riptide_asylum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
riptide_asylum) wrote2012-11-01 06:36 pm
riptide_asylum) wrote2012-11-01 06:36 pm
Entry tags:
"Unchained Melody" (AU, 1985)
Title: Unchained Melody
Rating:R
Summary: I thought I could drown in him, be one with him, live in him. I never knew just how true that was.
There's a photograph on the shelf in the salon. Me and Nick, two kids in uniform, still dumb enough to grin like we owned the whole world. It's one of my favorites. The look in his eyes, so young, so sweet -- that's the guy, right there, the one I fell for. No matter the changes, no matter what we been through together and apart, that's the guy I always got by my side.
Nick won't listen when I talk like that, but I know for sure he feels the same. I catch him, time to time, just staring at that picture with a faraway look in his eyes, like maybe he wishes we could go back.
I get that, I really do. Sounds strange, I guess -- that place, so full of death, of pain, of fear -- but we found each other there. What we got, it was born in the dark. Don't get me wrong, it won't ever change, I couldn't ever lose him; but over here, time to time, shit gets in the way.
Back in '72, there wasn't room for nothing between us. So raw, so filled with fear, so damn dark -- but he was my light, he kept my heart beating. I swear sometimes he kept me breathing by willpower alone.
What we had struggled to survive the good ol' USA. We used to kid around about home, tell each other how it was gonna be. I'm sure to this day we neither of us believed for a minute we'd ever step foot on American soil again.
He was so gung ho. He marched back home, never looked to left nor right, never waited for me. It took me a while to figure out he was scared, to understand. That was a dark time. I been places so low I figured I'd never get out, and maybe I wouldn't have -- not without him.
In the end, scared or not, he came to me. I still don't know how he found me... I think maybe it was instinct, or maybe, somehow, I stayed closer than I knew. One thing I can say for sure, I'd never willingly leave him. And now, at least, I dare to say the same about him.
That first night back, he cried like I've never seen. He'd been low too, close to the edge -- far too close. It chilled me how close I'd come to losing him completely. Nick has a dark side, and he'd let it have him -- nearly let it swamp him.
It took us a long time to find our way back to the light.
The MP's paid well, but Nick's never partnered successfully with anyone but me. Call it pride, if you want, but he's my guy -- I get him, that's why we work together so well. Anyone else -- well, it's disciplinary procedures three days a week. He got to fly, and we worked together whenever he could swing it, and together we stuck it out close on two years.
There was the pay, and there was a chunk of change Nick tricked out of a crooked colonel -- something I picked up on a recon mission. We shut down his betting shop and helped ourselves to the contents of his safe; then dropped out of sight for a couple of years.
Being a pilot, Nick can always get work. Sometimes it's the kind of work you don't look at too close, but even with Nick's no-drugs rule, there's a lot of stuff crosses the Mexican border that never sees a US customs shed. I crewed, helped out with the maintenance, tried sweet-talking the girl in the office. When that didn't work, at least I could fake up her records, hide Nick's real flying hours from the FAA.
And at last, we had no-one ordering us apart. We shared a tiny trailer, but Nick was on a hair-trigger -- the whop of rotors in the night, the clang of engine parts from the big hangar, the dry, gold dirt of California. As soon as word came down that our colonel was busted, I packed Nick in our pickup and aimed for the coast.
It was a long night. I let Nick drive -- it was safer than letting him think -- and it was close on dawn when we found a small town right on the water, a small town with the right kind of feel.
We started with a derelict boat, and a chopper that wouldn't fly. A little piece of money -- enough to eat on and run the lights -- no jobs, no friends. But we built a lot -- restored the old cruiser, got the Sikorsky in the air, built a network.
Harbor tours didn't pay well, but they were easy. The detective agency -- pay's better, but the hours are longer. And I can see Nick's trigger getting shorter. I don't know for sure how long we can keep it up.
The latest case we got, it's killing him. It's hard on all of us when it's kids, but Nick especially takes it to heart. He's got it in him to be a fixer, to try and save the world -- protect the women and children, an old-fashioned chivalry. I love it in him, but I hate watching it tear him apart.
He came to bed crying tonight, breaking the way he won’t let Murray see -- the way he'd rather not let me see. But I can read between the lines by now, and I know when he needs me close.
He jumped when I climbed into bed with him. "Thought you were out."
"I was." I kissed the back of his neck. I was too -- on the beach for maybe five minutes, long enough so he let his guard down.
He let me hold him, let me rub away his pain. Nothing could bring back the murdered little boy, but we were a day away from getting the kid some justice. It didn't feel good, but at least it felt right.
