"In The Deeps" (Prisoners of War, 1985)
Aug. 10th, 2011 10:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
riptide_asylumTitle: In The Deeps
Rating: R
Summary: Land has its challenges, but the ocean has its own rewards.
We'd been in port 6 days, an' it was 6 days too long. Cody was getting nervous, antsy; I could see the shadows starting in his eyes, gathering.
Time to head for the deeps.
Too long in port, I see my partner fading out. Losing it to the nightmares, to those shadows that haunt him, that do their damnedest to take him from me.
We had a new job; hell, we had two years worth of jobs. See, we're the best in the business. That isn't bragging, it's just how it is. Part of it's how Cody is with the ocean: sometimes I think he can smell what's down there, feel it or somethin'. Even if he can't, there's no-one who knows this stretch of coast like him.
Part of it's the way we work. No cash up front; that's a hard and fast rule. Makes it hungry, time to time, but it means we got no deadline, no hurry. And that's a hell of a lot more important than you might think.
An' the other part of it's a half-crazy scientist called Murray Bozinsky. The stuff he's rigged the Riptide up with... man, we could raise the Titanic and tow her on home, an' never even start a sweat. We cut him in when we get paid--cold hard cash, the Boz won't take nothin' else, nothin' traceable--an' he goes off and buys another doohickey for his lab. That's one scary place, in there.
The Riptide was tethered to the pier a hundred yards from Murray's lab, and the only other boat in was the Marigold, a forty-foot schooner with a broken mast and a healthy crop of barnacles. She was our last job, an' the reason we were still tied up: we were waiting for her owner to arrive with the cash.
But her owner was the insurance company, and that always takes longer. Even when they assure you, Mr Ryder, that all the paperwork is signed, and payment will be a formality. A mere formality.
Yeah, right.
I guess it might go easier if we had a bank account, Cody and me. If they could post us a check. But that ain't how we work anymore. I'm always ready, just in case we gotta pick up and run. It's been years, now--since we got the boat, Cody's better, so much better that the chicks here in Konig Harbor don't even get that there's anything--but I don't forget so easy.
I swore a long time ago I'd keep him safe. Safe from the ghosts that still know how to find him, safe from the family that want to 'fix' him with drugs and shock therapy. Safe from the army doctors, safe from the cops, safe from the goddamn world.
Most of all, safe from himself.
*
"What you doin', Nick?" Cody came out from the aft hatch, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He was wearing a ratty pair of tan shorts and deck shoes, no shirt, and that golden hair of his was all fluffed and rumpled.
"Hey, buddy." I was leaning against the rear winch, staring down the pier toward the road. Day was so hot the asphalt was shimmering, but there was a slight ocean breeze, and I had my own shirt off, enjoying it while it lasted. "Good nap?"
Cody nodded and dropped to the bench seat, curling up in the corner and yawning like a sleepy cat. Takes him time to wake up, these days, time to figure out where he is, where I am, where we are. 'S why I always stay close, when he's napping. He wakes up too fast, too sudden, too alone; bam, that's when he's back there.
I gave him maybe five minutes, then sat down beside him. We had some figurin' to do, a decision to make about the next job, an' we had to plan out our provisioning. Cody ain't good with stores, and I ain't good with leaving him. Sometimes he comes, sometimes he stays, an' either way it's shit on toast.
But provisioning a boat like the Riptide for the kinda work we do ain't something I can trust to anyone else.
I gave Cody the job-sheets and those big blue eyes turned animated as he waded through, choosing the best one for the return: least diesel, most cash. It's kind of a lottery but we make a living. And out there in the deeps, Cody's not afraid, not lost, not hurting. Makes it the best job in the world, in my book.
In the end, he picked another schooner, a tri-master called the Barefoot Contessa. I remembered the thing going down a couple years back. It was some kind of party boat from LA, crewed by hookers or something like it. A big sucker, sixty-four feet--not beyond our capabilities, but it made the dive more complex. The owner wanted it up, wanted it back. Restoration was scrawled across the job-sheet in block caps, indicating we were to take damn good care of the wreck.
"Think there's any chance of restoring it?" I asked, glancing through the pack of snapshots clipped to the sheet. The old schooner in her prime, under full sail. It was a beautiful boat, if you liked that sort of thing.
Cody shrugged. "In a hundred feet of water, give or take... maybe. Depends how tight her hull is. Depends how much money someone wants to throw at her."
I nodded. "Hope this insurance jerk turns up soon, so we can get on with it."
Cody's eyes turned wistful. "Yeah... I'm getting kinda tired of land."
"I know you are, big guy."
*
Tired of land or not, Cody decided we oughtta go to Straightaway's for a beer and a steak. I wasn't exactly thrilled by the idea, but onboard we were down to beans and bread, and the day had ended without any sign of our cash.
So I gave in and we headed on down the pier as dusk fell. Me jumpy like always, Cody for once lookin' calm and happy. Sometimes, even on land, workin' shit out like the Contessa job does that to him.
Maybe he oughtta get a job as an accountant.
That's an old joke (his father hated accountants, called 'em the scum of the earth) and Cody laughed like he was twenty-one again, like he did before anyone ever shot at him. Sometimes, I swear, that guy brings tears to my eyes.
I could tell it was gonna be a good night.
It was, too. The bar was quiet when we took our corner booth--clear view of the door, plate glass window behind in case of emergencies, no way for anyone to come up on our flank--and the waitress, Trisha, spent at least ten minutes longer than she needed tellin' Cody the specials. She's blonde and curvy and easy on the eyes, and Cody kinda likes her.
Specials or no, we had our standard--rare steak, no sauce, crispy fries and a salad on the side for Cody. Beats me why he gets those things: he sticks his fork in the bowl a time or two, sometimes eats a slice of tomato, but every time, back it goes to the kitchen, mauled but basically intact.
Just one of those things about him, I guess.
Things started to hot up about eight. A couple more guys at the bar, two ladies on the dance-floor, an extra waitress tying on her apron at the kitchen door. Cody's eyes got hooded and I dropped a coupla bills on the table and waved him on out of there.
There was a time I'd'a never taken him to a place like this, but you live an' learn. It's all in knowing when to leave.
He was waiting for me at the gangway to the Riptide, looking restless. "You think he'll come tomorrow?"
I didn't have to ask to know he meant our client. "I hope so, man."
"Me too."
I could see his tension all down the long line of his back as he turned and headed down the gangplank. The way he held his head, listening, watching. Thing is, what he hears ain't in Konig Harbor, what he sees ain't the ocean, when he gets this way. It's not even real, an' it never was. That's the thing with dreams. Spend too long with 'em, they take on a life of their own, turn into shit worse than anything y'ever saw.
Way back when, me an' Cody saw plenty. Still do.
He looked like he wanted to watch the stars, but the mood he was in, the only place I wanted him was our room. That's one place we are safe, really safe; steel shutters on the portholes, a bar on the door, an AK-47 under the bed. That's what I call a security blanket.
We been together, now, thirteen years give or take. And savin' the months after we was first shipped back, an' the time Cody's mom out-flanked me and he ended up in the hospital, we ain't been apart in all that time. That's a lot of years, an' I've learned what works and what to avoid, how to keep him safe.
When I sent him below, he went without a murmur. He's learned too, after all these years; learned to trust that I'll give him what he needs. Even when he ain't sure exactly what that is.
I battened us down tight, just in case of anyone gettin' past Murray's security. That ain't likely--prob'ly ain't even possible; that's why Konig Harbor's the one and only place we tie up. Me an' Cody, we don't like intruders, nor yet casual visitors. But when the Riptide's buttoned down and Murray's closed shop for the night, anyone coming near our slip's in for a nasty surprise.
