole! Nothing!" Webb aimed another kick.
Nick caught Webb's foot and shoved back, hard.
Webb fell to the pad with a grunt and Nick crawled toward him, growling. Scrambling to his knees, Webb got a punch in, connecting solidly with Nick's jaw, snapping his head back. He tackled Nick around the mid-section and the two of them went flying back off the edge of the pad. Nick's head connected solidly with the riveted metal deck and he barely managed to dodge another punch. Webb's fist slammed into the metal plates with the sickening crunch of breaking bones. He heard boots on metal, running, and men whistling and shouting over the rising wind.
Nick head-butted Webb, snarling.
The flyboy howled as his nose exploded, and then more hands arrived, pulling the two of them apart, holding Nick tight, restraining him, bearing him away, making noises he'd heard before. Over by the Bell, Webb was gesticulating angrily, blood streaming down his face. A couple of the guys stood close by, shaking their heads and watching in case the fight flared up again. One of them--Daniels, a no-account floorhand--looked over in Nick's direction and shook his head.
He needn't have bothered. All the fight had gone out of Nick and he let himself be held back, realizing that would make things go faster. Would cut the time between now and getting back to Cody. Nick wiped a hand across his mouth roughly, tasting blood. Webb's cigarette still smoldered on the deck, a thin stream of smoke dissipating against the wide blue sky.
"Nick."
Clouds were massing in the west, thin and thready, the storm finding its way. Webb needed to get going, and fast. The plucky little Bell's pistons would likely hold now, and--
"Nick."
A heavy hand dropped on Nick's shoulder, but this time he didn't tense. He turned and looked up into the kind eyes of Jim Overbeck. '69-'72, 101st Airborne, 3rd Brigade.
"I'll walk with you to the OTL's office, 'kay guy?"
Nick looked into Jim's eyes and felt the weight of Jim's hand on his shoulder. He managed a nod.
In the end, Nick got docked a shift's worth of pay, even though Webb started it. More than that, though, the OTL kept him for nearly two hours, talking about how hard it was to run an oilrig. How he depended on men like Nick to keep order among the troops, to keep the oil flowing smoothly. He was a fresh-faced twenty-two year-old with the ink still wet on his LSU degree, and even though he'd never seen a day of combat in his life, he talked to Nick about the importance of troop coherence and morale, the value of pulling together under fire.
Nick sat in the folding metal chair in front of the guy's desk and thought about Cody. Anything could have happened by now. Anything. Nick had forgotten the value of protecting Cody at any cost, that's what he got out of his little chat with the OTL.
Once the guy finally let him go, having really enjoyed the chance to have another one of these little chats together, Nick sprinted through the decks, heading for the wormhole. His hands slipped on the metal railings as he bolted down the stairs to the bottom deck, the heat increasing with every step.
Cody caught him halfway there.
"Nick!" Cody tackled him round the middle, arresting his progress in a moment. "Nick! What's wrong?"
Nick wrapped his arms around Cody and hung on, eyes tightly closed. Then his legs went, and he collapsed in Cody's arms, burrowing against Cody's neck, gasping for air.
"I gotcha," Cody murmured. He sank onto a step and held Nick close. His scrabbling hands found Nick's skin, the back of his neck.
Nick shook, breathing Cody in. For a moment it was more than Nick could manage to speak. They were alone in the corridor. Around them, the oilrig hummed, and Cody rocked Nick awkwardly in the narrow space. "Buddy," he whispered. "It's okay. Ssh, it's okay."
Nick swallowed hard and fought for breath at the side of Cody's jaw, trembling like a live wire. He hated when the shakes came, but sometimes they were unavoidable. "Cody," he managed finally. "You're okay."
Cody pulled back and stared, wide-eyed. "Of course I am," he said. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Nick had no idea how to answer that. Cody was smeared with grime and soot, worried eyes peering out of a mask of oil, mud and sweat, but as Nick looked him over, hands roaming, he appeared to be essentially unharmed. Nick's demons began to sink back into the mud, taking his shakes with them. Panting, he tried for nonchalant. "No reason."
