riptide_asylum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
riptide_asylum) wrote2010-11-04 11:47 pm
riptide_asylum) wrote2010-11-04 11:47 pm
Entry tags:
"Nightlight" (Prisoners of War, 1974)
Nightlight
Rating: PG
Summary: Nick works on Cody's fear of the dark, and learns something surprising from his past.
Despite Nick's best efforts, power in the ancient silver trailer was intermittent and had a tendency to spark and it was easiest to use as little of it as possible.
When Cody first came back to him, Nick had worried about the dark and had rummaged around in the main office's junk pile until he'd located a beat-up old plug-in nightlight. It was a hot air balloon, or a child's concept of one, the various sections of the balloon in bright primary colors spotted brown with age. A cloud peeked out shyly from behind the balloon and despite the fact that "Todd's Electric - (805) 210-4949" was printed across the nut-brown basket, Nick figured it was as good as anything to keep the dark away.
Back in-country, he remembered Cody had hated nights the most. At camp, out on patrol, on leave in Saigon, it didn't matter. A strange, haunted look came into Cody's eyes as he searched every shadow. They couldn't have light when they were out on patrol. Not the brief flare of a match or the orange burn of a cigarette; nothing. The jungle was so dark, between the choking closeness of the trees and vines and grass and the thick hot clouds pushing down on the treetops that Nick could rarely make out the shape of Cody's face, let alone his eyes. But he still felt Cody searching, on guard against the shadows. Felt the terrified whimpers Cody muffled against Nick's skin.
The hot air balloon lasted about an hour, plugged into the outlet next to the hotpot, then a staticky hum filled the Airstream, setting their hair on end. Nick watched, in the half-light seeping through the blinds, as strands of Cody's blond hair rose on an invisible current, haloing his head.
It was only when he heard the first crackling pop that Nick leapt out of bed and knocked the nightlight out of its socket with a well-thrown shoe.
Standing panting at the foot of the bed they shared, Nick braced himself. For whimpers or thrashing night terrors or for Cody to bolt like he had the first day, and a couple times after that. Nick was getting good at chasing him, corralling him like a wild mustang before leaping on his back and bringing him to earth.
Cody stretched the length of the bed and rolled his bad ankle, cracking it. "Good throw," he said softly.
Darkness filled the trailer, broken only by the stripes of light falling across Cody's bare chest through the blinds. His hair floated back down, settling.
"Y'ever go up in a hot air balloon, Nick?"
Nick waited, tense and expectant.
"My grandma loved 'em. Went up every year at the fair, when they sent a whole bunch of 'em up over the water along the coast. It was one of the few things she did that Granddad wouldn't go with her. He always used to say that old trouts like him belonged in the water, that he wasn't a flying fish. So we'd walk her up to the basket, hearing those jets puffing away, and my granddad would help her over the side, make sure she got settled, then he and I would get funnel cakes and buttered corn that we ate on the pier--well, I ate most of it, and Granddad tracked Grandma's balloon with his binoculars."
Nick dared a breath, slowly in, then out again. This was the most Cody had said at one time since Nick had found him on the floor of that phone booth next to the highway.
"He said over and over again: birds have to fly and fish have to swim, but at the end of the day, the sun brings the sky and the sea together." Cody raised up on his elbows. "What d'you think he meant by that?"
"Maybe he was just hoping she had good flying weather?"
"No you big jerk." Cody grinned. "I think he was trying to say that he got it, that he got Grandma's need to fly, and even though he didn't want to do it, he respected that she went and did it every year." The grin faded. "Right up until she got sick."
Nick recognized his cue. He crawled back onto the bed and settled down next to Cody, lying between him and the door. "I didn't know you had a flyer in your family, pal. Thought you guys were all water birds, through and through." He put his head down on his bunched sweatshirt and laid his hand flat on Cody's chest, right square on his sternum, just like he'd always done when Cody needed anchoring.
Cody rolled closer to Nick, scooting his head to the edge of the thin pillow. "We guys are."
The silence in the trailer lengthened. It was a good silence, tame and safe.
Cody began to softly snore, his chest rising and falling against Nick's hand.