Cody was waiting for me in our bunk. Sitting in the corner, knees up to his chest, still tense. But he was lookin' at me, not through me, and looking restless, not scared.
"I wanna get out there," he said abruptly as I barred the door behind me.
"I know you do. Me too." I pulled off my shirt, then sat on the bed and kicked off my shoes. "But we can't provision til we got cash."
"Sell something."
"Yeah? Reckon I'll get ten bucks for you?" I reached out for him, slow and easy--you can't grab Cody, not even in fun, not even out on the water; not if you want your hide the way nature intended, an' not if you want him back on this planet inside of a week.
He came close so I could touch him, starting a grin. "Who y'gonna sell me to? Trisha?"
"Nothin' so easy. I figure Max has money, an' I reckon she's taken a shine to you."
"You do, huh?" He got a gleam in his eye. "And then what, genius? Who's gonna sail the boat?"
"You got me on that one, big guy." He'd relaxed enough now to let me hold him, so I did. He was warm in my arms, beautiful; still a little wound, but nothing to worry about. Nothing to send him to hell, or even to war.
"You gonna let me rub you down?" It wasn't really a question; Cody lets me touch him any way I want. But I take damn good care not to surprise him, not to lay something on him he ain't expecting, maybe ain't ready for. An' that's why he trusts me the way he does; an' why, in a pinch, I could grab him if I had to.
"You still got some of that oil?" His eyes turned warm, and I knew he liked the idea.
I let him go and went hunting. The bottle of baby oil was at the back of the drawer, still half full. We'd gotten it to protect a couple pieces of equipment from the salt, an' then Cody got the bright idea of using it on his hands. The next time my neck started playing up, the baby oil moved permanently from the wheelhouse to our cabin, and we'd thought up a couple more interesting things to do with it in the meantime.
When I turned back, he'd lain down. He was on his back, arms behind his head, still with his shorts on because that's how Cody rolls. He let me shuck him out of them, no complaints--always does, but he won't take 'em off himself.
I started on his shoulders an' he closed his eyes, looking happy. I really wanted to do his back, where the tension was, but facedown's hard for him so that had to wait.
By the time I'd gotten through with his chest and shoulders, though, he was just about purring. Relaxed, comfortable, back in the place he'd been when we set out that night. I can't never get enough of lookin' at him when he's like that, knowin' it's me that made it happen.
Breaks my heart, every time. This guy, it's what he does to me.
He opened his eyes a little, peeked at me under his lashes, stretched, smiled a little. "Whatcha stop for?"
"Just lookin' at you." I grinned at him, letting him see, just for a minute, and his eyes went soft, warm.
"You planning on doing that all night?"
I shook my head, laid down beside him, didn't say nothing. This ain't something we talk about, but we ain't scared of it either, not anymore. I knew what he wanted, and I wanted it too. Wanted him, wanted us.
He never did get his backrub that night. But I got more than one way of unwinding him, an' by the time we settled down to sleep, he was as relaxed as he knows how to be, when we're not in the deeps.
I don't always sleep so good. It's been a long time, but you close your eyes, it feels like yesterday, maybe like you never left. Sometimes it's nightmares but most often it's just feelings; the waiting, always waiting with fear all around, so damn thick you can't breathe, can't talk, can't even fucking die.
That's the kind of thing makes a restful night's sleep hard to come by.
I'd been awake since four, but for once it was the good kind of awake. Nick was sleeping beside me, curled up tight, frowning like he was working at it, but I could tell from his breathing that he was deep under.
He needed the rest; he'd been jumpy the last couple days. Land makes both of us nervous, an' when I get nervous that makes him nervous too.
I don't blame him. He's taken care of me a lot of years when I couldn't've made it on my own. And now--now I wouldn't even try. Without him I got nothing.
"Cody?" He woke up fast, soldier-still, only his eyes--and his brain--moving.
I eased against him, letting him feel me, know me. "'S all right. All clear." As he relaxed I slid an arm around his chest.
"You okay?" He moved into me, my partner, my buddy. I could feel his heart beating in my chest, his breath in my lungs. Sometimes it beats the fuck outta me how we ended up in two bodies, two skins.
"Just watching you."
"It's dark." He sounded amused. "You can't see nothing."
"I can see enough." That made him laugh. Then he slid his hands down my back and unknotted the dark I didn't know had started back there, rubbed a little more until I really was as relaxed as I'd thought I'd been.
"Then lemme suggest you close your eyes, babe." He pulled me close, one hand still on my spine, rubbing, just above my tailbone, the other on the back of my neck. When he holds me like that, when he calls me baby, I know there's nothin' in this world I gotta be afraid of anymore.
I'd thought I was done sleeping for the night but next time I opened my eyes there was light in the cabin, and an empty space in the bunk beside me. The seaward shutters were open, letting in morning sun and a hint of fresh, like maybe there was a storm on the horizon. I could hear voices, too: Nick, sharp and gruff, but talking more than usual, and someone else, someone sounding smooth and city.
Maybe we were gettin' paid at last.
That got me out of bed and into Nick's chinos--too big in the waist, but clean and close to hand--and a sweater. Nick's not always good with people, strangers, specially suit types that wanna screw us out of cash. Me, I can talk the talk, so I ran up on deck in case he needed backup.
I found him standing beside the boat, a packet in his hand, watching a guy in a gray suit march off along the pier. Seemed like it was one of the times he'd done okay. I looked at the guy and the shiny sedan he had waitin' for him, and couldn't deny I was glad I didn't have to talk to him, after all.
"Is that our cash, buddy?"
Nick looked at me sharply. That guy always knows when I'm feelin' wobbly. Beats me how he does it; nine times out of ten he catches me before I fall.
"Yeah, it's our cash. What you doing up here, Cody?"
"Figured you might need some help."
He jumped aboard. "Thanks," he said, and put an arm round me. His eyes said what he really meant: stay below, stay out of sight, don't push it.
I looked down and leaned into him. No-one's actively looking for us, not anymore--well, me; there's paperwork on file says Nick's dead and we never contradicted 'em on that--but we agreed on not taking risks we don't need.
"You're wearin' my pants," he said, and patted me on the ass. "C'mon, baby. We got a supply run to plan if we're sailin' tonight, you know?"
Man, it breaks me up in pieces when he calls me baby. Good pieces.
*
They're comin', only I know they're not. I know it: my eyes say they ain't, logic says no way, Nick's hand on the small of my back says it's not happening.
But down inside where that knowing's supposed to take hold, mean somethin', it just... doesn't. Down inside, I c'n hear choppers and away in the distance the sound of shells. Up close, all I can see is the grocery aisles but no matter what I tell myself, I know what's just behind, I know what's really there. Burning swamp and creeping Charley, retreat cut off, and pain, alone and pain.
I want my weapon, I wanna hide, I want to cut and run, Nick at my side, but Nick ain't a coward, not like me. Nick ain't scared to stand and fight. It ain't the fighting that scares me, though, it's the falling. Hurt, alone, Nick out of reach... can't see, just thinking about it. Gonna make me puke my guts out if we don't move soon.
It wasn't working. We'd made it halfway round the store, two carts piled high with canned goods an' the other shit we need, but Cody was slipping. I shouldn't'a brought him but the thing is, leaving him rips me up so bad. Told myself he'd been so damn relaxed, handled Straightaway's so well.
The big box store down the highway's always empty come two a.m., so that's when I timed our run. He can't do crowds--hell, he can't handle people at all, most times. But it ain't just crowds. Fluoro lights, the crackle of the loudspeaker system underneath their snazzy fucked-up muzak, even the stacked cartons at the back of the shelves. I could see him lookin', listenin', losing it.