Cody wasn't fooled in the least. He grinned. "I'm fine, Nick. Just another day in the hole. See," he tapped Nick's chest. "Toldya I was getting good at this."
Nick got his breathing under control with a grimace. "Guess you're really showing them, guy." He relaxed his grip a bit.
Cody moved his arm up to Nick's shoulder and brushed some dirt off the front of Nick's coveralls. "McAllister says I'm starting to get a feel for cooling the bit."
Nick blinked. "'Course you are."
"I am!"
"I'm not surprised, big guy. Well, I'm surprised, sure, but only at Macallister."
"Yeah, how 'bout that, Nick? I wouldn't've thought the guy could say anything nice about anyone."
"Yeah, how 'bout that." Nick kept a hand on Cody's chest, hardly daring to believe.
"Nick," Cody's eyes were wary. "You sure you're okay? What happened to your--" He reached for Nick's split lip.
Nick caught Cody's hand before it made contact. "Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing. Look, there was something but it was nothing, really. It was fine."
"Something, Nick?" Cody stood, pulling Nick up with him.
Nick made a noncomittal noise and stayed close to Cody, still hardly believing the evidence of his own eyes. "Look, just drop it, will you, man? I handled it."
Cody snorted.
Nick bumped his shoulder. "So you're off now, huh? For a couple hours at least."
"Until oh-three-hundred." Cody snorted and shook his head. "Us worms got a tough schedule."
They started walking up towards topside. "There's a storm coming, should be a great night to watch the water." Cody had an--in Nick's opinion--unnatural fondness for storms, and loved nothing more than riding them out and watching the waves. There'd been a time, in fact, when they weren't sure Cody'd make it out of the jungle that Nick promised him all the sea storms in creation, and he intended to honor that promise every chance he got. Like now, for instance.
"I'd like that, Nick. I'd like it a lot."
"I bet you would."
They turned and headed up the stairs. Nick was still marveling at whatever luck had kept Cody whole while he was kicking the crap out of some no-account flyboy.
Cody brushed a hand over the small of Nick's back. "You know what I'd like more than that, Nick?"
Nick stopped, curious. "What's that?"
Cody grinned again, teeth a gleaming contrast to the grime coating the rest of him. "A shower, Nick. I really want a shower. After all, us worms gotta get clear of the dirt sometime."
Nick stared for a moment, then allowed himself a grin of his own. "C'mon. Let's go."
And with Cody's hand lingering at the small of his back, Nick climbed toward the waning daylight.
Rating: PG
Summary: Working the wormhole on an oil rig is the dirtiest, hottest, most dangerous job available, and somehow, Cody's managed to get stuck with it.
Everyone knew Nick flew choppers in Nam, and everyone knew why he never flew the bird that ferried people and supplies back to the mainland: there was only room for the pilot.
Nick never even went near that chopper. Never gave it a second glance, not even the time it sat on the skypad belching thin black smoke into the sky and the joker they sent with it just stood there scratching his ass and bellowing for someone to call Central.
Nick had been on a break from working the lead tongs on the off-driller side of the drilling floor, tripping pipe and trying to get the mud to stay where it was supposed to. He could tell at a glance that too much spray had gotten into the chopper's pistons, and given an hour, maybe two, she'd dry out and fly right again. But it wasn't his place to say anything.
Over the edge of the platform, far down below, whitecaps dotted the waves, and the forecast called for rough weather the next twenty-four hours. They'd be battening the hatches and hunkering down while the wind wailed and the sea shoved itself right up against the pipes. Be
impossible to fly then.
Hell, if Nick's thinking was right, that guy had maybe a three-hour window to hightail it back to land, and sure, Nick knew a couple tricks for getting those pistons dried out in a hurry, but that wasn't his job. Not anymore.
