"Calamari" (Sunfish, 1985)
Dec. 2nd, 2010 05:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
riptide_asylumTitle: Calamari
Rating: PG
Summary: Even though it might not be to Nick's taste, he'll cook Cody anything.
Gravity is nothing to me, moving at the speed of sound
I'm just gonna get my feet wet
Until I drown
Nick sat back in the booth and watched Cody happily digging into his food. It was a Wednesday night and Straightaways was thankfully free from the throng of tourists who made it impossible to get a table on the weekend. During the week the place emptied out and the two of them nearly had the room to themselves.
Cody looked up, reaching for a napkin. "What?"
Sitting up, Nick reached out a finger and poked one of the crispy, fried objects on Cody's plate. "Those just aren't natural, Cody."
"Natural? Of course they're natural. They come from the sea, Nick. That's nature." Cody dipped one of the pieces in tartar sauce and held it in front of Nick's mouth. "C'mon, just try one. C'mon. One."
Nick pulled his head back and glared. "Not everything you find in the sea is good to eat, man. Y'ever think of that? You find all kinds of things down there--tires, tin cans, old sneakers--"
"Nick!" The crispy sauced thing quivered menacingly.
With a scowl, Nick took the thing from Cody's finger, popped it in his mouth and chewed.
Cody grinned. "See, buddy? Calamari's not so bad, huh?"
Nick kept chewing. His scowl deepened.
Cody's grin faltered.
Still chewing, Nick reached for his beer and took a long, exaggerated swallow. He set down the beer and reached for a napkin. "Like I said. Tires, old sneakers..."
With a disgruntled snort into his mustache, Cody rose and stormed out.
Nick tossed down his napkin and rising, tossed a few bucks on the table before heading after his partner.
Outside, the night was warm and sultry, perfectly Southern California. Nick jogged to catch up with Cody's long-legged strides. "C'mon, man! I was just kidding, you know that! Eat whatever you want!"
Cody spun on his heel and opened his mouth to deliver a lecture.
It never came.
Two men slipped out of the shadows and leapt on them like jungle cats. Armed with knives, they swung hard, slicing viciously through the air.
Professionals, Nick thought, parrying a blow from one. Mercenaries. Likely ex-military. He neatly sidestepped a blow then turned and chopped his assailant in the shoulder-blade. The man oofed, bending at the waist. Nick grabbed his outstretched arm and snapped it over his knee. The knife clattered harmlessly to the concrete as Nick forced the thug to a kneeling position. "Cody? You okay, man?"
The second assailant rushed him like a steamroller, tackling Nick and knocking him over. A big guy, one-eighty, two bills, easy, Nick thought, darting his head to one side.
His attacker stabbed the promenade, the knife clanging fruitlessly against stone. He switched tactics, getting his hands round Nick's neck.
Nick worked his arms free and brought them up inside his attackers' arms. A dim red tide was settling over the night just as Nick chopped free of the stranglehold. Grabbing the thug's shoulders, Nick pulled him down close then leaned up and head-butted him as hard as he could.
His assailant moaned and toppled over backward.
Nick wriggled free and rolled over, struggling to his knees. "Cody?"
His partner lay on his side, a few feet away, unmoving. Blood stained the side of his sweater and lay slick and shining in a pool on the promenade.
Nick scrambled over to Cody's side, a terrible coldness spreading over him from the inside out. "Cody! Cody!" He shook his partner's shoulder.
Cody's eyes moved under his half-open lids, his head lolling to one side. Nick felt for a pulse. It was weak but thready.
Nick sat back on his heels, cradling Cody's head in his lap. He looked around the lonely pier and began yelling, as loud as he could.
---
The newspaper-wrapped bundle sat damp and fish-smelling on the counter of the Riptide's galley while Nick searched for flour and cornmeal. The former he was sure they had, and the latter he'd asked Murray to get while he'd stayed at the hospital with Cody.
"Seriously, Nick, I don't need anything special. I'm fine, okay pal?" Cody sat in the booth behind Nick's shoulder, wrapped in a blanket. He'd stolen Nick's navy blue sweater, presumably because it hung loose over the stitches running along the edge of his ribcage. Stitches Nick had stared at and fretted over and panicked about, for the last three days.