"Did you find anything out this afternoon while me and Murray were running that computer check?" he asked.
"Nah, I couldn't pick up any leads. Everything dead-ended."
"It probably doesn't matter. The money trail's wide open. Y'know, if we'd never have brought in Murray, I don't know how we'd do this, big guy."
"With a lot more shoe leather, I guess."
"Yeah, I guess." Nick sighed and nestled into my arms. He was tired, dog-tired -- too tired for sleep. Too tired for sex if you asked him, but I knew different. It's what he needs, and only I can give it to him.
Don't get me wrong, there've been girls. And he's a red-blooded guy, he does what comes naturally. But he's my guy this way too -- soft and needing, hungry, tender. When I think back to how it all began, how slow he went with me, how safe he made me feel -- man, I still tear up. I been ten years trying to make that up to him, trying to give him any fraction of what he gave to me.
It was quick -- when he's like this it's gotta be, else his head gets in the way. I held him, spent and broken, wrung out, in a place past thought, in the warm and comforting dark.
"Go to sleep, Nick. I got you. I'm watching."
"Don't wanna go to sleep."
"Why not?"
"Just want to stay here, Cody. With you. Don't wanna have to wake up... I'm tired of it all, y'know? So damn tired of going through the motions, keepin' on smiling, flying the chopper, finding the work."
"You can't quit. Promise me you won't quit." Turns me cold as ice when he talks like that. I felt him wince.
"It's so hard, man. So goddamn hard."
I gotta get him out of this. Just like I got him out of 'Nam, out of the MP's, out of that trailer. Anyone asks, he'll tell you those plans were his, but let me tell you: if I'd'a left it to him, he'd've stepped on a mine back in '74. It just takes some guys that way.
Trouble is, right now I'm fresh out of plans. Best I can do for him is sleep, and lead his dreams into the quiet places of the past. Right now, when the present ain't enough, it's all I have for him.
The sweet cloying heat of Vietnamese summer -- the shadow of a palm on the shanty walls. We're heat, fire, burning to consume us both. The quiet loving, the perfect simplicity of togetherness. I thought I could drown in him, be one with him, live in him. I never knew just how true that was.
Maybe it was too much to ask of him, I don't know. Maybe without me he'd be something else -- a colonel, a statesman. A husband, a father. Happy.
Dead.
I can't give him up -- I can't let him go. Once he kept me alive by sheer force of will alone. Least I can do is return the favor.
****
"Is this a picture of Nick when he was in the army? He used to be really cute."
"Portland -- Portland! Put that down, please."
"Murray, you're such a spoilsport." Portland giggled and tossed the photograph to Marion.
"Hey, whose Nick's friend? He's even cuter."
Murray succeeded in repossessing the picture, tutting. It was lucky Nick was still down at police headquarters looking at mugshots. "That's Cody Allen, Nick's partner."
"Hey, didn't Nick say a guy named Cody might take us waterskiing?" Marion wrinkled her brow. "Is that this guy?"
Murray let his eyes rest for a moment on the photograph in his hand, then reverently restored it to its place. "Cody didn't come back from Vietnam," he said heavily. "Please don't ask Nick about him. As for waterskiing, I'd be pleased to take you all myself."
The power flickered and went out. With a sigh, and a curse on all hairdryers, Murray went out onto the pier and crouched down at the fusebox. A moment later, Nick came down the companionway and joined him.
"Hey, Boz. Rough night?"
"Those girls are dynamite," Murray agreed, and rubbed his eyes. "How'd you go down at the station?"
"Yeah, we found one." Nick grinned.
"We?" Murray had to ask, even though he knew the answer. He purposefully kept his eyes on his wires, not wanting to see Nick's wince.
"I found one." Nick scrambled to his feet. "Anyway, I better check on our charges."
A moment later, someone ruffled Murray's hair. But when Murray looked, there was no-one there.
***
Cody's been a part of my life so long now I got no idea who I'd be without him. I sure as hell got no idea how I'd get through life without him -- no idea why I'd want to.
Doesn't stop me sneaking upstairs in the dark and checking out that photo, the one of us in the army. It's about the only proof I have he's real.
Sounds dumb, I know, when he's just across the room, lounging on the couch, yelling for the Padres to pull their heads out of their asses.
Maybe I'm crazy. I've considered that a lot of times. Those people with the voices in their heads. Only my voice is six-one, blond, and most of the time at least, scarily corporeal.
Only difference between the Cody I fought with -- the Cody I lost -- and this Cody, this guy who picked me up when I hit rock bottom, stood beside me ever since -- difference is that this guy, only I can see. Only I can hear.