Resolutely refusing to look up at the Bell 1201-R sitting sorrowfully on the pad, Nick turned from the railing and went back inside, making his way back down the stairs into the grimy dark, already uncomfortable at having left Cody for as long as he had. He could do five minutes at a stretch now, sometimes ten if there was a guy around he knew, but any more than that and Nick started to feel uneasy, and his gut tightened and cramped, like there was something inside there, trying to gnaw its way free.
Cody looked up as Nick returned and in that glance, Nick knew something was wrong.
Something other than Cody getting stuck working the "wormhole" again. It was shitwork that no one wanted--the hottest, dirtiest, loudest shitwork on the rig--so they kept giving it to Cody.
And nobody ever objected when Nick offered to trade into the hole and spring some other poor bastard free.
Macallister, the beefy derrickman, stood behind Cody with his arms crossed, chewing something in his cheek. Frowning, he pointed back up the stairs. "Ryder! Topside!"
The thunder of the drillbit and the hiss of steam made it too loud for much more than that down here.
One look at Cody though, Nick shook his head and got ready for a fight.
Macallister frowned. He was a big man, close to three bills with the leathery, lined look of a lifetime of hard work and the red cheeks and nose of the drink that went with it. "Chopper's down, asshole! Go!"
Nick hesitated.
Cody was a hard worker and could pull his own weight, even down here in the hole, keeping the metal drill bit in its guide, adding water to the mud to keep the bit cool, slopping out the extra when it overflowed. He stayed focused and got the job done, hour after hour, without complaint. Still, the top deck was too damn far away if something happened. And Nick had spent a long time keeping Cody safe; too long to lose him to some industrial fuck-up in the middle of the ocean.
Nick opened his mouth to yell back, but stopped at a look from Cody. Go, the look said. It'll be fine.
Nick hesitated.
Cody looked from the door to Macallister and back. We don't need any trouble, Nick. I'll be fine.
"Ryder!" Macallister's eyes narrowed. "Go on!"
Nick didn't like it, but Cody was right. They'd each been in their share of fights on board the rig--that many guys, no place to go, no way to blow off steam and fights were inevitable. And Nick well knew there'd be more. With a nod at the derrickman and last look at Cody, Nick went, taking the stairs two at a time, boots clanging on the steel risers. He was about to fix this bird faster than anyone in the history of flight.
The pilot's name was Webb, like the spider, he told Nick with an easy grin. He pointed his finger like a gun and Nick looked at it carefully before turning his attention to the wounded Bell. It only took a few minutes to reroute the main rotor's exhaust to the pistons, and then maybe twenty minutes of easy spin to dry them back out again.
Nick counted every second. Webb leaned against the chopper and smoked, looking out at the gathering clouds and the waves and told Nick things he didn't want know. Like how Webb was banging some poor typist from the steno pool while his wife had no idea, pfft, no idea at all, pfft. Puff puff.
Meanwhile, Nick stared out at the same clouds and waves and worried while he waited.
Cody...he was just one of those guys who seemed to attract trouble wherever he went. The one grenade in a hundred whose pin was faulty? Cody picked it up. His were the patrols that were ambushed without fail, and Nick still saw the figure in the orange shawl and skirt,
hobbling along towards them on the trail, frail and in need of Cody's help. Help he'd been only too happy to provide until Nick saw the glint of the rifle barrel and knocked Cody flat. Near the end, the other guys had started calling Cody "Jake"; the card no one wanted to show up in their hand.
A guy got to call him that exactly once, then Nick stopped his mouth with a fist.
Webb slapped Nick on the back too hard and gestured at the tiny Bell. The smoke had thinned out, it was true, but this flyguy was too eager, too cocksure. He'd get himself killed and take a good bird with him, sending them both to the bottom of the deep blue sea.
Nick looked over his shoulder at the chopper. She was round and light, and she deserved a helluva lot better.
