“Shhh,” said John with a soft look of relief in his eyes. “Giving that order broke my heart and still does. This’s just one of those times that life is hard.”
Nick realized the worst of the pain had been driven away, by drugs and a sharp reality check. And he wanted out of this chair, out of these straps, now.
“I’m ready to get out of this thing,” said Nick, willing himself not to struggle against the straps.
John didn’t even hesitate long enough to reply. His fingers found the buckles and released Nick at lightning speed. He pulled Nick to his feet, supporting most of his weight, and rolled him onto the gurney.
Not for the first time, Nick was a little awed by how strong the agent was. He was weak, drugged, and restrained, and virtually helpless to help position himself. John laid him precisely on his side so he wouldn’t have to lie on his stomach or his bound wrists.
The soft surface of the gurney and the sheet covering it was heaven. Nick closed his eyes and relished the sensation with every nerve. John spread Kasdan’s blanket back over his nearly-bare body, tucking the wonderful softness of the fleece around his shoulders and legs.
Nick doubted the entire operation had taken more than thirty seconds. “You been practicing that in your head?”
“Yep.”
“If there’s a competition, I award full points.”
John had to smile a little. “That’d be the most fucked-up competition ever.”
“Doubt it.”
“Still don’t think I’ll be putting my championship trophy in the living room,” said John dryly.
“No, that one goes in your sex dungeon.”
John snorted with laughter, and Nick was grinning himself by the time John managed to control his startled fits of snickering.
JOHN
“I’ll sit with you until that shot kicks in enough that you can let me take the cuffs off.”
John hesitated, and decided they were both probably thinking about the same thing. “Speaking of sex dungeons --”
Nick grinned broadly. “That’s always a fantastic segue into conversation. Especially from the point of view of the guy chained up in a cell.”
John tried desperately not to lose it again, and Nick let out an involuntary giggle. They were both hitting the point of stress-drunk exhaustion that led to zany, dark fits of humor.
“You think you’re gonna be able to handle the search when it comes time for that?” asked John. “I know it’s gotta be humiliating and scary.”
Nick sort of shrugged. “They’re good at it -- not much worse than going to a doctor. They don’t touch you. An’ I’m not that easy to humiliate. It wasn’t the search I couldn’t handle.”
“Okay,” said John, drawing a breath and letting it out in relief. “The guys doing the search in Riker’s didn’t hurt you, right?”
“Nah. They didn’t really even search me, just cut my clothes off. Weren’t nice, but weren’t interested in hurting me.” Nick gave a low chuckle. “That horrifying image that’s all over the internet just happens to show the scary boots of the only guards that didn’t do me any harm at all.”
John couldn’t return the chuckle. “What about the doctor here? Any good?”
“Pretty decent,” said Nick. “Thinks everyone’s faking everything, but he’ll listen to the COs if they say you’re not.”
“How exactly does a guy fake having been beat half to death as he walks in with blood covering his wrists and ankles?” asked John.
“Sex dungeon?” suggested Nick, eyes twinkling.
John choked on his laughter again. “God, I hope nobody’s recording this conversation.”
Nick gave him a smug smile, and his eyes drifted shut. The talking and the humor were things he could only manage in spurts before pain and reality came sniffing back around for him.
John sat with him while he slowly relaxed, his breathing becoming even and his tense muscles melting.
“John?” Nick asked maybe twenty minutes later.
“Yes?”
“Can you -- please -- try to get the cuffs off now? It hurts.”
“Of course,” said John, the ache in his heart returning.
He started running his hand gently down Nick’s arm. There would be no grabbing, no unexpected moves. He was going to take his time and reassure Nick with every touch that this wouldn’t hurt.
“You don’t have to say please, and you don’t have to give a reason. I want nothing more than to get these things off you.”
Nick wasn’t the only one who’d been braced for a repeat of the agony of taking the cuffs off in Riker’s. John still had day-mares of the way Nick had quivered in silent endurance of obviously excruciating pain.
John exhaled in relief when he saw they’d been applied correctly, not clamped down onto tender skin the way some rough officers might have done it, and Larson’s strap was keeping pressure off the wounds.
“This isn’t gonna hurt,” he was able to reassure Nick. “I’m gonna move slow and gentle so I don’t scare you, take the cuffs off, then untie that strap and get the leg irons off."
“Okay,” said Nick, his voice faint. John got the idea he would’ve okayed being knocked out with a nightstick if it meant being able to get through this.
John took a minute to just run his fingers down Nick’s arms, to relax them both, to get Nick grounded in the fact that this was John touching him, and it was safe. Then he did the same with Nick’s hands, and gently slipped a finger between his wrist and the cuff. He let Nick feel that, and explored with gentle care while the tension eased from his friend’s body. It took only a minute for Nick to be able to let him hold and shift the cuffs, and John unlocked them without fanfare.
