"Hey!" protested Nick. He still had his hand on John's chest, and he gave it an adorable, weak little shove. A wave of warmth and relief and love swept through John. Nick Aster was alive in there. Alive and healing.
"I missed you out here," said John. "I'm supposed to have a Nick Aster at my side complaining and scheming at all times."
Nick raised his head to look up into John's eyes, a smile lighting up his face and eyes in true delight.
He meant it. It wasn't a con. Nick loved him and needed him, and needed his intense caring to be reciprocated. The little con artist was just too scared to show it. And no wonder, if this was the sort of thing life and people did to him.
Mari emerged from the car, and she and Nick hugged, Mari just as fiercely as John had, Nick with gentle grace.
JOHN
Mari drove, with John and Nick in back. The cat burglar was back there, and at first Nick simply left it sitting between them. He looked out the window in silence, his expression and breathing as controlled as the environment he was leaving behind.
After a while, his hand snuck out and started stroking the black fur, and he ventured a split-second sideways glance at John’s reaction. John caught his eyes and they both froze.
This was the grown man and the confused child. The suave, tough survivor and the wounded crime victim. The hard prison inmate and the sweet, soft human being. The man who trusted nobody and the friend who’d fallen asleep snuggled up against him and Mari. John’s consultant and prisoner, and his partner and best friend. He was profoundly confused, and finding himself.
Nick’s eyes fell, and he bit his lower lip and pulled the cat burglar into his lap and hid his face in the soft fur of its back. He sat like that, with his arms folded across his chest, legs held tightly together, his head tilted down as his eyes watched the terrain flick by on the highway. He seemed almost as though he were leaning away from John.
"You avoiding me because of my standard-issue evilness, or did I do something?" asked John.
Nick shot him a tense but amused glance. "I haven't showered in three days. I must smell like a skunk on a bender. After this and bleeding all over it, I owe your poor car a spa day."
"There's only one person here that's owed a spa day, and it's not the car," said John.
"Aww, thanks, hon," said Mari from the driver's seat.
"I was talking about me," retorted John.
Nick rolled his eyes. "You two want me to take you to a spa, you don't need to beat around the bush with hints. Just tell me."
John frowned. "I am not letting any of your friends near me with hot rocks."
"That's ....probably a good plan," admitted Nick. "But I wanna see you painted white with cucumbers over your eyes."
"And I want to see you with an orange manicure," said John.
"I'm booking all three of us a spa when we get home," said Mari with an undercurrent in her voice that was fifty percent glee and fifty percent iron resolve.
"Spa day with Nick Aster," muttered John. "Now that's a plan I never thought I'd participate in within my lifetime."
Nick batted his eyes at John. "Why wait until you're dead to take me to a spa?"
"Mari!" said John. "Turn this car around, we're going back to the prison."
“I’ll get right on that, hon,” retorted Mari. “Nick ....would you -- like to come home with us? We’ve missed having you there.”
Nick raised his head and gave John a distressed, longing look that John waited for him to reluctantly elaborate on. “Guys -- thanks. But -- I’ve spent the last little while in solitary confinement in a concrete box, and that -- it’s going to take me a few days to figure out which side is up again in the real world.”
John patted him on the shoulder, and rubbed softly with his thumb. “Let me guess, you’ve always been alone to deal with being locked up alone.”
“That sounds -- like I’m supposed to feel sorry for myself,” said Nick. “I don’t. I’m just dazed. It’s not a mood, or an attitude. It’s just ….a thing. I go between psychopath-cold and teenager-emotional for a little bit until I get back into the swing of how to ‘person’ again.”
“I might be wrong,” said Mari. “But if I had to deal with that, I’d want to be in a normal, warm home eating dinner with friends, and have the option to fall asleep being held by two people determined to show you how not alone in the world you are.”
“Come stay with us for a bit,” urged John. “Don’t worry about adjusting. If you wanna lock yourself in the bathroom dressed in orange with the lights on, I’ll only judge a little.”
Nick burst out laughing. “Can you slam the doors a lot, call me by my last name, and chain me up if I get any bright ideas about wanting to see natural light?”
“Sure thing, Aster,” said John with a grin. “Anything to make you feel at home.”
Nick hugged the cat burglar tighter and gave John a look of true joy.
NICK
Nick tried to feel elated, or happy, or at least relieved. All he felt was numb. Like he'd been run through a washing machine and completely given up on not being tumbled around. He wasn't unhappy; just seeing things through a filter that took the reality off them. It was as if he were watching a dull movie, only he was in it.
He shook his head, but couldn't break through the filter.
"Nick?" John's voice was low and gentle.
Nick decided to simply be honest. The only one he might be saving face around was Mari, but he was certain John had filled her in on most of the trials of the last week. "I can't feel right now. Not happy, not sad. Everything's filtered out."
John didn't respond, just squeezed Nick's hand.
"It -- happens to me in solitary," Nick admitted after a minute. "Something in me turns off. Walls are an off switch for Aster."