Ghost? I dunno. I never believed in ghosts much. Some kind of fucked up memory? He's too real for that.
What I've come up with is, I need him. I need him here with me. So he's here, alive and real, because I need him to be.
Scary, huh? Not many guys got a partner who'll step up for them like that.
I always knew he was one in a million.
****
The TV snapped off and Murray looked up sharply. Nick was sitting in the corner, staring into the old army photo, paying no attention to the set. There was no-one near the TV.
"Power-cut?"
Nick shook himself and looked up, first over at the empty couch, then at Murray. "What?"
"The TV just went off. Was it a power cut?"
"No, it was --" Nick broke off and shrugged, then stood up. "You know what, Boz, I might take a nap."
Nick went downstairs slowly, as though he was waiting for someone. Murray leaned on the table, listening to the soft sounds as Nick moved around. Listening to the low rhythm of Nick's voice as Nick talked to his empty cabin, talked across the years to an audience of one.
There was no way to bring Cody back. And try though Murray had, dragging Nick along to singles parties and setting Nick up with every girl he knew, there seemed to be no way for Nick to move on. "I'm so sorry, Nick," Murray said softly.
"Don't be sorry, Boz. You're doing a great job."
Murray started, staring wildly around the room. It was empty save the Roboz -- who was two or more modules away from anything approaching speech. "Nick?" he asked shakily.
"You don't have to worry about Nick. I got his back." The sunlight falling through the blinds shimmered and moved, and for a fraction of an instant, Murray saw a tall blond standing at the top of the aft stairs. The guy was Nick's age, with a chiseled jaw and a thick gold mustache. As Murray stared, he winked, then disappeared.
Murray jumped to his feet and ran over to the stairs. They were empty, just as they'd been all along. Breathing hard, Murray turned and grabbed the photograph from the shelf.
Cody Allen stared out at him, tall and blond, younger and with no mustache, but with the same strong jaw, the same piercing blue eyes.
Murray laid down the picture. It wasn't possible. He'd obviously been hallucinating.
Downstairs, the stateroom door clicked shut and the low murmur of voices resumed. Nick's voice, Murray corrected himself. Nick's the only one there.
He'd seen nothing but a trick of the light in the salon, and heard nothing that couldn't be explained by an overactive imagination. It was the only explanation. But Murray went downstairs, gathered up his supply of ghost repellant and methodically tipped it all down the sink.
For a scientist, it was always best to err on the side of caution.
Rating:R
Summary: I thought I could drown in him, be one with him, live in him. I never knew just how true that was.
There's a photograph on the shelf in the salon. Me and Nick, two kids in uniform, still dumb enough to grin like we owned the whole world. It's one of my favorites. The look in his eyes, so young, so sweet -- that's the guy, right there, the one I fell for. No matter the changes, no matter what we been through together and apart, that's the guy I always got by my side.
Nick won't listen when I talk like that, but I know for sure he feels the same. I catch him, time to time, just staring at that picture with a faraway look in his eyes, like maybe he wishes we could go back.
I get that, I really do. Sounds strange, I guess -- that place, so full of death, of pain, of fear -- but we found each other there. What we got, it was born in the dark. Don't get me wrong, it won't ever change, I couldn't ever lose him; but over here, time to time, shit gets in the way.
Back in '72, there wasn't room for nothing between us. So raw, so filled with fear, so damn dark -- but he was my light, he kept my heart beating. I swear sometimes he kept me breathing by willpower alone.
What we had struggled to survive the good ol' USA. We used to kid around about home, tell each other how it was gonna be. I'm sure to this day we neither of us believed for a minute we'd ever step foot on American soil again.
He was so gung ho. He marched back home, never looked to left nor right, never waited for me. It took me a while to figure out he was scared, to understand. That was a dark time. I been places so low I figured I'd never get out, and maybe I wouldn't have -- not without him.
In the end, scared or not, he came to me. I still don't know how he found me... I think maybe it was instinct, or maybe, somehow, I stayed closer than I knew. One thing I can say for sure, I'd never willingly leave him. And now, at least, I dare to say the same about him.
That first night back, he cried like I've never seen. He'd been low too, close to the edge -- far too close. It chilled me how close I'd come to losing him completely. Nick has a dark side, and he'd let it have him -- nearly let it swamp him.
It took us a long time to find our way back to the light.
The MP's paid well, but Nick's never partnered successfully with anyone but me. Call it pride, if you want, but he's my guy -- I get him, that's why we work together so well. Anyone else -- well, it's disciplinary procedures three days a week. He got to fly, and we worked together whenever he could swing it, and together we stuck it out close on two years.