"Forget it, Cody. S'nothing special, okay? But I figured you'd be sick enough of hospital food that you wouldn't say no to some home cooking." He found the cornmeal behind Murray's stash of vitamins. "Am I right, big guy?"
He rose and, popping the box open, poured some into the bowl until the consistency looked right. Another little bit, his grandmother counseled. Nick obeyed, then tossed the mixture with his hands until it resembled breadcrumbs. Then he turned his attention to the package.
"Seriously, Nick, I'm okay," Cody said from the booth. "It was just a little scratch! The important thing is that we got the guys who were threatening Mrs. Nakamura."
Nick fished out a slimy piece of pale gray flesh and ferried it gingerly to the cornmeal mixture. "Cody, believe it or not, you actually need your spleen. It's not something you can scratch with wild abandon."
"Nick--"
"Although you're right, I'm glad those gabrons are behind bars." Nick rolled the slimy thing in the cornmeal until it was thoroughly coated. "Saves me having to go bust a few more heads," he muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing, babe." Nick dropped his bundle in the frying pan. It sizzled and spat in the hot oil, filling the galley with the warm aroma of frying batter. Nick jiggled the pan with his non-floured hand, watching the contents carefully. Then he returned to the newspaper and fished out another piece, repeating the process. "You hear from Murray?"
"Yeah, he left a message on the machine. He's spending the night at Charlene's. Apparently they're doing something with breaking magnets."
Nick dropped another battered object in the pan. "Good for him. I knew they'd finally get that breakthrough they were hoping for." He looked over his shoulder. "When d'you need your pain meds?"
Cody drew the blanket more tightly around him. "I'm fine, Nick. I don't need to be fussed over."
"No argument from me, big guy. What time?"
"Another ten minutes, maybe."
Nick poked the fry pan with one hand and battered another piece with the other. "Perfect! You can have 'em with dinner."
"Nick, really! There's no need to fuss! I'm fine! Really!"
"Oh yeah totally," Nick said. He transferred the first two pieces to a waiting plate lined with paper towels. "No fussing." He rotated between battering, frying and blotting the pieces as they emerged from the pan. "Plus don't forget, we have those chocolates Mrs. Nakamura sent over for dessert."
"I feel kinda weird eating those, Nick."
"Why's that?" Nick nudged the fridge open with his foot and pulled out a container of sauce.
"Well she's..."
"On a fixed income. I know, babe. But you saw how glad she was to get that dog back. I'm guessing she'd rather we enjoy those chocolates than worry about them. If you like, though, we can swing by later in the week and check on her and Tiffany."
"Who names a dog 'Tiffany', anyway, Nick?"
"Well, Mrs. Nakamura for one." Nick ran the last of the pieces quickly through the cornmeal and rushed them into the waiting oil. The tiny window above the stove was wet with steam and the whole galley was starting to smell like a fry shop. Franelli's, Nick thought automatically, down on West 18th, near Slate St. He toed open the fridge again and retrieved a dish of coleslaw he'd made earlier.
"Hey Nick?"
"Yeah, babe?"
"I'm gettin' kinda hungry. How long 'til dinner?"
"Be right there, Cody. Thirty seconds." Nick gently arranged all the golden, crispy pieces on one plate. He added a heap of coleslaw and a shake of salt; then, after a look over his shoulder at Cody, another shake.
"I'm starved," Cody said. "You wouldn't think getting stabbed would work up an appetite but I'm telling you, Nick--"
"Oh you don't have to tell me, babe." Nick had felt a pang at the word 'stabbed'. Memories of that night on the pier washed over him; the slick pool of blood on the concrete, Cody lying cold and motionless in Nick's arms, his breath sporadic and labored. Nick grabbed the tartar sauce and carried it and the plate to the table. "Here. Scoot over."
Sliding in next to Cody, Nick was acutely aware of a tension between them. On Nick's side, he blamed it on Cody's injury, the fact that his partner dropped his arm over his ribs as Nick came close. Nick scooted back, giving Cody space. He pushed the plate over, following it with the bowl of tartar sauce. "Here. Enjoy, babe."
Cody froze next to him. "Nick..."