Last time, I provisioned at the convenience store three blocks from the pier. Pricey but safe; Cody's comfortable there, got the exits all mapped out, an' if it comes right down to it an' he cuts and runs, I know exactly where he's gonna go.
Best thing about it is, it ain't never come right down to it. Not there. But here, now, I had about fourteen seconds before it got right down to it, an' nothing about that was gonna be safe, or planned, or even goddamn manageable.
I did the only thing I could do: left my carts where they stood, turned around and marched Cody out of there. The security guard tried to get in our way but I made like I was puking, tryin' to make it look like I was leaning on Cody when really I was pushin' him along, one hand on his belt in case he bolted.
The guard stood back when I retched and I ran us out the door, out of the lights, across to the side of the lot. That time of night, just us an' a few lizards. I sat Cody down on the weedy red sand and put my arm around him, waited.
Took ten minutes til I felt his shoulders lift, as he breathed in California air at last. I rubbed his back. "Got bad news for you, buddy. We ain't gonna make the tide this morning."
He blew the air back out, leaned into me. "I'm sorry, Nick." He sounded so damn scared, lost... makes me wanna punch some people bad, startin' with his dad.
"Don't be sorry. Y'held it together. You don't see any cops, do you? We'll stock up at Mera's in the morning, you know?" I kept my voice soft and easy, even though I was seeing red. I got a temper, a bad one, but if I can help it, Cody never sees it. Time to time, a screwy client, maybe the cops, he's seen me throw a punch or two--thrown a few himself, come to that--but when it's just me and him, I've learned to put my anger away.
Thing is, if I get angry he thinks it's his fault. Thinks I'm angry at him.
He looked at me sideways. Sometimes, I ain't as good at putting my anger away as I think I am. "No cops," he agreed. "But it costs more at Mera's, right? And she doesn't carry that oil you need for the winch."
"I ain't pissed about --" I gestured at the store, all lit up, a few hundred yards to our left. "We'll work it out with Mera. What it is, I hate you still think you gotta apologize, babe. It is what it is. I'm good for it, Cody, I swear to you."
"I know you are." He sighed. "Wish you didn't have to be. Wish I could do my share."
"You do more than your share."
We sat a bit longer, til the traffic on the highway started gettin' louder. Til I was sure he was steady enough for the hour ride home.
Back in our bed, he was quiet, tucked down deep in himself. I knew he was disappointed in himself; he'd thought he could manage the supply run, an' it hadn't worked out.
I lay down beside him and waited. Left the light on, held a paperback in my hand, rested my elbow on his hip. He had his back to me, curled up into the wall.
Maybe an hour later, I was half asleep on the rhythm of his breathing and a plan to get the winch-oil from the garage on the main street--it'd still make Cody nervous, but however I came at it, the trip wouldn't be more than ten minutes, tops, an' he can hold it together for ten minutes, that's sure--when he started talking.
Used to be, I didn't make a big deal outta his blanks, didn't let him talk about it. Tried to have him forget about it soon as it happened, make like it was no big deal.
Thing is, for him, it is a big deal. Makes sense when you think about it; he knows where he is now, an' he knows he just... loses control. Loses reality. Scary shit, when you think about it.
"I thought I was getting better," was how he started that night. "I thought... Nick, I really thought I'd be okay in there."
"You are getting better." That ain't just words; a few years back it woulda taken me all night to bring him down. A few years before that, he might've shot the security guy. "An' you were okay, Cody. That's the thing. You held it together, we left, we sat down, watched the stars awhile. You didn't really... go away. You know?"
He lifted a shoulder, looked back at me, rolled on his back. "I suppose. But we're not provisioned."
"We're not provisioned yet," I corrected him, and sat up. He let me pull him up to lean against my chest; sat stiff for a moment then relaxed all of a piece and put his head on my shoulder.
"Why don't you leave me? I think I would." His breath hissed through his teeth. "I dunno, Nick. I dunno if I could do... what you do."
"Why don't I leave you?" Cody asks me that damn near every time we're in port. One of the reasons I cant wait to get back to the deeps. I teared up a little, same as I always do. "Without you, man, felt like I was hollow inside. Couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't even cry. I need you, buddy. It's that simple."
"You always say that. But you don't, you know. You'd be fine... you could find some good-lookin' chick, get hitched, have kids, get yourself a life."
He does this, time to time. Gets a little maudlin, marries me off to Miss America, makes me Father of the Year. It's his craziest stunt by far.
"Why'd I do that? You got your eye on Trisha, planning on buyin' her a ring, leaving me to sail this old tub on my own? Y'know I'll run it aground."
That gets him every time. "Trisha? Nick, no. I'm not... I'd never." He stopped, breathed deep. "I wouldn't last a day without you." He sat up, looked at me, gave me a little smile. "I still don't know how you do it. Why you do it."
I put my paperback away, then took his hands. "How I do it is one day at a time. And why I do it... Cody, I spent two years in hell, listenin' to you tell me about the boat we was gonna have, where we were gonna sail, how things were gonna be. And now here we are on that boat, you an' me. That dream brought us home, buddy, brought us here. That's why I do it. Because it's everything I ever wanted."
That time, it was him teared up. It was a long speech for me, but he needed the reassurance. I ain't good with words, but for him I can find 'em when I have to.
"Even me?" he whispered.
I watched his tears spill over. My beautiful, lost, frightened Cody; my partner, my buddy. Shitty inadequate words for what he is to me--my soul, maybe, my reason. Lover, if you wanna call it that, but that's a dirty word, used cheap by people who got no idea of love or what it means.
"Because of you," I told him, and wrapped him up in my arms. "What I always wanted, everything I ever wanted, is you. Right here with me every day, every night. Partners, just like we always been."
There wasn't much night left, by then, which was just as well; dark's harder for him, always has been. He slept a little, dozed in my arms, starting awake every few minutes. Disoriented, off-kilter, on the edge of lost--but I won't lose him. Ever.
As dawn came down the Riptide started to pitch and I heard the wind cryin'. Worried me a little, I admit. A storm coming in meant more time in port, and I'd been counting on sailing that night.
The first crash of thunder, Cody came wide awake, pulled away from me. The bar on the door, it ain't just to keep out intruders. But that wasn't it, not this time.
Thing with Cody is, he ain't scared of thunder. He loves storms, long as he ain't hearing choppers, artillery. He opened up the portholes, breathed in, laughed.
By ten, the storm had passed although the weather was still brooding. And Cody; all the dark was gone like it had never been. He'd run up the pier alone, checked in with the Boz, come back with donuts and coffee. He went while I was in the head--damn near ripped my guts out when I came out, found him gone.
But the cheeky grin he was wearin' when he came back--so damn pleased with himself--man, that's worth everything. So I went ahead and pretended I hadn't been losing my shit sideways, acted like a jog up the pier in my underwear was how I always started the day.
Stole the bearclaw, took a bite, then let him steal it back.
Beats the fuck outta me why we don't get two damn bearclaws, you know?
After that, provisioning at Mera's was a cinch. She don't carry the fresh stuff but steak and eggs, we can do without. There's always fish. Even the oil went smooth; Cody leaned against the Vette while I bought up the stock I needed, even managed a nod to Bernie's wife when she waved at him from behind the till. Smiled, let that blond hair fall over his eyes. Made me wanna run right back to Mexico, hide us out, hide him back safe where he ain't gotta see no-one.
The deeps are the next best thing.
We sailed on the evening tide. I was tired, so was Nick--last night had been rough on both of us. Only damn fools'd put out of Konig Harbor in the dark with a ten-mile course ahead, but me an' Nick, when it comes to crazy, we wrote the book. Ask Nick, he'll tell you that's why we're still alive.