There was the pay, and there was a chunk of change Nick tricked out of a crooked colonel -- something I picked up on a recon mission. We shut down his betting shop and helped ourselves to the contents of his safe; then dropped out of sight for a couple of years.
Being a pilot, Nick can always get work. Sometimes it's the kind of work you don't look at too close, but even with Nick's no-drugs rule, there's a lot of stuff crosses the Mexican border that never sees a US customs shed. I crewed, helped out with the maintenance, tried sweet-talking the girl in the office. When that didn't work, at least I could fake up her records, hide Nick's real flying hours from the FAA.
And at last, we had no-one ordering us apart. We shared a tiny trailer, but Nick was on a hair-trigger -- the whop of rotors in the night, the clang of engine parts from the big hangar, the dry, gold dirt of California. As soon as word came down that our colonel was busted, I packed Nick in our pickup and aimed for the coast.
It was a long night. I let Nick drive -- it was safer than letting him think -- and it was close on dawn when we found a small town right on the water, a small town with the right kind of feel.
We started with a derelict boat, and a chopper that wouldn't fly. A little piece of money -- enough to eat on and run the lights -- no jobs, no friends. But we built a lot -- restored the old cruiser, got the Sikorsky in the air, built a network.
Harbor tours didn't pay well, but they were easy. The detective agency -- pay's better, but the hours are longer. And I can see Nick's trigger getting shorter. I don't know for sure how long we can keep it up.
The latest case we got, it's killing him. It's hard on all of us when it's kids, but Nick especially takes it to heart. He's got it in him to be a fixer, to try and save the world -- protect the women and children, an old-fashioned chivalry. I love it in him, but I hate watching it tear him apart.
He came to bed crying tonight, breaking the way he won’t let Murray see -- the way he'd rather not let me see. But I can read between the lines by now, and I know when he needs me close.
He jumped when I climbed into bed with him. "Thought you were out."
"I was." I kissed the back of his neck. I was too -- on the beach for maybe five minutes, long enough so he let his guard down.
He let me hold him, let me rub away his pain. Nothing could bring back the murdered little boy, but we were a day away from getting the kid some justice. It didn't feel good, but at least it felt right.
"Did you find anything out this afternoon while me and Murray were running that computer check?" he asked.
"Nah, I couldn't pick up any leads. Everything dead-ended."
"It probably doesn't matter. The money trail's wide open. Y'know, if we'd never have brought in Murray, I don't know how we'd do this, big guy."
"With a lot more shoe leather, I guess."
"Yeah, I guess." Nick sighed and nestled into my arms. He was tired, dog-tired -- too tired for sleep. Too tired for sex if you asked him, but I knew different. It's what he needs, and only I can give it to him.
Don't get me wrong, there've been girls. And he's a red-blooded guy, he does what comes naturally. But he's my guy this way too -- soft and needing, hungry, tender. When I think back to how it all began, how slow he went with me, how safe he made me feel -- man, I still tear up. I been ten years trying to make that up to him, trying to give him any fraction of what he gave to me.
It was quick -- when he's like this it's gotta be, else his head gets in the way. I held him, spent and broken, wrung out, in a place past thought, in the warm and comforting dark.
"Go to sleep, Nick. I got you. I'm watching."
"Don't wanna go to sleep."
"Why not?"
"Just want to stay here, Cody. With you. Don't wanna have to wake up... I'm tired of it all, y'know? So damn tired of going through the motions, keepin' on smiling, flying the chopper, finding the work."
"You can't quit. Promise me you won't quit." Turns me cold as ice when he talks like that. I felt him wince.
"It's so hard, man. So goddamn hard."
I gotta get him out of this. Just like I got him out of 'Nam, out of the MP's, out of that trailer. Anyone asks, he'll tell you those plans were his, but let me tell you: if I'd'a left it to him, he'd've stepped on a mine back in '74. It just takes some guys that way.
Trouble is, right now I'm fresh out of plans. Best I can do for him is sleep, and lead his dreams into the quiet places of the past. Right now, when the present ain't enough, it's all I have for him.
The sweet cloying heat of Vietnamese summer -- the shadow of a palm on the shanty walls. We're heat, fire, burning to consume us both. The quiet loving, the perfect simplicity of togetherness. I thought I could drown in him, be one with him, live in him. I never knew just how true that was.
Maybe it was too much to ask of him, I don't know. Maybe without me he'd be something else -- a colonel, a statesman. A husband, a father. Happy.
Dead.
I can't give him up -- I can't let him go. Once he kept me alive by sheer force of will alone. Least I can do is return the favor.
