Golden Hands (Out of the Dark, 2010)
Feb. 28th, 2009 09:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
riptide_asylumTitle:Golden Hands
Rating: PG
Summary: Nick is learning to let go. It's a lesson forty years in the making.
Drowsing lightly by Cody's side, the tv flickering mutely at his back, Nick sometimes lets himself remember. There's no harm in it now, he thinks, not when they've come so far together, not when they've weathered so much and come out the other side.
Cody shifts against Nick, uneasy in his sleep and Nick rubs his shoulder, kisses his forehead and waits for him to settle. Sleep, baby. I can remember while you sleep.
It took Nick awhile to get comfortable on the Hightide, their big, modern, well-appointed boat that wasn't the Riptide at all. But it's been good to them so far, warm and safe and dry, and as Cody settles again, Nick marvels that they ever found a place like this, another one, he means. Someplace he can keep Cody comfortable, keep him safe and let him sleep. That's all Nick asks, really.
He burrows beneath the comforter, nuzzling Cody's neck. One deep breath, then two, and Nick lets himself remember.
In Nam, the whole world was on fire.
You no sooner looked at something than it blew up, more often than not raining chunks of a good friend down around you. And if Nick thought he'd been scared before, it was nothing compared to when he first saw Cody.
Cody was clean, for a start, and that marked him as a fucking new guy. But more than that, he held himself like he was still growing into his skin, like a colt or a baby giraffe or something, long-legged and unsure, something you watched just knowing it was about to fall down.
And Nick loved him.
'Course, back in those days you didn't just love a guy. Not just 'cause Uncle Sam would bust your balls and send you packing, but more because everyone Nick had met so far out here he'd wound up wearing. What you did was you just concentrated on surviving and you tried not to look up when everything turned to shit.
So Nick took one look at his new guy, this Cody Allen, and a part of him died inside, instantly, at the very same time as he realized how deeply he was fucked, that he'd remember this guy as long as he lived. Even if that only turned out to be a day or two.
Anyway. So Nick remembers this one time, they're sitting there after an evac -- evacuation mission -- and Nick had flown the chopper and some kid named Daniels, from Florida, had yanked in their patrol guys while Charlie tried his damnedest to blow everyone to kingdom come. And new guy Cody Allen had crouched in the doorway and shot anything that wasn't Daniels (from Florida) or a patrol guy with half his ass blown off already.
And afterwards, Nick and Cody were sitting there next to the chopper in this clearing not far from camp, wearing Daniels all over themselves and trying not to wonder which of the patrol guys they'd helped carry into the Med tent would be coming out again and it was hotter n' hell like it always was but -- and this is strange, remembering, but for some reason Nick can feel the heat pressing against him, filling his throat, sitting on his chest, cooking his balls just like it was yesterday, like he's still there, and not like it was -- fuck, really? -- forty years ago, nearly.
The sky in Nam had this habit of turning orange; not that Agent Orange shit they talked about later but you'd be just sitting there looking up at a colorless, liquid sky and then all of a sudden, damn thing'd be orange.
Nick came back to himself when Cody yawned and stretched against him. Forty years or no, it was still a helluva sight. Maybe forty years made it more so.
Cody blinked in the tv light. "Your neck bothering you, Nick?"
Nick started. He hadn't realized he'd had a hand on the back of his neck til Cody said something.
"S'nothing," he lied. "Go back to sleep."
"Uh huh. C'mere."
Nick looked in Cody's eyes and knew he was caught. Just like he'd been caught in 1972, just like he'd been caught ever since. Maybe it was the voice, maybe it was just...Cody.
Nick dug himself in deeper under the comforter and lay his head on Cody's chest, against his buddy's neck.
Cody's golden hands had gotten old just like the rest of him, just like they both had, but they'd lost none of their magic. They poked and prodded and soothed, and Nick tried to relax into the deep, round mattress of their bed. Tried to calm his pounding heart, tried to drive the heat back, the smell of Daniels' blood, the clods of shredded jungle kicked up by the bullets, spattering against him as he'd tried to cover Cody with everything he had. He didn't know then what he'd've done if he'd failed, if they'd gotten Cody. He didn't know now. That clean, lanky, fragile new recruit with the golden hands.
