riptide_asylum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
riptide_asylum) wrote2012-01-04 07:37 pm
riptide_asylum) wrote2012-01-04 07:37 pm
Entry tags:
"The Distance He Has Gone" (Out of the Dark, 2008)
Title: The Distance He Has Gone
Rating: PG
Summary: Nick doesn't have to talk in his sleep, not with Cody around doing all that listening.
Cody knows Nick better than the ocean, at this point. Thirty years, they figured out, not too long ago. Thirty years since Southeast Asia and the first time Cody handed Nick a screwdriver when he'd asked for an Allen wrench. Thirty years since they'd looked at each other and just known. Thirty years since they'd kept each other sane and whole, learning a language of touch and look and silence, the one they use to this day.
Sometime along the way it became automatic; the way Cody drops a hand on Nick's right shoulder and knows he'll look left; the way Nick grins with his eyes, unashamed every time he’s caught staring at Cody’s ass; the way the two of them lean together in a crowd, shoulder to shoulder, on watch against the rest of the world. All the things they can tell each other across a room without speaking.
And Cody knows Nick's hurting.
Not the physical kind. Not like the bar-brawl bruises from MPs, or the petty scrapes and grumbles they picked up as PI's, nor yet like the creaks and groans of growing older, but something so quiet he’s sure no one else can hear.
Last week, they'd come home from their after-dinner walk and the minute they set foot on the HighTide, Nick was convinced someone had come aboard in their absence. He'd scoured the boat with Cody at his heels, Nick cursing and Cody softly soothing, chasing after shadows and pulling guns out of all kinds of hiding places.
One of the things Nick's given Cody, over the years, is protection from fear. But when Nick pulled that Beretta from the icebox fully loaded with the safety off, Cody'd had a moment of doubt. And that was only thing that really snuck aboard that night.
Sleep, Cody thinks. Sleep will fix this.
So the next night he starts the familiar dance. The book and the tea and the herding, getting Nick into bed solely to keep Cody company while he reads, all the lights on, shadows driven out into the open. And Cody ignores the thick military adventure story in his hand and watches as Nick eventually succumbs to sleep.
Real sleep.
Not the regular kind, the nightmare soup they both swim in all too often, but real rest; Nick curled fetal and frowning around Cody, anchored to him. One leg over Cody's hip, one arm flung across his stomach, holding on tight, face buried deep against Cody’s side. And Cody waits. Waits for the tension in Nick's bad shoulder to ease. Waits for Nick’s grasping fingers to find his skin, speaking there of all-clear, of letting Cody take the next shift.
If he thinks about it, Cody feels flattered Nick trusts him enough to do this, to let go and fall. To stand down for a couple hours.
If he thinks about it, Cody feels like crying. His soldier. His protector. His knight in shining armor, starting to show rust at the seams. Now it's up to him to be the strong one, to find a way to get Nick home safe. And keep him there.
Rating: PG
Summary: Nick doesn't have to talk in his sleep, not with Cody around doing all that listening.
Cody knows Nick better than the ocean, at this point. Thirty years, they figured out, not too long ago. Thirty years since Southeast Asia and the first time Cody handed Nick a screwdriver when he'd asked for an Allen wrench. Thirty years since they'd looked at each other and just known. Thirty years since they'd kept each other sane and whole, learning a language of touch and look and silence, the one they use to this day.
Sometime along the way it became automatic; the way Cody drops a hand on Nick's right shoulder and knows he'll look left; the way Nick grins with his eyes, unashamed every time he’s caught staring at Cody’s ass; the way the two of them lean together in a crowd, shoulder to shoulder, on watch against the rest of the world. All the things they can tell each other across a room without speaking.
And Cody knows Nick's hurting.
Not the physical kind. Not like the bar-brawl bruises from MPs, or the petty scrapes and grumbles they picked up as PI's, nor yet like the creaks and groans of growing older, but something so quiet he’s sure no one else can hear.
Last week, they'd come home from their after-dinner walk and the minute they set foot on the HighTide, Nick was convinced someone had come aboard in their absence. He'd scoured the boat with Cody at his heels, Nick cursing and Cody softly soothing, chasing after shadows and pulling guns out of all kinds of hiding places.
One of the things Nick's given Cody, over the years, is protection from fear. But when Nick pulled that Beretta from the icebox fully loaded with the safety off, Cody'd had a moment of doubt. And that was only thing that really snuck aboard that night.
Sleep, Cody thinks. Sleep will fix this.
So the next night he starts the familiar dance. The book and the tea and the herding, getting Nick into bed solely to keep Cody company while he reads, all the lights on, shadows driven out into the open. And Cody ignores the thick military adventure story in his hand and watches as Nick eventually succumbs to sleep.
Real sleep.
Not the regular kind, the nightmare soup they both swim in all too often, but real rest; Nick curled fetal and frowning around Cody, anchored to him. One leg over Cody's hip, one arm flung across his stomach, holding on tight, face buried deep against Cody’s side. And Cody waits. Waits for the tension in Nick's bad shoulder to ease. Waits for Nick’s grasping fingers to find his skin, speaking there of all-clear, of letting Cody take the next shift.
If he thinks about it, Cody feels flattered Nick trusts him enough to do this, to let go and fall. To stand down for a couple hours.
If he thinks about it, Cody feels like crying. His soldier. His protector. His knight in shining armor, starting to show rust at the seams. Now it's up to him to be the strong one, to find a way to get Nick home safe. And keep him there.