Nick's gaze returned to the horizon. Cody'd been out of his sight way too long already. A horror movie played in his head: boiling mud spraying up and scalding Cody's soft skin; the sharp metal edges of the spinning bit slicing into his hand; Macallister, with his reputation for taking it out on the new guys, the guys he knew scared easy, shoving his weight around.
Nick's stomach churned alarmingly and he glanced back in the direction of the door to the wormhole. Cody scared easy. "Another half hour, maybe," Nick said, rising, "you should be good to go." He brushed off the seat of his coveralls and turned determinedly in the direction of
the wormhole.
"Hey, wait a minute, pal," Webb grabbed Nick's shoulder. "Where you think you're--whoa!"
Growling, Nick slammed Webb up against the side of the cockpit. "Don't touch me, man! Don't ever touch me!" The Bell rocked on her moorings.
Webb's cigarette dropped from his slack jaw to the hot metal deck and he held his hands up in surrender. His eyes bugged from his head and he stared at Nick in confusion.
A bead of sweat rolled down Webb's temple as Nick fought for control. He swallowed hard, fists still full of corporate flyboy jumpsuit.
Webb's expression changed. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Snarling, he broke Nick's hold on his jumpsuit with both hands and shoved. Nick went sprawling to the deck.
"You think you're hot shit, cowboy?" Webb kicked Nick in the ribs. The force of it rolled him off the helipad. "You're nothing, asshole! Nothing!" Webb aimed another kick.
Nick caught Webb's foot and shoved back, hard.
Webb fell to the pad with a grunt and Nick crawled toward him, growling. Scrambling to his knees, Webb got a punch in, connecting solidly with Nick's jaw, snapping his head back. He tackled Nick around the mid-section and the two of them went flying back off the edge of the pad. Nick's head connected solidly with the riveted metal deck and he barely managed to dodge another punch. Webb's fist slammed into the metal plates with the sickening crunch of breaking bones. He heard boots on metal, running, and men whistling and shouting over the rising wind.
Nick head-butted Webb, snarling.
The flyboy howled as his nose exploded, and then more hands arrived, pulling the two of them apart, holding Nick tight, restraining him, bearing him away, making noises he'd heard before. Over by the Bell, Webb was gesticulating angrily, blood streaming down his face. A couple of the guys stood close by, shaking their heads and watching in case the fight flared up again. One of them--Daniels, a no-account floorhand--looked over in Nick's direction and shook his head.
He needn't have bothered. All the fight had gone out of Nick and he let himself be held back, realizing that would make things go faster. Would cut the time between now and getting back to Cody. Nick wiped a hand across his mouth roughly, tasting blood. Webb's cigarette still smoldered on the deck, a thin stream of smoke dissipating against the wide blue sky.
"Nick."
Clouds were massing in the west, thin and thready, the storm finding its way. Webb needed to get going, and fast. The plucky little Bell's pistons would likely hold now, and--
"Nick."
A heavy hand dropped on Nick's shoulder, but this time he didn't tense. He turned and looked up into the kind eyes of Jim Overbeck. '69-'72, 101st Airborne, 3rd Brigade.
"I'll walk with you to the OTL's office, 'kay guy?"
Nick looked into Jim's eyes and felt the weight of Jim's hand on his shoulder. He managed a nod.
In the end, Nick got docked a shift's worth of pay, even though Webb started it. More than that, though, the OTL kept him for nearly two hours, talking about how hard it was to run an oilrig. How he depended on men like Nick to keep order among the troops, to keep the oil flowing smoothly. He was a fresh-faced twenty-two year-old with the ink still wet on his LSU degree, and even though he'd never seen a day of combat in his life, he talked to Nick about the importance of troop coherence and morale, the value of pulling together under fire.
Nick sat in the folding metal chair in front of the guy's desk and thought about Cody. Anything could have happened by now. Anything. Nick had forgotten the value of protecting Cody at any cost, that's what he got out of his little chat with the OTL.