“There.” John’s voice came out scratchy. Why nobody had taken the time to do this.... Why he hadn’t .... if he'd been there ....
Nick blinked. “That was it?”
“Yep.”
He’s still sweet about it.
That’s what Kasdan had said. John didn’t have a problem handcuffing someone as a precaution, or if they needed restraining. But they too quickly veered into a horrific, medieval symbol of abuse of power. The line was fine enough that he didn’t care to examine it too closely, especially when it was his closest friend lying here.
John fumbled with the knot on the strap, and decided Larson was in his good graces again. The man who did this cared very much about Nick’s comfort. It was wrapped so that only the broad, flat, comfortable surfaces touched him. The knot was up between Nick’s arms so that it wouldn’t be pressing into him when he leaned back in the chair. It barely left a mark on Nick’s skin.
Nick let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a whimper when his arms released. John rolled him almost onto his stomach and put his arms down by his side, and he gasped in relief.
John found the strained muscles along Nick’s back and shoulders that he’d learned to massage over the past week and a half. He rubbed gently, then started massaging with firmer pressure. Nick’s whimper was one of appreciation this time.
“That’s -- feels so good I want to cry,” he whispered.
There was a sudden wet warmth in John’s eyes.
“Nick?” John felt like this was something he wouldn’t normally say, but needed to. “I’m sorry you have to endure all this. Handcuffs, searches, anklets ....being my prisoner. It’s not something we normally require of a person, or ask them to be okay with. Occasionally I feel very awful that this has to be normal to you. And I may kick you around, but I don’t look down on you. I respect you enormously.”
Nick sat up halfway, wiggled close, and hugged him, avoiding eye contact. John hugged him back, and Nick crumbled into his arms. “You’re brilliant and tough and amazing and wonderful.”
How can he handle this?
This was one incredibly strong young man with a gentle and fierce heart. Fiercely self-reliant, proud, intelligent, capable, playful, adventurous, filled with a joy of life ....there were so many similarities
between himself and Nick. But he knew that if he were asked to endure this level of - what, submission? Subjugation? - he could never endure it with the grace Nick did. Especially not with his spirit and will and dignity and good nature intact.
He could feel that Nick trusted him with some of the pain that caused. And he could, in their quieter and more sensitive moments, feel Nick’s pain himself. Like it was shared with him in trust, trust that he would feel it.
On a deeper level than empathy or understanding. He didn’t even want sympathy for it, he wanted ....to be seen? To be felt, not felt for. He wanted company behind all those carefully constructed masks. Nick was as deeply social as he was guarded.
Like when Nick stood close to his side, he was letting John close enough to feel.
“You’ve got no idea what that means after a day like this,” said Nick.
“And you’ve got no idea how honored I am to be your friend,” said John softly. He stroked Nick’s shoulder. I feel you.
Nick closed his eyes in bliss. He plainly cherished this, and so did John.
“I love you,” whispered John.
Nick’s eyes flew open, and he stared at John in desperate longing and fear.
You weren’t getting rid of me?
There was something so scared in Nick. So willing to believe the worst. That John saw him as some sort of ....what?
He knew he had Nick’s trust on a rare and deeply sincere level. But Nick could still be afraid of him, and capable of thinking that John would abandon or even physically hurt him in a heartbeat. There were times he would chew Nick out and see an unmistakable flash of fear.
John had always secretly been afraid, in a private bit of guilt, that prison had put that fear there. That being yelled at by an authority figure was a harbinger of much worse to come. Nick was a sensitive person in many ways, and never more so than when a person he cared about was angry with him.
Oh.
John closed his eyes.
For a guarded, secretive guy, Nick came right out and told John a lot of things. And John knew he had a way of not listening.
In an instant, he was back in their guest room.
Not - when I was old enough to remember. But my father - beat me with a belt. I don’t remember - I know it happened, because I had nightmares about it. About crying and begging him to stop.
Before Nick’s earliest memories, he’d been shattered by someone he trusted and loved. Someone in a position of authority over him.
Of course he was afraid of John, amid all of his almost breathtaking trust and acceptance. Between the background with his father and the fact that his first encounters with John had resulted in arrest and being sent to the state’s most infamous prison for years....
Nick could “know” all he wanted that John didn’t think he belonged in maximum security. He could “know” John hadn’t handed down that sentence. But he clearly didn’t know that on a deep, gut and heart level.
On some level, an emotional and not a logical one, John had taken one look at him and thrown him into this place without remorse.
He ran his hand lightly across Nick’s back. The man had been beaten and hurt more ways than he cared to count, and still took comfort in touch and human contact. He gave John his trust and affection at great risk, considering the history.