Me, I'm not so sure, but what I do know is another night in port might have broken me. We know these waters, dark or not, and we're equipped to run at night. By one a.m. we had the sea-anchor down, not a speck of land in sight, nothing below us for miles. We were out to find the Contessa, but she'd been down there two years; she'd wait another day. Or two.
First, the deeps.
There's nothing like the roll of your boat in her true element. No cushioning sandy bottom just below, nothing but the deep dark trenches of the Pacific. The feel of her out there, poised and listening, a creature of the blue--ah, Nick calls me crazy, but you better believe it.
In the deeps, the Riptide comes alive. It's a feelin' like nothing else.
Almost nothing else.
Nick was waiting for me on the fantail, just sitting, quiet. The storm had blown itself out and even the moody clouds had cleared, leaving us nothing but stars. Black night, black ocean, a million trillion stars, all laid out like forever.
"You wanna go below?"
He shook his head, stretched. "Thought you might wanna... stargaze." He sounded kinda apologetic, kinda wistful. I knew he was thinking about sending me below two nights ago; about sittin' in the parking lot last night. Trying to make up for it, when he's got nothing to make up for.
"Don't need stars." I sat down next to him anyhow, put my legs up on the seat, leaned on him.
He tucked an arm around my chest and snugged me in close. "What do you need?" He rubbed his forehead against my temple, and my heart filled like it might burst.
I thought about that. Thought about feeling whole, feeling safe. About the fear that came in the night. About the deeps. "Only one thing I need, buddy."
"The sea. I know." He squeezed me a little. Gentle. Reassuring. There. And so damn wrong.
I put my hands over his. "I love the sea, Nick. Love the deeps. But that's not it. You're what I need. You."
*
We did go below in the end. Up to me, we'd sleep on deck when we're at sea, but Nick can't do that. We've been on the ocean a lot of years now but he's still not a sailor--never will be. Out here, he's different; softer. He lets me be in charge.
And I'm not just talking about the boat.
Two guys share a bunk night after night, sooner or later, things are gonna happen. Physical things. That started a long time ago, and now... it ain't just physical anymore. It's part of me, part of him; part of us. An' it's something I need like I need to breathe.
I got an idea he feels the same. Needs the same.
In port, he drives. He can play my body like music, fly me like I'm one of those damned choppers--no matter how broken-down. He touches me, I'm whole, his, living like I never knew to want.
Out here... out here he comes to me, willing and wanting. He's mine to own, mine to take. First time it scared the fuck outta me, but that's the thing--even that way, he knows what I need. He knows how to give it to me.
And that's what he did that night. Laid me down in our bunk, oiled up my skin, rubbed away the last of the shore-nerves. Took me past arousal to pure, white-hot need, woke the hunger deep inside that robs me of reason, of knowledge, of anything but him.
That... when he does that, it scares the fuck outta me. I scare the fuck outta me. Difference is, it doesn't scare him.
"Cody. My Cody." Nick was crooning softly in my ear. I was lying on his chest, spent, wrung out, grasping shreds of thought, of memory. His hands were on my shoulders, gentle, caressing.
Somehow, I got my head up. Felt like it weighed a ton.
He smiled at me, lazy, pleasured. His pupils were blown wide. "Beautiful," he whispered.
I reached up, touched his cheek. Touched the places on his chest, his neck, where I'd bitten him, marked him. Shivered.
I don't trust what he finds in me.
He ran a hand through my hair, getting it instantly. "I know, baby," he soothed me. "But what you gotta believe, what I need you to believe... I won't let you get hurt."
His body still held me prisoner. Even this way, he's the strong one. "I know. But if I--" I couldn't finish it.
Those strong fingers stayed in my hair. Playing, soothing. "There ain't nothing you can dish out I can't handle. Nothing."
I put my head down on his chest, threaded my fingers through the curls of hair. "So scared of hurting you. Driving you away."
"You won't. You couldn't." He sounded so sure I looked up again. "You call my name, Cody. You talk to me. You know who I am." He hesitated. "You gotta know, baby... I'll never push you somewhere it ain't safe for you to go."
I thought about that, put my head down again. Laid my lips against his skin. "I... talk to you? What do I say?"
"Just stuff."
That got me a little worried. "Like... maybe army stuff?"
"No." This time he answered fast. I waited, and when he didn't say anymore, I sat up.
He winced as his body released me, then reached out, laid a hand on my arm. "It's nothing you gotta worry about, okay?"
I shook my head. "Tell me."
He looked sorta uncomfortable, which was weird by itself. Then he shrugged a shoulder and pulled at me gently until I lay back down, curling up along his side. I put my head on his shoulder, he wrapped an arm around my back, an' just like that, I was secure.
Fuckin' magic, him and me.
"You tell me we're forever. That we're always gonna be together, that you'll die without me. That--that I'll die without you." His breath caught in his throat.
I lay still, holding him close, drifting on the deep-water dance of the Riptide and the sweet, safe feeling growing inside me. "Forever, huh?" I kissed him, which ain't something we do a lot, 'cept when we're fucking. But he didn't complain. "Anything else?"
"Just one thing." He pulled me a little closer, slid one hand down to rub my tailbone, the other up to the back of my neck. "You tell me you love me. And--and then you ask if I love you back."
I was kinda shocked, I admit. Not at the sentiment; that ain't even a question. But at the word, and at Nick bringing it up. "You hate that word."
"Turns out..." He paused, then kissed me back, slow, deep, forever. Stole my breath, breathed my soul. "Turns out that ain't a hard and fast rule."
He came out looking for his breakfast, warm sleepy blue eyes, gold hair all mussed. Relaxed like he never is in port, and wearing a little smile that had nothing to do with the sea, if I was any judge, and everything to do with last night.
I gave him a plate of pancakes, hot, sweet and soft, just like he likes 'em. Slid in opposite and watched him eat, put his coffee in his hand the second before he asked for it.
"You're spoiling me," he said with a grin. "I might get used to it."
Truth is, I don't care if he does. Last night, I took him high, too high maybe. Too close to the edge. Shook him up. And in the end we did a lot of talking, used words we never touched before.
"Been thinking we should take a vacation. After this job."
Cody raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? Skiing in the Rockies? Sightseeing in Times Square?"
Yeah, he's a smartass. "Shuddup in the cheap seats. Mexico, genius."
"Cheap seats, huh? I'll have you know, nothing about my boat's cheap." He grinned. "Why?"
"Does there gotta be a why?" I had a hundred whys. Because the goldbrown scrubby hillside I was thinkin' of was the place Cody had really come back to me. Because things had started on that hill, and maybe I wanted to see it again. Because last night something had started, too, and it had gotten me thinking.
Because goin' there meant flying, and it was months since I'd been in the air.
"With you, there's always a why." He gave me a shrewd look. "This about last night?"
"Yes. No. Last night had nothing to do with Mexico."
He pushed away his plate and came round to my side of the booth. Slid in close. "Soon as we raise this boat and get paid, we'll go. Deal?"
"Deal." I swallowed a lump in my throat. Thing is, Cody gets it. For him, it's the deeps. For me, it's a hidden chunk of scrub too rough even for goats, just south of the border.
He raised my chin, looked in my eyes then kissed me, hungry-soft. Made me melt inside; made me wonder why I'd never had a kiss for breakfast before.
I went back in and took another kiss. Tasted the sugar-sweet of pancakes over the perfect-sweet of Cody. I breathed deep, nearly drunk on his presence.
Cody grinned at me. Happy, confident. Free. "C'mon, big guy. We got a boat to raise and a vacation to plan, and it turns out I got plans for this morning."