Once the guy finally let him go, having really enjoyed the chance to have another one of these little chats together, Nick sprinted through the decks, heading for the wormhole. His hands slipped on the metal railings as he bolted down the stairs to the bottom deck, the heat increasing with every step.
Cody caught him halfway there.
"Nick!" Cody tackled him round the middle, arresting his progress in a moment. "Nick! What's wrong?"
Nick wrapped his arms around Cody and hung on, eyes tightly closed. Then his legs went, and he collapsed in Cody's arms, burrowing against Cody's neck, gasping for air.
"I gotcha," Cody murmured. He sank onto a step and held Nick close. His scrabbling hands found Nick's skin, the back of his neck.
Nick shook, breathing Cody in. For a moment it was more than Nick could manage to speak. They were alone in the corridor. Around them, the oilrig hummed, and Cody rocked Nick awkwardly in the narrow space. "Buddy," he whispered. "It's okay. Ssh, it's okay."
Nick swallowed hard and fought for breath at the side of Cody's jaw, trembling like a live wire. He hated when the shakes came, but sometimes they were unavoidable. "Cody," he managed finally. "You're okay."
Cody pulled back and stared, wide-eyed. "Of course I am," he said. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Nick had no idea how to answer that. Cody was smeared with grime and soot, worried eyes peering out of a mask of oil, mud and sweat, but as Nick looked him over, hands roaming, he appeared to be essentially unharmed. Nick's demons began to sink back into the mud, taking his shakes with them. Panting, he tried for nonchalant. "No reason."
Cody wasn't fooled in the least. He grinned. "I'm fine, Nick. Just another day in the hole. See," he tapped Nick's chest. "Toldya I was getting good at this."
Nick got his breathing under control with a grimace. "Guess you're really showing them, guy." He relaxed his grip a bit.
Cody moved his arm up to Nick's shoulder and brushed some dirt off the front of Nick's coveralls. "McAllister says I'm starting to get a feel for cooling the bit."
Nick blinked. "'Course you are."
"I am!"
"I'm not surprised, big guy. Well, I'm surprised, sure, but only at Macallister."
"Yeah, how 'bout that, Nick? I wouldn't've thought the guy could say anything nice about anyone."
"Yeah, how 'bout that." Nick kept a hand on Cody's chest, hardly daring to believe.
"Nick," Cody's eyes were wary. "You sure you're okay? What happened to your--" He reached for Nick's split lip.
Nick caught Cody's hand before it made contact. "Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing. Look, there was something but it was nothing, really. It was fine."
"Something, Nick?" Cody stood, pulling Nick up with him.
Nick made a noncomittal noise and stayed close to Cody, still hardly believing the evidence of his own eyes. "Look, just drop it, will you, man? I handled it."
Cody snorted.
Nick bumped his shoulder. "So you're off now, huh? For a couple hours at least."
"Until oh-three-hundred." Cody snorted and shook his head. "Us worms got a tough schedule."
They started walking up towards topside. "There's a storm coming, should be a great night to watch the water." Cody had an--in Nick's opinion--unnatural fondness for storms, and loved nothing more than riding them out and watching the waves. There'd been a time, in fact, when they weren't sure Cody'd make it out of the jungle that Nick promised him all the sea storms in creation, and he intended to honor that promise every chance he got. Like now, for instance.
"I'd like that, Nick. I'd like it a lot."
"I bet you would."
They turned and headed up the stairs. Nick was still marveling at whatever luck had kept Cody whole while he was kicking the crap out of some no-account flyboy.
Cody brushed a hand over the small of Nick's back. "You know what I'd like more than that, Nick?"
Nick stopped, curious. "What's that?"
Cody grinned again, teeth a gleaming contrast to the grime coating the rest of him. "A shower, Nick. I really want a shower. After all, us worms gotta get clear of the dirt sometime."
Nick stared for a moment, then allowed himself a grin of his own. "C'mon. Let's go."
And with Cody's hand lingering at the small of his back, Nick climbed toward the waning daylight.