So this was what people meant when they talked about the unbreakability of the human spirit.
“When you get out of here --” John hesitated, not having any idea how to say what he felt. “I’ll try to do better. I’ll try to be someone you’ll never feel fear of.”
Nick’s arms squeezed him fiercely.
“In the meanwhile -- try not to feel alone in here. You’re loved, you’re valued, you’re important to us. You’re whole, and perfect, and don’t need to do anything but rest and heal. Got it?”
Nick’s arms tightened until they were shaking, and he nodded with his face hidden against John’s chest. “Thanks,” he said in a shaky whisper.
JOHN
John sprang to his feet when he saw a nurse approaching. Every nerve in his body had been wound tight as he listened for any outcry from behind closed doors. Handing his traumatized and vulnerable partner right back to the people he’d had to rescue him from scared John more than it did Nick. Nick seemed remarkably calm about being wheeled off on a gurney to face things John didn’t want to even think about.
“We want to monitor his stomach wounds and blood pressure for a few hours at least, to make sure nothing got tore open inside, so he’s on the main floor,” explained the nurse. “You’re going to find he’s really out of it, the doctor had us give him Ativan. It’s a sedative anti-anxiety medication. The guy just basically wants to be unconscious right now, and this’ll put him out.”
The main floor of the infirmary held maybe ten hospital beds, not all of them occupied. It was quiet, and looked less like a prison than the actual hospital room Nick had been in. Nick was on his side on a comfortable-looking bed, and John relaxed for the first time in hours.
He was covered with a white blanket plus the soft fleece Starry Night that Kasdan had brought him, and his eyes were closed. His face was relaxed, without the horrible sweaty sheen of pain and fear. It was washed away, his hair damp and ruffled. He was pale, limp, and looked exhausted, but comfortable. Under that blanket, he made orange scrubs look almost homey.
There was an IV bag hanging near the bed, its tube snaking into Nick’s arm. John pointed at it, raising his eyebrows in question.
“He’s dehydrated,” explained the nurse. “Just getting some fluids and electrolytes into him.”
John sat down on a chair beside the bed. “You ‘wake?”
Nick nodded and forced his eyes open. “Barely. I’ve had it. Sedated, feels nice.”
John smiled. Feels nice was the sort of thing he needed to hear Nick say right now. “You hurting?”
“Don’ thinkso. If I am, I’m too sleepy to care.”
“Everything go okay?”
“Fine. Really nice to me.”
“Mari got us a hotel room here in Ossining, one of those extended stay places. We’re staying right here until you get out.”
Nick blinked and gulped over and over again, trying not to cry.
“She told me she got a bottle of champagne, too. Keeping it chilled and waiting for you.”
“Aww-ww.” Nick couldn’t even say that much without his voice cracking, and he gave in and sniffed. He wiped his eyes, and John noticed his wrists were neatly bandaged again.
“Curry wanted me to tell you he’s sorry. He knows -- he admitted he made a mistake forcing us apart, said he needs to learn to trust his agents more.” John lowered his voice. “And his consultants.”
Nick’s eyes lit up in what looked like true delight. “He said that?”
“Sure did.”
Nick heaved a contented sigh and closed his eyes.
“You feel safe here overnight?” asked John.
“Yes,” whispered Nick.
“I’ll stay by this bed all night if you want me to.”
Nick’s lips turned up in a smile. “Go sleep. Thas what I gonna do.”
“Okay,” said John. “I’ll come see you tomorrow morning.”
“G’night, John.”
John hesitated. “We okay, Nick?”
Nick stuck a hand out from under the blanket and patted the bed next to him.
John leaned close, and Nick reached out and took his arm in an uncoordinated grip and tugged, and pressed his forehead against John’s arm with his eyes closed in complete love. “Why don’ you ever give up on me?”
“Because you do things like this,” said John. He gave Nick a light hug with his free arm. “Go to sleep. It’ll be a better world when you wake up.”
Nick met his eyes. There was deep hurt there. But also curiosity, playfulness, a joy of life and adventure. He wasn’t facing this entirely with the attitude of a man being dragged through misery, but also with interest. Nick also trusted him
with the concept that life was fun. Even this, in its way, was an adventure.
Nick smiled. “I like this one.”
John’s heart skipped a beat. Oh, God, I love you, Nick Aster.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Like Anklets
JOHN
The Ossining Econo-Business Hotel and Suites Resort lobby bore a striking resemblance to the Sing Sing infirmary. Clutching a plastic room key, John opened a metal door with a polycarbonate window into the “business center.”
Broken Blue Lines: Love. Hate. Criminal Justice.: An FBI Crime Drama / LGBT+ Love Story Page 26