Nick listened to the comforting rhythm of it, of Cody sleeping sound and sane in the night, and lay awake until the long gray shadows of the morning crept in beside them.
Rating: PG
Summary: Nick works on Cody's fear of the dark, and learns something surprising from his past.
Despite Nick's best efforts, power in the ancient silver trailer was intermittent and had a tendency to spark and it was easiest to use as little of it as possible.
When Cody first came back to him, Nick had worried about the dark and had rummaged around in the main office's junk pile until he'd located a beat-up old plug-in nightlight. It was a hot air balloon, or a child's concept of one, the various sections of the balloon in bright primary colors spotted brown with age. A cloud peeked out shyly from behind the balloon and despite the fact that "Todd's Electric - (805) 210-4949" was printed across the nut-brown basket, Nick figured it was as good as anything to keep the dark away.
Back in-country, he remembered Cody had hated nights the most. At camp, out on patrol, on leave in Saigon, it didn't matter. A strange, haunted look came into Cody's eyes as he searched every shadow. They couldn't have light when they were out on patrol. Not the brief flare of a match or the orange burn of a cigarette; nothing. The jungle was so dark, between the choking closeness of the trees and vines and grass and the thick hot clouds pushing down on the treetops that Nick could rarely make out the shape of Cody's face, let alone his eyes. But he still felt Cody searching, on guard against the shadows. Felt the terrified whimpers Cody muffled against Nick's skin.
The hot air balloon lasted about an hour, plugged into the outlet next to the hotpot, then a staticky hum filled the Airstream, setting their hair on end. Nick watched, in the half-light seeping through the blinds, as strands of Cody's blond hair rose on an invisible current, haloing his head.
It was only when he heard the first crackling pop that Nick leapt out of bed and knocked the nightlight out of its socket with a well-thrown shoe.
Standing panting at the foot of the bed they shared, Nick braced himself. For whimpers or thrashing night terrors or for Cody to bolt like he had the first day, and a couple times after that. Nick was getting good at chasing him, corralling him like a wild mustang before leaping on his back and bringing him to earth.
Cody stretched the length of the bed and rolled his bad ankle, cracking it. "Good throw," he said softly.
Darkness filled the trailer, broken only by the stripes of light falling across Cody's bare chest through the blinds. His hair floated back down, settling.
"Y'ever go up in a hot air balloon, Nick?"
Nick waited, tense and expectant.
"My grandma loved 'em. Went up every year at the fair, when they sent a whole bunch of 'em up over the water along the coast. It was one of the few things she did that Granddad wouldn't go with her. He always used to say that old trouts like him belonged in the water, that he wasn't a flying fish. So we'd walk her up to the basket, hearing those jets puffing away, and my granddad would help her over the side, make sure she got settled, then he and I would get funnel cakes and buttered corn that we ate on the pier--well, I ate most of it, and Granddad tracked Grandma's balloon with his binoculars."
Nick dared a breath, slowly in, then out again. This was the most Cody had said at one time since Nick had found him on the floor of that phone booth next to the highway.
"He said over and over again: birds have to fly and fish have to swim, but at the end of the day, the sun brings the sky and the sea together." Cody raised up on his elbows. "What d'you think he meant by that?"
"Maybe he was just hoping she had good flying weather?"
"No you big jerk." Cody grinned. "I think he was trying to say that he got it, that he got Grandma's need to fly, and even though he didn't want to do it, he respected that she went and did it every year." The grin faded. "Right up until she got sick."
Nick recognized his cue. He crawled back onto the bed and settled down next to Cody, lying between him and the door. "I didn't know you had a flyer in your family, pal. Thought you guys were all water birds, through and through." He put his head down on his bunched sweatshirt and laid his hand flat on Cody's chest, right square on his sternum, just like he'd always done when Cody needed anchoring.
Cody rolled closer to Nick, scooting his head to the edge of the thin pillow. "We guys are."
The silence in the trailer lengthened. It was a good silence, tame and safe.
Cody began to softly snore, his chest rising and falling against Nick's hand.
Nick listened to the comforting rhythm of it, of Cody sleeping sound and sane in the night, and lay awake until the long gray shadows of the morning crept in beside them.