"Oh! I forgot the lemon." Nick slid easily back out of the booth. He fished a lemon out of the top tier of copper nets hanging on a hook to one side of the stove. He drew a knife from the block beneath and deftly chopped the citrus into wedges. Scooping them into his palm, Nick returned to the table. Cody was still motionless.
Nick held out the lemons.
No response.
"Babe?"
Cody appeared to return to himself with an effort. "What is this, Nick?" he asked softly. "You making fun of me?"
Nick dropped the lemons on the tabletop and held up his hands. "Cody, no. Oh man, no. No!" He shook his head and took a deep breath. "You like calamari, well...I just figured it'd be easier for you to have 'em here than have to go all the way to Straightaways, you know? You can just have 'em...here."
"Here."
"Yeah. Anytime you want, big guy?"
Cody looked at Nick. In his look, Nick saw fear and suspicion but more than that, he saw the thing that warmed his heart, the thing he sat up long nights dreaming about awake.
He saw Cody trust.
Cody grinned. Nick's heart skipped a beat.
"Nick...you don't like calamari."
"Me? Nah," Nick answered. "Love the stuff." He grabbed a crispy, tentacled thing off the plate and swirled it in tartar sauce, then held it out to Cody. "But I'm willing to share."
Cody looked from Nick to the fried calamari, then back.
Nick proffered it again with a small shake. He licked his lips.
Cody took it from his fingers with a cautious, feral air. He watched Nick the entire time he chewed and swallowed. He wiped his fingers on a napkin, then reached for a second piece, dragging it deeply through the tartar sauce. Nick watched appreciatively as his partner chewed and swallowed again, then nodded knowingly. "I knew it," he said, reaching for a wedge of lemon. He squeezed it over the entire plate then dropped it back on the table.
"What?" Nick asked.
"I knew you'd come around to my way of thinking," Cody answered. He carefully chose another piece and bit off half the tentacles. Nick pushed the plate closer, then fumbled with the plastic orange tumbler next to the whale-shaped salt and pepper shakers. He held out a small pink pill and watched appreciatively as Cody inhaled that along with another tiny fried squid.
"You got it, babe," Nick said. He handed over his beer. "You got it."
Rating: PG
Summary: Even though it might not be to Nick's taste, he'll cook Cody anything.
Gravity is nothing to me, moving at the speed of sound
I'm just gonna get my feet wet
Until I drown
Nick sat back in the booth and watched Cody happily digging into his food. It was a Wednesday night and Straightaways was thankfully free from the throng of tourists who made it impossible to get a table on the weekend. During the week the place emptied out and the two of them nearly had the room to themselves.
Cody looked up, reaching for a napkin. "What?"
Sitting up, Nick reached out a finger and poked one of the crispy, fried objects on Cody's plate. "Those just aren't natural, Cody."
"Natural? Of course they're natural. They come from the sea, Nick. That's nature." Cody dipped one of the pieces in tartar sauce and held it in front of Nick's mouth. "C'mon, just try one. C'mon. One."
Nick pulled his head back and glared. "Not everything you find in the sea is good to eat, man. Y'ever think of that? You find all kinds of things down there--tires, tin cans, old sneakers--"
"Nick!" The crispy sauced thing quivered menacingly.
With a scowl, Nick took the thing from Cody's finger, popped it in his mouth and chewed.
Cody grinned. "See, buddy? Calamari's not so bad, huh?"
Nick kept chewing. His scowl deepened.
Cody's grin faltered.
Still chewing, Nick reached for his beer and took a long, exaggerated swallow. He set down the beer and reached for a napkin. "Like I said. Tires, old sneakers..."
With a disgruntled snort into his mustache, Cody rose and stormed out.
Nick tossed down his napkin and rising, tossed a few bucks on the table before heading after his partner.
Outside, the night was warm and sultry, perfectly Southern California. Nick jogged to catch up with Cody's long-legged strides. "C'mon, man! I was just kidding, you know that! Eat whatever you want!"
Cody spun on his heel and opened his mouth to deliver a lecture.
It never came.
Two men slipped out of the shadows and leapt on them like jungle cats. Armed with knives, they swung hard, slicing viciously through the air.