Rating: R
Summary: Land has its challenges, but the ocean has its own rewards.
We'd been in port 6 days, an' it was 6 days too long. Cody was getting nervous, antsy; I could see the shadows starting in his eyes, gathering.
Time to head for the deeps.
Too long in port, I see my partner fading out. Losing it to the nightmares, to those shadows that haunt him, that do their damnedest to take him from me.
We had a new job; hell, we had two years worth of jobs. See, we're the best in the business. That isn't bragging, it's just how it is. Part of it's how Cody is with the ocean: sometimes I think he can smell what's down there, feel it or somethin'. Even if he can't, there's no-one who knows this stretch of coast like him.
Part of it's the way we work. No cash up front; that's a hard and fast rule. Makes it hungry, time to time, but it means we got no deadline, no hurry. And that's a hell of a lot more important than you might think.
An' the other part of it's a half-crazy scientist called Murray Bozinsky. The stuff he's rigged the Riptide up with... man, we could raise the Titanic and tow her on home, an' never even start a sweat. We cut him in when we get paid--cold hard cash, the Boz won't take nothin' else, nothin' traceable--an' he goes off and buys another doohickey for his lab. That's one scary place, in there.
The Riptide was tethered to the pier a hundred yards from Murray's lab, and the only other boat in was the Marigold, a forty-foot schooner with a broken mast and a healthy crop of barnacles. She was our last job, an' the reason we were still tied up: we were waiting for her owner to arrive with the cash.
But her owner was the insurance company, and that always takes longer. Even when they assure you, Mr Ryder, that all the paperwork is signed, and payment will be a formality. A mere formality.
Yeah, right.
I guess it might go easier if we had a bank account, Cody and me. If they could post us a check. But that ain't how we work anymore. I'm always ready, just in case we gotta pick up and run. It's been years, now--since we got the boat, Cody's better, so much better that the chicks here in Konig Harbor don't even get that there's anything--but I don't forget so easy.
I swore a long time ago I'd keep him safe. Safe from the ghosts that still know how to find him, safe from the family that want to 'fix' him with drugs and shock therapy. Safe from the army doctors, safe from the cops, safe from the goddamn world.
Most of all, safe from himself.
*
"What you doin', Nick?" Cody came out from the aft hatch, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He was wearing a ratty pair of tan shorts and deck shoes, no shirt, and that golden hair of his was all fluffed and rumpled.
"Hey, buddy." I was leaning against the rear winch, staring down the pier toward the road. Day was so hot the asphalt was shimmering, but there was a slight ocean breeze, and I had my own shirt off, enjoying it while it lasted. "Good nap?"
Cody nodded and dropped to the bench seat, curling up in the corner and yawning like a sleepy cat. Takes him time to wake up, these days, time to figure out where he is, where I am, where we are. 'S why I always stay close, when he's napping. He wakes up too fast, too sudden, too alone; bam, that's when he's back there.
I gave him maybe five minutes, then sat down beside him. We had some figurin' to do, a decision to make about the next job, an' we had to plan out our provisioning. Cody ain't good with stores, and I ain't good with leaving him. Sometimes he comes, sometimes he stays, an' either way it's shit on toast.
But provisioning a boat like the Riptide for the kinda work we do ain't something I can trust to anyone else.
I gave Cody the job-sheets and those big blue eyes turned animated as he waded through, choosing the best one for the return: least diesel, most cash. It's kind of a lottery but we make a living. And out there in the deeps, Cody's not afraid, not lost, not hurting. Makes it the best job in the world, in my book.
In the end, he picked another schooner, a tri-master called the Barefoot Contessa. I remembered the thing going down a couple years back. It was some kind of party boat from LA, crewed by hookers or something like it. A big sucker, sixty-four feet--not beyond our capabilities, but it made the dive more complex. The owner wanted it up, wanted it back. Restoration was scrawled across the job-sheet in block caps, indicating we were to take damn good care of the wreck.
"Think there's any chance of restoring it?" I asked, glancing through the pack of snapshots clipped to the sheet. The old schooner in her prime, under full sail. It was a beautiful boat, if you liked that sort of thing.
Cody shrugged. "In a hundred feet of water, give or take... maybe. Depends how tight her hull is. Depends how much money someone wants to throw at her."
I nodded. "Hope this insurance jerk turns up soon, so we can get on with it."
Cody's eyes turned wistful. "Yeah... I'm getting kinda tired of land."
"I know you are, big guy."
*
Tired of land or not, Cody decided we oughtta go to Straightaway's for a beer and a steak. I wasn't exactly thrilled by the idea, but onboard we were down to beans and bread, and the day had ended without any sign of our cash.
So I gave in and we headed on down the pier as dusk fell. Me jumpy like always, Cody for once lookin' calm and happy. Sometimes, even on land, workin' shit out like the Contessa job does that to him.
Maybe he oughtta get a job as an accountant.
That's an old joke (his father hated accountants, called 'em the scum of the earth) and Cody laughed like he was twenty-one again, like he did before anyone ever shot at him. Sometimes, I swear, that guy brings tears to my eyes.
I could tell it was gonna be a good night.
It was, too. The bar was quiet when we took our corner booth--clear view of the door, plate glass window behind in case of emergencies, no way for anyone to come up on our flank--and the waitress, Trisha, spent at least ten minutes longer than she needed tellin' Cody the specials. She's blonde and curvy and easy on the eyes, and Cody kinda likes her.
Specials or no, we had our standard--rare steak, no sauce, crispy fries and a salad on the side for Cody. Beats me why he gets those things: he sticks his fork in the bowl a time or two, sometimes eats a slice of tomato, but every time, back it goes to the kitchen, mauled but basically intact.
Just one of those things about him, I guess.
Things started to hot up about eight. A couple more guys at the bar, two ladies on the dance-floor, an extra waitress tying on her apron at the kitchen door. Cody's eyes got hooded and I dropped a coupla bills on the table and waved him on out of there.
There was a time I'd'a never taken him to a place like this, but you live an' learn. It's all in knowing when to leave.
He was waiting for me at the gangway to the Riptide, looking restless. "You think he'll come tomorrow?"
I didn't have to ask to know he meant our client. "I hope so, man."
"Me too."
I could see his tension all down the long line of his back as he turned and headed down the gangplank. The way he held his head, listening, watching. Thing is, what he hears ain't in Konig Harbor, what he sees ain't the ocean, when he gets this way. It's not even real, an' it never was. That's the thing with dreams. Spend too long with 'em, they take on a life of their own, turn into shit worse than anything y'ever saw.
Way back when, me an' Cody saw plenty. Still do.
He looked like he wanted to watch the stars, but the mood he was in, the only place I wanted him was our room. That's one place we are safe, really safe; steel shutters on the portholes, a bar on the door, an AK-47 under the bed. That's what I call a security blanket.
We been together, now, thirteen years give or take. And savin' the months after we was first shipped back, an' the time Cody's mom out-flanked me and he ended up in the hospital, we ain't been apart in all that time. That's a lot of years, an' I've learned what works and what to avoid, how to keep him safe.
When I sent him below, he went without a murmur. He's learned too, after all these years; learned to trust that I'll give him what he needs. Even when he ain't sure exactly what that is.
I battened us down tight, just in case of anyone gettin' past Murray's security. That ain't likely--prob'ly ain't even possible; that's why Konig Harbor's the one and only place we tie up. Me an' Cody, we don't like intruders, nor yet casual visitors. But when the Riptide's buttoned down and Murray's closed shop for the night, anyone coming near our slip's in for a nasty surprise.