Sometimes, if Nick's not careful, he knows what it would've been like. If they'd--if he'd...Cody.
Nick doesn't realize he's crying until Cody soothes him, until Nick lifts his head from Cody's shoulder and feels the damp cloth underneath, soaked with his tears.
"Ssh," Cody whispers. "I got you, Nick. I got you."
Nick can manage a nod. His neck's fine, but something deeper inside him, he thinks, maybe that bit isn't.
But they're here, both of them, in this boat half a world away from the heat and the jungle and the stench. They're old now but they got old together and if Nick lets himself drowse on Cody's shoulder, feeling Cody's hands work their magic, feeling Cody nudge him, just a little, he knows he can stop remembering for a little bit, and finally, just sleep.
Rating: PG
Summary: Nick is learning to let go. It's a lesson forty years in the making.
Drowsing lightly by Cody's side, the tv flickering mutely at his back, Nick sometimes lets himself remember. There's no harm in it now, he thinks, not when they've come so far together, not when they've weathered so much and come out the other side.
Cody shifts against Nick, uneasy in his sleep and Nick rubs his shoulder, kisses his forehead and waits for him to settle. Sleep, baby. I can remember while you sleep.
It took Nick awhile to get comfortable on the Hightide, their big, modern, well-appointed boat that wasn't the Riptide at all. But it's been good to them so far, warm and safe and dry, and as Cody settles again, Nick marvels that they ever found a place like this, another one, he means. Someplace he can keep Cody comfortable, keep him safe and let him sleep. That's all Nick asks, really.
He burrows beneath the comforter, nuzzling Cody's neck. One deep breath, then two, and Nick lets himself remember.
In Nam, the whole world was on fire.
You no sooner looked at something than it blew up, more often than not raining chunks of a good friend down around you. And if Nick thought he'd been scared before, it was nothing compared to when he first saw Cody.
Cody was clean, for a start, and that marked him as a fucking new guy. But more than that, he held himself like he was still growing into his skin, like a colt or a baby giraffe or something, long-legged and unsure, something you watched just knowing it was about to fall down.
And Nick loved him.
'Course, back in those days you didn't just love a guy. Not just 'cause Uncle Sam would bust your balls and send you packing, but more because everyone Nick had met so far out here he'd wound up wearing. What you did was you just concentrated on surviving and you tried not to look up when everything turned to shit.
So Nick took one look at his new guy, this Cody Allen, and a part of him died inside, instantly, at the very same time as he realized how deeply he was fucked, that he'd remember this guy as long as he lived. Even if that only turned out to be a day or two.
Anyway. So Nick remembers this one time, they're sitting there after an evac -- evacuation mission -- and Nick had flown the chopper and some kid named Daniels, from Florida, had yanked in their patrol guys while Charlie tried his damnedest to blow everyone to kingdom come. And new guy Cody Allen had crouched in the doorway and shot anything that wasn't Daniels (from Florida) or a patrol guy with half his ass blown off already.
And afterwards, Nick and Cody were sitting there next to the chopper in this clearing not far from camp, wearing Daniels all over themselves and trying not to wonder which of the patrol guys they'd helped carry into the Med tent would be coming out again and it was hotter n' hell like it always was but -- and this is strange, remembering, but for some reason Nick can feel the heat pressing against him, filling his throat, sitting on his chest, cooking his balls just like it was yesterday, like he's still there, and not like it was -- fuck, really? -- forty years ago, nearly.
The sky in Nam had this habit of turning orange; not that Agent Orange shit they talked about later but you'd be just sitting there looking up at a colorless, liquid sky and then all of a sudden, damn thing'd be orange.
I still don't get that, not even today, but anyway, me an' Cody, we're just sitting there in this clearing, trying hard not to think about what just happened and me, I've been flying since dawn maybe, from the day before, I dunno, but my neck is killing me, man, it's just killing me. It gets this knot --
So we're bullshitting, talking about the Padres maybe, knowing us and knowing Cody, and I looked down at the long grass and the mud and all I can think about is my neck's on fire. Like Charlie's jabbed a bamboo stake in there, deep, so I reach up and I'm trying to rub it, trying fuck, maybe that'd work, and there's this pain like nothing else and my neck makes this crunching noise, like a kid eating cereal and man I tell you, I just froze. It hurt so bad, I forgot for a second how to breathe. I just froze.