Professionals, Nick thought, parrying a blow from one. Mercenaries. Likely ex-military. He neatly sidestepped a blow then turned and chopped his assailant in the shoulder-blade. The man oofed, bending at the waist. Nick grabbed his outstretched arm and snapped it over his knee. The knife clattered harmlessly to the concrete as Nick forced the thug to a kneeling position. "Cody? You okay, man?"
The second assailant rushed him like a steamroller, tackling Nick and knocking him over. A big guy, one-eighty, two bills, easy, Nick thought, darting his head to one side.
His attacker stabbed the promenade, the knife clanging fruitlessly against stone. He switched tactics, getting his hands round Nick's neck.
Nick worked his arms free and brought them up inside his attackers' arms. A dim red tide was settling over the night just as Nick chopped free of the stranglehold. Grabbing the thug's shoulders, Nick pulled him down close then leaned up and head-butted him as hard as he could.
His assailant moaned and toppled over backward.
Nick wriggled free and rolled over, struggling to his knees. "Cody?"
His partner lay on his side, a few feet away, unmoving. Blood stained the side of his sweater and lay slick and shining in a pool on the promenade.
Nick scrambled over to Cody's side, a terrible coldness spreading over him from the inside out. "Cody! Cody!" He shook his partner's shoulder.
Cody's eyes moved under his half-open lids, his head lolling to one side. Nick felt for a pulse. It was weak but thready.
Nick sat back on his heels, cradling Cody's head in his lap. He looked around the lonely pier and began yelling, as loud as he could.
---
The newspaper-wrapped bundle sat damp and fish-smelling on the counter of the Riptide's galley while Nick searched for flour and cornmeal. The former he was sure they had, and the latter he'd asked Murray to get while he'd stayed at the hospital with Cody.
"Seriously, Nick, I don't need anything special. I'm fine, okay pal?" Cody sat in the booth behind Nick's shoulder, wrapped in a blanket. He'd stolen Nick's navy blue sweater, presumably because it hung loose over the stitches running along the edge of his ribcage. Stitches Nick had stared at and fretted over and panicked about, for the last three days.
"Forget it, Cody. S'nothing special, okay? But I figured you'd be sick enough of hospital food that you wouldn't say no to some home cooking." He found the cornmeal behind Murray's stash of vitamins. "Am I right, big guy?"
He rose and, popping the box open, poured some into the bowl until the consistency looked right. Another little bit, his grandmother counseled. Nick obeyed, then tossed the mixture with his hands until it resembled breadcrumbs. Then he turned his attention to the package.
"Seriously, Nick, I'm okay," Cody said from the booth. "It was just a little scratch! The important thing is that we got the guys who were threatening Mrs. Nakamura."
Nick fished out a slimy piece of pale gray flesh and ferried it gingerly to the cornmeal mixture. "Cody, believe it or not, you actually need your spleen. It's not something you can scratch with wild abandon."
"Nick--"
"Although you're right, I'm glad those gabrons are behind bars." Nick rolled the slimy thing in the cornmeal until it was thoroughly coated. "Saves me having to go bust a few more heads," he muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing, babe." Nick dropped his bundle in the frying pan. It sizzled and spat in the hot oil, filling the galley with the warm aroma of frying batter. Nick jiggled the pan with his non-floured hand, watching the contents carefully. Then he returned to the newspaper and fished out another piece, repeating the process. "You hear from Murray?"
"Yeah, he left a message on the machine. He's spending the night at Charlene's. Apparently they're doing something with breaking magnets."
Nick dropped another battered object in the pan. "Good for him. I knew they'd finally get that breakthrough they were hoping for." He looked over his shoulder. "When d'you need your pain meds?"
Cody drew the blanket more tightly around him. "I'm fine, Nick. I don't need to be fussed over."
"No argument from me, big guy. What time?"
"Another ten minutes, maybe."
Nick poked the fry pan with one hand and battered another piece with the other. "Perfect! You can have 'em with dinner."
"Nick, really! There's no need to fuss! I'm fine! Really!"
"Oh yeah totally," Nick said. He transferred the first two pieces to a waiting plate lined with paper towels. "No fussing." He rotated between battering, frying and blotting the pieces as they emerged from the pan. "Plus don't forget, we have those chocolates Mrs. Nakamura sent over for dessert."