Cody was waiting for me in our bunk. Sitting in the corner, knees up to his chest, still tense. But he was lookin' at me, not through me, and looking restless, not scared.
"I wanna get out there," he said abruptly as I barred the door behind me.
"I know you do. Me too." I pulled off my shirt, then sat on the bed and kicked off my shoes. "But we can't provision til we got cash."
"Sell something."
"Yeah? Reckon I'll get ten bucks for you?" I reached out for him, slow and easy--you can't grab Cody, not even in fun, not even out on the water; not if you want your hide the way nature intended, an' not if you want him back on this planet inside of a week.
He came close so I could touch him, starting a grin. "Who y'gonna sell me to? Trisha?"
"Nothin' so easy. I figure Max has money, an' I reckon she's taken a shine to you."
"You do, huh?" He got a gleam in his eye. "And then what, genius? Who's gonna sail the boat?"
"You got me on that one, big guy." He'd relaxed enough now to let me hold him, so I did. He was warm in my arms, beautiful; still a little wound, but nothing to worry about. Nothing to send him to hell, or even to war.
"You gonna let me rub you down?" It wasn't really a question; Cody lets me touch him any way I want. But I take damn good care not to surprise him, not to lay something on him he ain't expecting, maybe ain't ready for. An' that's why he trusts me the way he does; an' why, in a pinch, I could grab him if I had to.
"You still got some of that oil?" His eyes turned warm, and I knew he liked the idea.
I let him go and went hunting. The bottle of baby oil was at the back of the drawer, still half full. We'd gotten it to protect a couple pieces of equipment from the salt, an' then Cody got the bright idea of using it on his hands. The next time my neck started playing up, the baby oil moved permanently from the wheelhouse to our cabin, and we'd thought up a couple more interesting things to do with it in the meantime.
When I turned back, he'd lain down. He was on his back, arms behind his head, still with his shorts on because that's how Cody rolls. He let me shuck him out of them, no complaints--always does, but he won't take 'em off himself.
I started on his shoulders an' he closed his eyes, looking happy. I really wanted to do his back, where the tension was, but facedown's hard for him so that had to wait.
By the time I'd gotten through with his chest and shoulders, though, he was just about purring. Relaxed, comfortable, back in the place he'd been when we set out that night. I can't never get enough of lookin' at him when he's like that, knowin' it's me that made it happen.
Breaks my heart, every time. This guy, it's what he does to me.
He opened his eyes a little, peeked at me under his lashes, stretched, smiled a little. "Whatcha stop for?"
"Just lookin' at you." I grinned at him, letting him see, just for a minute, and his eyes went soft, warm.
"You planning on doing that all night?"
I shook my head, laid down beside him, didn't say nothing. This ain't something we talk about, but we ain't scared of it either, not anymore. I knew what he wanted, and I wanted it too. Wanted him, wanted us.
He never did get his backrub that night. But I got more than one way of unwinding him, an' by the time we settled down to sleep, he was as relaxed as he knows how to be, when we're not in the deeps.
I don't always sleep so good. It's been a long time, but you close your eyes, it feels like yesterday, maybe like you never left. Sometimes it's nightmares but most often it's just feelings; the waiting, always waiting with fear all around, so damn thick you can't breathe, can't talk, can't even fucking die.
That's the kind of thing makes a restful night's sleep hard to come by.
I'd been awake since four, but for once it was the good kind of awake. Nick was sleeping beside me, curled up tight, frowning like he was working at it, but I could tell from his breathing that he was deep under.
He needed the rest; he'd been jumpy the last couple days. Land makes both of us nervous, an' when I get nervous that makes him nervous too.
I don't blame him. He's taken care of me a lot of years when I couldn't've made it on my own. And now--now I wouldn't even try. Without him I got nothing.
"Cody?" He woke up fast, soldier-still, only his eyes--and his brain--moving.
I eased against him, letting him feel me, know me. "'S all right. All clear." As he relaxed I slid an arm around his chest.
"You okay?" He moved into me, my partner, my buddy. I could feel his heart beating in my chest, his breath in my lungs. Sometimes it beats the fuck outta me how we ended up in two bodies, two skins.
"Just watching you."
"It's dark." He sounded amused. "You can't see nothing."
"I can see enough." That made him laugh. Then he slid his hands down my back and unknotted the dark I didn't know had started back there, rubbed a little more until I really was as relaxed as I'd thought I'd been.
"Then lemme suggest you close your eyes, babe." He pulled me close, one hand still on my spine, rubbing, just above my tailbone, the other on the back of my neck. When he holds me like that, when he calls me baby, I know there's nothin' in this world I gotta be afraid of anymore.
I'd thought I was done sleeping for the night but next time I opened my eyes there was light in the cabin, and an empty space in the bunk beside me. The seaward shutters were open, letting in morning sun and a hint of fresh, like maybe there was a storm on the horizon. I could hear voices, too: Nick, sharp and gruff, but talking more than usual, and someone else, someone sounding smooth and city.
Maybe we were gettin' paid at last.
That got me out of bed and into Nick's chinos--too big in the waist, but clean and close to hand--and a sweater. Nick's not always good with people, strangers, specially suit types that wanna screw us out of cash. Me, I can talk the talk, so I ran up on deck in case he needed backup.
I found him standing beside the boat, a packet in his hand, watching a guy in a gray suit march off along the pier. Seemed like it was one of the times he'd done okay. I looked at the guy and the shiny sedan he had waitin' for him, and couldn't deny I was glad I didn't have to talk to him, after all.
"Is that our cash, buddy?"
Nick looked at me sharply. That guy always knows when I'm feelin' wobbly. Beats me how he does it; nine times out of ten he catches me before I fall.
"Yeah, it's our cash. What you doing up here, Cody?"
"Figured you might need some help."
He jumped aboard. "Thanks," he said, and put an arm round me. His eyes said what he really meant: stay below, stay out of sight, don't push it.
I looked down and leaned into him. No-one's actively looking for us, not anymore--well, me; there's paperwork on file says Nick's dead and we never contradicted 'em on that--but we agreed on not taking risks we don't need.
"You're wearin' my pants," he said, and patted me on the ass. "C'mon, baby. We got a supply run to plan if we're sailin' tonight, you know?"
Man, it breaks me up in pieces when he calls me baby. Good pieces.
*
They're comin', only I know they're not. I know it: my eyes say they ain't, logic says no way, Nick's hand on the small of my back says it's not happening.
But down inside where that knowing's supposed to take hold, mean somethin', it just... doesn't. Down inside, I c'n hear choppers and away in the distance the sound of shells. Up close, all I can see is the grocery aisles but no matter what I tell myself, I know what's just behind, I know what's really there. Burning swamp and creeping Charley, retreat cut off, and pain, alone and pain.
I want my weapon, I wanna hide, I want to cut and run, Nick at my side, but Nick ain't a coward, not like me. Nick ain't scared to stand and fight. It ain't the fighting that scares me, though, it's the falling. Hurt, alone, Nick out of reach... can't see, just thinking about it. Gonna make me puke my guts out if we don't move soon.
It wasn't working. We'd made it halfway round the store, two carts piled high with canned goods an' the other shit we need, but Cody was slipping. I shouldn't'a brought him but the thing is, leaving him rips me up so bad. Told myself he'd been so damn relaxed, handled Straightaway's so well.
The big box store down the highway's always empty come two a.m., so that's when I timed our run. He can't do crowds--hell, he can't handle people at all, most times. But it ain't just crowds. Fluoro lights, the crackle of the loudspeaker system underneath their snazzy fucked-up muzak, even the stacked cartons at the back of the shelves. I could see him lookin', listenin', losing it.