"You'll come back on line," John assured him. "We'll wait while you reboot."
Nick recognized that as funny, even though mirth was one of those things he wasn't feeling, and forced a grin. "Is coming to your house restarting the Aster in Safe Mode?"
"Yeah. I keep trying to install software patches and bug fixes, but they never seem to work as intended," complained John. "The system rolls them back without authorization."
"That's because you keep trying to grant yourself Admin privileges without clearing it through the system owner," retorted Nick. He was silent for a few minutes before venturing a quiet question. “How is Agent Kasdan?”
“I got a text saying he was hospitalized but stable,” said John.
“Is the hospital here in Ossining?” asked Nick.
“Yeah....” John frowned.
“He’s probably in pain, isn’t he?” asked Nick.
John developed an intense interest in the back of the headrest in front of him. “Probably a bit,” said John. “I imagine they’re keeping him comfortable though.”
Nick was silent, wondering if it would be okay to ask to visit Kasdan. He was surprised John hadn’t suggested it, given the agent had just saved his life. But then again.... John hadn’t spent any real time with the guy, and saving lives was pretty much what FBI agents were supposed to do.
John hadn’t been there to see how sincerely caring and supportive Kasdan had been, and even then might just accuse the agent of being “soft” on Nick.
I needed soft, John, he thought indignantly.
Then he remembered John had been the one to choose Kasdan in the first place, over hundreds of other probably perfectly decent FBI agents. John might have joked about keeping him in line, but he’d also picked the most soft-hearted, openly caring, non-domineering agent Nick had ever met.
“Do you want to stop and see him on the way out of town?” asked John.
Nick nodded. “Yeah.”
Nick’s head buzzed a bit walking through the halls of the hospital, and he had to stop twice to catch his breath and get hold of himself. It looked entirely too much like a prison in some ways, and also reminded him not-so-delightfully of some terrifying minutes before surg
ery.
Neil Kasdan was in a private room with his wife Telah, a petite and drop-dead-gorgeous woman with the most resplendent flowing micro-braided hair Nick had ever seen. She was reading a two-inch-thick textbook on bio molecular engineering.
His six-year-old daughter Zoe was wearing a Batman shirt and building Wayne Manor out of Legos on the floor. His four-year-old boy Dustin was lying next to Kasdan, holding a stuffed TARDIS against his chest.
Nick shook hands with the agent’s almost obnoxiously adorable family before getting to ask after Kasdan’s situation.
“External burns, a cracked rib, and a few truly horrifying minutes where they gave me drugs to reset my heart and it felt like I was dying,” said Kasdan. “But they said I don’t seem to have internal burns, which I didn’t know were even a thing until today, and my heart appears to be beating properly.”
“They’re letting us bring him home tomorrow, if his heart behaves itself,” said Telah.
“Daddy was in prison?” said Dustin, like he was still confused about it.
Nick bent down to his level. “I was in prison. Your daddy came there to save me and my friend from bad guys, and the bad guys hurt him a bit.”
“Are you a bad guy?” asked Dustin.
Nick had to think about that one for a moment. “I’m sort of in between. I want to be a good guy, but sometimes I do bad guy things.”
“Come on, Dustin,” said Telah, standing. “Come on, Zoe. Let’s go find some juice.” She flashed Nick a knowing grin, and mouthed Thank you. “We’re going to let daddy talk about work with his friend.”
“My daddy’s an FBI agent,” boasted Zoe on the way out.
The smile left Kasdan’s face once they were gone, leaving Nick with the vulnerable agent he’d come to visit. Kasdan looked like he was trying not to cry. “I feel so bad, Nick. I had this sweet, funny, brilliant co-worker for two days, then I ....yeah, pretty much aided in his kidnapping and torture. I can’t sleep, I get up and want to punch a hole in the wall.”
Nick sat down in the chair Telah had vacated and took Kasdan’s right hand firmly in his. “I couldn’t have asked for a better handler. Why you doing the whole guilt thing all of a sudden?”
Kasdan grimaced. “John ripped into me pretty good the night we took you to Sing Sing. Said I should have stayed with you on intake, and that I left when you needed me most, and that I sat there and read to you while you were being tortured. I defended myself, but then I thought about it.”
“John doesn’t do tact when he’s irritated,” said Nick. “But—”
Kasdan cut him off with an upraised left hand, which had an IV line trailing from the back of it. “I’m Jewish. That makes me really take accusations of not doing anything, or standing by, or not fighting, really personally. I led you into a prison and let them torture you.”
“Ideals are good,” said Nick. “But sometimes they have to bend to reality. You were never going to change prison procedure. And I don’t dispute that was torture for me to live through, but they were not torturing me. They were acting with care and concern within the demands of their procedures, and I don’t think you would have stood by if you’d sensed any malice in their behavior. Having you there caring and talking to me was — deeply felt.”
Kasdan looked away, his forehead lined with emotional tension. “You’re right, about malice. That guard, Larson, looked at like you were an abused puppy he wanted to adopt, and you seemed to trust and like him — I felt fine about it, and then I heard you screaming.”