And Cody says, "Hey Nick, your neck bothering you?"
I'm in so much pain I can't even answer the guy. I can't shake my head, I can't tell him no, I can't do anything.
"Lemme take a look, Nick," he says.
And I'm still frozen, so I can't tell him you look with your eyes, not your hands, like my nonna used to say, because Cody, this beautiful, perfect, breakable kid, he just scoots behind me and starts working on my neck, you know? Starts really working on it: rubbing it and pounding on it like it's a veal cutlet and I can't move and anyway, Cody's got this voice -- you've heard it -- he's got that voice of his, you can't tell him no to anything, you just hear that voice and boom. It's all over.
Is for me anyhow. Always has been.
So I can't move still, and I'm just sitting there taking it, and I swear to you, I swear on my mother's grave, I can hear Cody, thinking. I could hear him staring at my neck and I could hear him feeling it and even though he's behind me, I can see him sticking his tongue out one corner of his mouth, frowning and concentrating. And if I hadn't already loved the guy, that would've done it.
He's messing around back there and my neck's too busted for me to say no, or say anything, then all of a sudden, Cody, he pushes on something, just kind of nudges it, and I can move again.
Pain? Gone. Stiffness? Gone. It was like being in some kind of tornado, then it's gone. Like all the wind dies away and everything's good again, you know?
Yeah, I'm rambling. I'm an old man, it happens. But man, it felt so damn good.
And I turn my head to thank him, this kid with the golden hands and wouldn't you know it, we're hit.
The world splits down the middle.
VC at thirty yards maybe, just opening fire on our position, on that big dumb Chinook I was flying evac in, probably seen it for miles around.
I dove on Cody, flattened him against the grass, got him under me. Didn't think, just did it. I'd had my helmet next to me on the grass and I managed to get to that, but Cody'd left his in the hold, so...
Look, you know what? I'm tired of talking. This next bit's more interesting anyways.
Nick came back to himself when Cody yawned and stretched against him. Forty years or no, it was still a helluva sight. Maybe forty years made it more so.
Cody blinked in the tv light. "Your neck bothering you, Nick?"
Nick started. He hadn't realized he'd had a hand on the back of his neck til Cody said something.
"S'nothing," he lied. "Go back to sleep."
"Uh huh. C'mere."
Nick looked in Cody's eyes and knew he was caught. Just like he'd been caught in 1972, just like he'd been caught ever since. Maybe it was the voice, maybe it was just...Cody.
Nick dug himself in deeper under the comforter and lay his head on Cody's chest, against his buddy's neck.
Cody's golden hands had gotten old just like the rest of him, just like they both had, but they'd lost none of their magic. They poked and prodded and soothed, and Nick tried to relax into the deep, round mattress of their bed. Tried to calm his pounding heart, tried to drive the heat back, the smell of Daniels' blood, the clods of shredded jungle kicked up by the bullets, spattering against him as he'd tried to cover Cody with everything he had. He didn't know then what he'd've done if he'd failed, if they'd gotten Cody. He didn't know now. That clean, lanky, fragile new recruit with the golden hands.
Sometimes, if Nick's not careful, he knows what it would've been like. If they'd--if he'd...Cody.
Nick doesn't realize he's crying until Cody soothes him, until Nick lifts his head from Cody's shoulder and feels the damp cloth underneath, soaked with his tears.
"Ssh," Cody whispers. "I got you, Nick. I got you."
Nick can manage a nod. His neck's fine, but something deeper inside him, he thinks, maybe that bit isn't.
But they're here, both of them, in this boat half a world away from the heat and the jungle and the stench. They're old now but they got old together and if Nick lets himself drowse on Cody's shoulder, feeling Cody's hands work their magic, feeling Cody nudge him, just a little, he knows he can stop remembering for a little bit, and finally, just sleep.