****
"Is this a picture of Nick when he was in the army? He used to be really cute."
"Portland -- Portland! Put that down, please."
"Murray, you're such a spoilsport." Portland giggled and tossed the photograph to Marion.
"Hey, whose Nick's friend? He's even cuter."
Murray succeeded in repossessing the picture, tutting. It was lucky Nick was still down at police headquarters looking at mugshots. "That's Cody Allen, Nick's partner."
"Hey, didn't Nick say a guy named Cody might take us waterskiing?" Marion wrinkled her brow. "Is that this guy?"
Murray let his eyes rest for a moment on the photograph in his hand, then reverently restored it to its place. "Cody didn't come back from Vietnam," he said heavily. "Please don't ask Nick about him. As for waterskiing, I'd be pleased to take you all myself."
The power flickered and went out. With a sigh, and a curse on all hairdryers, Murray went out onto the pier and crouched down at the fusebox. A moment later, Nick came down the companionway and joined him.
"Hey, Boz. Rough night?"
"Those girls are dynamite," Murray agreed, and rubbed his eyes. "How'd you go down at the station?"
"Yeah, we found one." Nick grinned.
"We?" Murray had to ask, even though he knew the answer. He purposefully kept his eyes on his wires, not wanting to see Nick's wince.
"I found one." Nick scrambled to his feet. "Anyway, I better check on our charges."
A moment later, someone ruffled Murray's hair. But when Murray looked, there was no-one there.
***
Cody's been a part of my life so long now I got no idea who I'd be without him. I sure as hell got no idea how I'd get through life without him -- no idea why I'd want to.
Doesn't stop me sneaking upstairs in the dark and checking out that photo, the one of us in the army. It's about the only proof I have he's real.
Sounds dumb, I know, when he's just across the room, lounging on the couch, yelling for the Padres to pull their heads out of their asses.
Maybe I'm crazy. I've considered that a lot of times. Those people with the voices in their heads. Only my voice is six-one, blond, and most of the time at least, scarily corporeal.
Only difference between the Cody I fought with -- the Cody I lost -- and this Cody, this guy who picked me up when I hit rock bottom, stood beside me ever since -- difference is that this guy, only I can see. Only I can hear.
Ghost? I dunno. I never believed in ghosts much. Some kind of fucked up memory? He's too real for that.
What I've come up with is, I need him. I need him here with me. So he's here, alive and real, because I need him to be.
Scary, huh? Not many guys got a partner who'll step up for them like that.
I always knew he was one in a million.
****
The TV snapped off and Murray looked up sharply. Nick was sitting in the corner, staring into the old army photo, paying no attention to the set. There was no-one near the TV.
"Power-cut?"
Nick shook himself and looked up, first over at the empty couch, then at Murray. "What?"
"The TV just went off. Was it a power cut?"
"No, it was --" Nick broke off and shrugged, then stood up. "You know what, Boz, I might take a nap."
Nick went downstairs slowly, as though he was waiting for someone. Murray leaned on the table, listening to the soft sounds as Nick moved around. Listening to the low rhythm of Nick's voice as Nick talked to his empty cabin, talked across the years to an audience of one.
There was no way to bring Cody back. And try though Murray had, dragging Nick along to singles parties and setting Nick up with every girl he knew, there seemed to be no way for Nick to move on. "I'm so sorry, Nick," Murray said softly.
"Don't be sorry, Boz. You're doing a great job."
Murray started, staring wildly around the room. It was empty save the Roboz -- who was two or more modules away from anything approaching speech. "Nick?" he asked shakily.
"You don't have to worry about Nick. I got his back." The sunlight falling through the blinds shimmered and moved, and for a fraction of an instant, Murray saw a tall blond standing at the top of the aft stairs. The guy was Nick's age, with a chiseled jaw and a thick gold mustache. As Murray stared, he winked, then disappeared.
Murray jumped to his feet and ran over to the stairs. They were empty, just as they'd been all along. Breathing hard, Murray turned and grabbed the photograph from the shelf.
Cody Allen stared out at him, tall and blond, younger and with no mustache, but with the same strong jaw, the same piercing blue eyes.
Murray laid down the picture. It wasn't possible. He'd obviously been hallucinating.
Downstairs, the stateroom door clicked shut and the low murmur of voices resumed. Nick's voice, Murray corrected himself. Nick's the only one there.
He'd seen nothing but a trick of the light in the salon, and heard nothing that couldn't be explained by an overactive imagination. It was the only explanation. But Murray went downstairs, gathered up his supply of ghost repellant and methodically tipped it all down the sink.
For a scientist, it was always best to err on the side of caution.