“At which point, you burst in, cursing at them,” said Nick dryly. “That’s not standing by. Neither is throwing yourself in front of an electric baton to protect a fellow agent. I can’t tell you how much John means to me, and you saved his life. I’m going to find that kid of yours, and tell her that her daddy’s not just an FBI agent, he’s a hero.”
Neil couldn’t form words to reply, so he just squeezed Nick’s hand tightly in return.
“Are you really okay?” asked Nick after a bit. “Are you in pain?”
“Kinda,” said Kasdan. “It hurts to breathe, but they have me doped up. I’m still rattled, I guess. I know I’ll be okay, but -- I keep seeing that man pressing his baton into my chest while I was screaming, and — I could see in his eyes he was trying to kill me.”
“You’ll be seeing that for a while,” said Nick quietly. “Nothing you do or think will make the sick feeling go away. You’ll feel like you’re on a different planet from everyone who didn’t just have that done to them.”
“Does anything help?” asked Kasdan.
“Time,” said Nick. “Friends who’ll put up with you being irrational for a bit. You have more company on that planet than you think. We all hide this kind of scar, so you can’t see how many people have them.”
“Do you by any chance want a spare friend?” asked Kasdan.
Nick grinned. “I kinda do, if you don’t mind that he just got out of prison.”
“Can I introduce you that way, so that people will think I’m badass by association?” asked Kasdan.
Nick had to laugh. “You ....really shouldn’t say the word badass when you speak like a cross between a college professor and a NPR announcer.”
“Badass,” said Kasdan, narrowing his eyes in defiance. “And you shouldn’t be one to talk, fashion model.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Home
NICK
Nick tried to connect to reality, to be in this house instead of observing it like it was a television show. The realities of solitary confinement in a maximum security prison and the realities of an upper-middle-class house with the warmth of a loving couple and a friendly dog were so at odds that his mind had no option but to classify one of the two as fake. It didn't help that this reality was one he'd imagined in his cell, conjured up to comfort himself.
He ran his hand down the coarse fur of Ochre's back. The dog's wagging stub-tail rewarded his efforts. He caressed two soft ears, and received a wet lick on the chin in return. Television scenes didn't tend to lick you, at least in Nick's experience.
Ochre sniffed him over with fascinated intensity, and Nick was painfully aware that his last shower had been the day before yesterday. He felt disgusting: stale and filthy. There was un-groomed stubble on his face. He had on a used white t-shirt and pilling polyester pants given to him when exiting prison.
He looked up at John and Mari, feeling awkward. "I know this seems like a big imposition, but would it be possible for me to use your shower? I feel.... dirty."
Maybe taking a shower would help him shift back into free Aster.
"Of course," said John.
Mari nodded. "We have fresh razors and toothbrushes, I'll grab you a set. If you'd like to change into something comfortable, I can find some sweats and a shirt of John's?"
"That'd be wonderful," said Nick.
A few minutes later, John, eyes twinkling, handed him a pair of lightweight gray sweatpants and a folded cotton t-shirt. "For your convenience in locking yourself in the bathroom wearing orange." The shirt was a mock baseball jersey, bright orange with navy blue trim and lettering.
Nick almost chuckled, the most emotion he'd felt since his release. "I'm gonna smack you for that, once I smell better."
"Freshly washed smackdowns are the best kind," agreed John gravely.
Nick ran the shower until the hot water ran out, trying to wash away the entire experience. He was still bruised up, but starting to enter the "not in pain all the time" phase, and the drumming of hot water on his body felt wonderful. He shaved, closed his eyes, and took a series of deep, gasping breaths. He was used to enduring. Used to leaving the things he endured behind him. He could feel it happening now, an internal shrug taking the place of abject trauma.
Yeah, I got beat up. That's unique in human history, all right.
Pepper spray goes away, and my wrists and shoulders will heal. I'm alive and free-ish and not crippled. Millions of torture victims across time could only pray fo
r that easy an out. I'm lucky.
The bad guys didn't win.
In his experience, things usually worked out okay. Even terribly dark, frightening things. This had come close to breaking him, to killing him. But it worked out okay. Better than okay. If he could stuff the darkness back into the shadows where it belonged, he had a loving family, new friends, a way to start comprehending his own behavior,
Emerging from the shower, Nick took in a deep breath and stood naked in front of the mirror. It was a surreal sight; unlike the views that had horrified him after the attack, he looked like him again. There were bruises, yes, and healing wounds.
But the cuts in his stomach were no longer inflamed and lethal-looking, just little stripes. He decided to leave the bandages off his wrists and ankles from now on; the wounds were closed, no longer open to infection, and healing rapidly. The ever-changing landscape of colored bruises was no longer inflamed, not terribly tender, and starting to fade.
Broken Blue Lines: Love. Hate. Criminal Justice.: An FBI Crime Drama / LGBT+ Love Story Page 50