Last time, I provisioned at the convenience store three blocks from the pier. Pricey but safe; Cody's comfortable there, got the exits all mapped out, an' if it comes right down to it an' he cuts and runs, I know exactly where he's gonna go.
Best thing about it is, it ain't never come right down to it. Not there. But here, now, I had about fourteen seconds before it got right down to it, an' nothing about that was gonna be safe, or planned, or even goddamn manageable.
I did the only thing I could do: left my carts where they stood, turned around and marched Cody out of there. The security guard tried to get in our way but I made like I was puking, tryin' to make it look like I was leaning on Cody when really I was pushin' him along, one hand on his belt in case he bolted.
The guard stood back when I retched and I ran us out the door, out of the lights, across to the side of the lot. That time of night, just us an' a few lizards. I sat Cody down on the weedy red sand and put my arm around him, waited.
Took ten minutes til I felt his shoulders lift, as he breathed in California air at last. I rubbed his back. "Got bad news for you, buddy. We ain't gonna make the tide this morning."
He blew the air back out, leaned into me. "I'm sorry, Nick." He sounded so damn scared, lost... makes me wanna punch some people bad, startin' with his dad.
"Don't be sorry. Y'held it together. You don't see any cops, do you? We'll stock up at Mera's in the morning, you know?" I kept my voice soft and easy, even though I was seeing red. I got a temper, a bad one, but if I can help it, Cody never sees it. Time to time, a screwy client, maybe the cops, he's seen me throw a punch or two--thrown a few himself, come to that--but when it's just me and him, I've learned to put my anger away.
Thing is, if I get angry he thinks it's his fault. Thinks I'm angry at him.
He looked at me sideways. Sometimes, I ain't as good at putting my anger away as I think I am. "No cops," he agreed. "But it costs more at Mera's, right? And she doesn't carry that oil you need for the winch."
"I ain't pissed about --" I gestured at the store, all lit up, a few hundred yards to our left. "We'll work it out with Mera. What it is, I hate you still think you gotta apologize, babe. It is what it is. I'm good for it, Cody, I swear to you."
"I know you are." He sighed. "Wish you didn't have to be. Wish I could do my share."
"You do more than your share."
We sat a bit longer, til the traffic on the highway started gettin' louder. Til I was sure he was steady enough for the hour ride home.
Back in our bed, he was quiet, tucked down deep in himself. I knew he was disappointed in himself; he'd thought he could manage the supply run, an' it hadn't worked out.
I lay down beside him and waited. Left the light on, held a paperback in my hand, rested my elbow on his hip. He had his back to me, curled up into the wall.
Maybe an hour later, I was half asleep on the rhythm of his breathing and a plan to get the winch-oil from the garage on the main street--it'd still make Cody nervous, but however I came at it, the trip wouldn't be more than ten minutes, tops, an' he can hold it together for ten minutes, that's sure--when he started talking.
Used to be, I didn't make a big deal outta his blanks, didn't let him talk about it. Tried to have him forget about it soon as it happened, make like it was no big deal.
Thing is, for him, it is a big deal. Makes sense when you think about it; he knows where he is now, an' he knows he just... loses control. Loses reality. Scary shit, when you think about it.
"I thought I was getting better," was how he started that night. "I thought... Nick, I really thought I'd be okay in there."
"You are getting better." That ain't just words; a few years back it woulda taken me all night to bring him down. A few years before that, he might've shot the security guy. "An' you were okay, Cody. That's the thing. You held it together, we left, we sat down, watched the stars awhile. You didn't really... go away. You know?"
He lifted a shoulder, looked back at me, rolled on his back. "I suppose. But we're not provisioned."
"We're not provisioned yet," I corrected him, and sat up. He let me pull him up to lean against my chest; sat stiff for a moment then relaxed all of a piece and put his head on my shoulder.
"Why don't you leave me? I think I would." His breath hissed through his teeth. "I dunno, Nick. I dunno if I could do... what you do."
"Why don't I leave you?" Cody asks me that damn near every time we're in port. One of the reasons I cant wait to get back to the deeps. I teared up a little, same as I always do. "Without you, man, felt like I was hollow inside. Couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't even cry. I need you, buddy. It's that simple."
"You always say that. But you don't, you know. You'd be fine... you could find some good-lookin' chick, get hitched, have kids, get yourself a life."
He does this, time to time. Gets a little maudlin, marries me off to Miss America, makes me Father of the Year. It's his craziest stunt by far.
"Why'd I do that? You got your eye on Trisha, planning on buyin' her a ring, leaving me to sail this old tub on my own? Y'know I'll run it aground."
That gets him every time. "Trisha? Nick, no. I'm not... I'd never." He stopped, breathed deep. "I wouldn't last a day without you." He sat up, looked at me, gave me a little smile. "I still don't know how you do it. Why you do it."
I put my paperback away, then took his hands. "How I do it is one day at a time. And why I do it... Cody, I spent two years in hell, listenin' to you tell me about the boat we was gonna have, where we were gonna sail, how things were gonna be. And now here we are on that boat, you an' me. That dream brought us home, buddy, brought us here. That's why I do it. Because it's everything I ever wanted."
That time, it was him teared up. It was a long speech for me, but he needed the reassurance. I ain't good with words, but for him I can find 'em when I have to.
"Even me?" he whispered.
I watched his tears spill over. My beautiful, lost, frightened Cody; my partner, my buddy. Shitty inadequate words for what he is to me--my soul, maybe, my reason. Lover, if you wanna call it that, but that's a dirty word, used cheap by people who got no idea of love or what it means.
"Because of you," I told him, and wrapped him up in my arms. "What I always wanted, everything I ever wanted, is you. Right here with me every day, every night. Partners, just like we always been."
There wasn't much night left, by then, which was just as well; dark's harder for him, always has been. He slept a little, dozed in my arms, starting awake every few minutes. Disoriented, off-kilter, on the edge of lost--but I won't lose him. Ever.
As dawn came down the Riptide started to pitch and I heard the wind cryin'. Worried me a little, I admit. A storm coming in meant more time in port, and I'd been counting on sailing that night.
The first crash of thunder, Cody came wide awake, pulled away from me. The bar on the door, it ain't just to keep out intruders. But that wasn't it, not this time.
Thing with Cody is, he ain't scared of thunder. He loves storms, long as he ain't hearing choppers, artillery. He opened up the portholes, breathed in, laughed.
By ten, the storm had passed although the weather was still brooding. And Cody; all the dark was gone like it had never been. He'd run up the pier alone, checked in with the Boz, come back with donuts and coffee. He went while I was in the head--damn near ripped my guts out when I came out, found him gone.
But the cheeky grin he was wearin' when he came back--so damn pleased with himself--man, that's worth everything. So I went ahead and pretended I hadn't been losing my shit sideways, acted like a jog up the pier in my underwear was how I always started the day.
Stole the bearclaw, took a bite, then let him steal it back.
Beats the fuck outta me why we don't get two damn bearclaws, you know?
After that, provisioning at Mera's was a cinch. She don't carry the fresh stuff but steak and eggs, we can do without. There's always fish. Even the oil went smooth; Cody leaned against the Vette while I bought up the stock I needed, even managed a nod to Bernie's wife when she waved at him from behind the till. Smiled, let that blond hair fall over his eyes. Made me wanna run right back to Mexico, hide us out, hide him back safe where he ain't gotta see no-one.
The deeps are the next best thing.
We sailed on the evening tide. I was tired, so was Nick--last night had been rough on both of us. Only damn fools'd put out of Konig Harbor in the dark with a ten-mile course ahead, but me an' Nick, when it comes to crazy, we wrote the book. Ask Nick, he'll tell you that's why we're still alive.