"I feel kinda weird eating those, Nick."
"Why's that?" Nick nudged the fridge open with his foot and pulled out a container of sauce.
"Well she's..."
"On a fixed income. I know, babe. But you saw how glad she was to get that dog back. I'm guessing she'd rather we enjoy those chocolates than worry about them. If you like, though, we can swing by later in the week and check on her and Tiffany."
"Who names a dog 'Tiffany', anyway, Nick?"
"Well, Mrs. Nakamura for one." Nick ran the last of the pieces quickly through the cornmeal and rushed them into the waiting oil. The tiny window above the stove was wet with steam and the whole galley was starting to smell like a fry shop. Franelli's, Nick thought automatically, down on West 18th, near Slate St. He toed open the fridge again and retrieved a dish of coleslaw he'd made earlier.
"Hey Nick?"
"Yeah, babe?"
"I'm gettin' kinda hungry. How long 'til dinner?"
"Be right there, Cody. Thirty seconds." Nick gently arranged all the golden, crispy pieces on one plate. He added a heap of coleslaw and a shake of salt; then, after a look over his shoulder at Cody, another shake.
"I'm starved," Cody said. "You wouldn't think getting stabbed would work up an appetite but I'm telling you, Nick--"
"Oh you don't have to tell me, babe." Nick had felt a pang at the word 'stabbed'. Memories of that night on the pier washed over him; the slick pool of blood on the concrete, Cody lying cold and motionless in Nick's arms, his breath sporadic and labored. Nick grabbed the tartar sauce and carried it and the plate to the table. "Here. Scoot over."
Sliding in next to Cody, Nick was acutely aware of a tension between them. On Nick's side, he blamed it on Cody's injury, the fact that his partner dropped his arm over his ribs as Nick came close. Nick scooted back, giving Cody space. He pushed the plate over, following it with the bowl of tartar sauce. "Here. Enjoy, babe."
Cody froze next to him. "Nick..."
"Oh! I forgot the lemon." Nick slid easily back out of the booth. He fished a lemon out of the top tier of copper nets hanging on a hook to one side of the stove. He drew a knife from the block beneath and deftly chopped the citrus into wedges. Scooping them into his palm, Nick returned to the table. Cody was still motionless.
Nick held out the lemons.
No response.
"Babe?"
Cody appeared to return to himself with an effort. "What is this, Nick?" he asked softly. "You making fun of me?"
Nick dropped the lemons on the tabletop and held up his hands. "Cody, no. Oh man, no. No!" He shook his head and took a deep breath. "You like calamari, well...I just figured it'd be easier for you to have 'em here than have to go all the way to Straightaways, you know? You can just have 'em...here."
"Here."
"Yeah. Anytime you want, big guy?"
Cody looked at Nick. In his look, Nick saw fear and suspicion but more than that, he saw the thing that warmed his heart, the thing he sat up long nights dreaming about awake.
He saw Cody trust.
Cody grinned. Nick's heart skipped a beat.
"Nick...you don't like calamari."
"Me? Nah," Nick answered. "Love the stuff." He grabbed a crispy, tentacled thing off the plate and swirled it in tartar sauce, then held it out to Cody. "But I'm willing to share."
Cody looked from Nick to the fried calamari, then back.
Nick proffered it again with a small shake. He licked his lips.
Cody took it from his fingers with a cautious, feral air. He watched Nick the entire time he chewed and swallowed. He wiped his fingers on a napkin, then reached for a second piece, dragging it deeply through the tartar sauce. Nick watched appreciatively as his partner chewed and swallowed again, then nodded knowingly. "I knew it," he said, reaching for a wedge of lemon. He squeezed it over the entire plate then dropped it back on the table.
"What?" Nick asked.
"I knew you'd come around to my way of thinking," Cody answered. He carefully chose another piece and bit off half the tentacles. Nick pushed the plate closer, then fumbled with the plastic orange tumbler next to the whale-shaped salt and pepper shakers. He held out a small pink pill and watched appreciatively as Cody inhaled that along with another tiny fried squid.
"You got it, babe," Nick said. He handed over his beer. "You got it."