Me, I'm not so sure, but what I do know is another night in port might have broken me. We know these waters, dark or not, and we're equipped to run at night. By one a.m. we had the sea-anchor down, not a speck of land in sight, nothing below us for miles. We were out to find the Contessa, but she'd been down there two years; she'd wait another day. Or two.
First, the deeps.
There's nothing like the roll of your boat in her true element. No cushioning sandy bottom just below, nothing but the deep dark trenches of the Pacific. The feel of her out there, poised and listening, a creature of the blue--ah, Nick calls me crazy, but you better believe it.
In the deeps, the Riptide comes alive. It's a feelin' like nothing else.
Almost nothing else.
Nick was waiting for me on the fantail, just sitting, quiet. The storm had blown itself out and even the moody clouds had cleared, leaving us nothing but stars. Black night, black ocean, a million trillion stars, all laid out like forever.
"You wanna go below?"
He shook his head, stretched. "Thought you might wanna... stargaze." He sounded kinda apologetic, kinda wistful. I knew he was thinking about sending me below two nights ago; about sittin' in the parking lot last night. Trying to make up for it, when he's got nothing to make up for.
"Don't need stars." I sat down next to him anyhow, put my legs up on the seat, leaned on him.
He tucked an arm around my chest and snugged me in close. "What do you need?" He rubbed his forehead against my temple, and my heart filled like it might burst.
I thought about that. Thought about feeling whole, feeling safe. About the fear that came in the night. About the deeps. "Only one thing I need, buddy."
"The sea. I know." He squeezed me a little. Gentle. Reassuring. There. And so damn wrong.
I put my hands over his. "I love the sea, Nick. Love the deeps. But that's not it. You're what I need. You."
*
We did go below in the end. Up to me, we'd sleep on deck when we're at sea, but Nick can't do that. We've been on the ocean a lot of years now but he's still not a sailor--never will be. Out here, he's different; softer. He lets me be in charge.
And I'm not just talking about the boat.
Two guys share a bunk night after night, sooner or later, things are gonna happen. Physical things. That started a long time ago, and now... it ain't just physical anymore. It's part of me, part of him; part of us. An' it's something I need like I need to breathe.
I got an idea he feels the same. Needs the same.
In port, he drives. He can play my body like music, fly me like I'm one of those damned choppers--no matter how broken-down. He touches me, I'm whole, his, living like I never knew to want.
Out here... out here he comes to me, willing and wanting. He's mine to own, mine to take. First time it scared the fuck outta me, but that's the thing--even that way, he knows what I need. He knows how to give it to me.
And that's what he did that night. Laid me down in our bunk, oiled up my skin, rubbed away the last of the shore-nerves. Took me past arousal to pure, white-hot need, woke the hunger deep inside that robs me of reason, of knowledge, of anything but him.
That... when he does that, it scares the fuck outta me. I scare the fuck outta me. Difference is, it doesn't scare him.
"Cody. My Cody." Nick was crooning softly in my ear. I was lying on his chest, spent, wrung out, grasping shreds of thought, of memory. His hands were on my shoulders, gentle, caressing.
Somehow, I got my head up. Felt like it weighed a ton.
He smiled at me, lazy, pleasured. His pupils were blown wide. "Beautiful," he whispered.
I reached up, touched his cheek. Touched the places on his chest, his neck, where I'd bitten him, marked him. Shivered.
I don't trust what he finds in me.
He ran a hand through my hair, getting it instantly. "I know, baby," he soothed me. "But what you gotta believe, what I need you to believe... I won't let you get hurt."
His body still held me prisoner. Even this way, he's the strong one. "I know. But if I--" I couldn't finish it.
Those strong fingers stayed in my hair. Playing, soothing. "There ain't nothing you can dish out I can't handle. Nothing."
I put my head down on his chest, threaded my fingers through the curls of hair. "So scared of hurting you. Driving you away."
"You won't. You couldn't." He sounded so sure I looked up again. "You call my name, Cody. You talk to me. You know who I am." He hesitated. "You gotta know, baby... I'll never push you somewhere it ain't safe for you to go."
I thought about that, put my head down again. Laid my lips against his skin. "I... talk to you? What do I say?"
"Just stuff."
That got me a little worried. "Like... maybe army stuff?"
"No." This time he answered fast. I waited, and when he didn't say anymore, I sat up.
He winced as his body released me, then reached out, laid a hand on my arm. "It's nothing you gotta worry about, okay?"
I shook my head. "Tell me."
He looked sorta uncomfortable, which was weird by itself. Then he shrugged a shoulder and pulled at me gently until I lay back down, curling up along his side. I put my head on his shoulder, he wrapped an arm around my back, an' just like that, I was secure.
Fuckin' magic, him and me.
"You tell me we're forever. That we're always gonna be together, that you'll die without me. That--that I'll die without you." His breath caught in his throat.
I lay still, holding him close, drifting on the deep-water dance of the Riptide and the sweet, safe feeling growing inside me. "Forever, huh?" I kissed him, which ain't something we do a lot, 'cept when we're fucking. But he didn't complain. "Anything else?"
"Just one thing." He pulled me a little closer, slid one hand down to rub my tailbone, the other up to the back of my neck. "You tell me you love me. And--and then you ask if I love you back."
I was kinda shocked, I admit. Not at the sentiment; that ain't even a question. But at the word, and at Nick bringing it up. "You hate that word."
"Turns out..." He paused, then kissed me back, slow, deep, forever. Stole my breath, breathed my soul. "Turns out that ain't a hard and fast rule."
He came out looking for his breakfast, warm sleepy blue eyes, gold hair all mussed. Relaxed like he never is in port, and wearing a little smile that had nothing to do with the sea, if I was any judge, and everything to do with last night.
I gave him a plate of pancakes, hot, sweet and soft, just like he likes 'em. Slid in opposite and watched him eat, put his coffee in his hand the second before he asked for it.
"You're spoiling me," he said with a grin. "I might get used to it."
Truth is, I don't care if he does. Last night, I took him high, too high maybe. Too close to the edge. Shook him up. And in the end we did a lot of talking, used words we never touched before.
"Been thinking we should take a vacation. After this job."
Cody raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? Skiing in the Rockies? Sightseeing in Times Square?"
Yeah, he's a smartass. "Shuddup in the cheap seats. Mexico, genius."
"Cheap seats, huh? I'll have you know, nothing about my boat's cheap." He grinned. "Why?"
"Does there gotta be a why?" I had a hundred whys. Because the goldbrown scrubby hillside I was thinkin' of was the place Cody had really come back to me. Because things had started on that hill, and maybe I wanted to see it again. Because last night something had started, too, and it had gotten me thinking.
Because goin' there meant flying, and it was months since I'd been in the air.
"With you, there's always a why." He gave me a shrewd look. "This about last night?"
"Yes. No. Last night had nothing to do with Mexico."
He pushed away his plate and came round to my side of the booth. Slid in close. "Soon as we raise this boat and get paid, we'll go. Deal?"
"Deal." I swallowed a lump in my throat. Thing is, Cody gets it. For him, it's the deeps. For me, it's a hidden chunk of scrub too rough even for goats, just south of the border.
He raised my chin, looked in my eyes then kissed me, hungry-soft. Made me melt inside; made me wonder why I'd never had a kiss for breakfast before.
I went back in and took another kiss. Tasted the sugar-sweet of pancakes over the perfect-sweet of Cody. I breathed deep, nearly drunk on his presence.
Cody grinned at me. Happy, confident. Free. "C'mon, big guy. We got a boat to raise and a vacation to plan, and it turns out I got plans for this morning."
