Broken Blue Lines: Love. Hate. Criminal Justice.: An FBI Crime Drama / LGBT+ Love Story

by Ariadne Beckett

  His body was moving on.

  He looked like Nick Aster again, and soon, people would look at him and not see a trace of the pain he'd suffered. He wouldn't want it any other way; he'd always resisted appearing weak or being pitied with the survival instinct of an injured animal. John Langley was the only person he'd ever allowed behind that barrier. Success was magnetic, victim-hood was not.

  None the less, this felt like it should leave a cosmic scar hovering over his head for all to see.

  He remembered learning the full story of what had happened to Lyndon Green, and being disoriented trying to reconcile that with the perfectly whole-looking man grinning over having created an actually tasty dish out of the second-rate canned goods infesting the kitchen. It was as bizarre as discovering that the deadly-serious business of being in prison came with laughter and camaraderie and self-aware discussions.

  If Lyndon were actually exonerated and released, years from now nobody would have a clue that the mild-mannered pharmacist coaching them on when to take their antibiotics had once been tortured and spent years falsely imprisoned for murder.

  What would happen, if everyone's invisible scars were visible?

  Would society collapse in depression if one could look down a city street and see who'd been kidnapped, been raped, beaten by a family member, had their child die, or been cheated on by their soulmate? If they could see the horrors in Dan Fisher's past? Or would it be a better and kinder one, as people realized how many of their fellow human beings carried scars with a smile in Starbucks?

  That was John Langley, he realized. He saw Nick's damage. Even before this. His patience, gentle friendship, forgiving the unforgivable....

  Without even knowing the details, he saw it. He didn't pity; he played and cared and taught as best as he could while flying half-blind, because their paths had been designed to collide and their personalities were tailor-made to clash so perfectly it could only result in mutual delight.

  John didn't so much have unseen scars as he did unmet needs; to nurture, to be needed, to play, to battle dragons and discover lost treasure, to have his rule-following boundaries pushed as a counterpoint to working in a bureaucracy that required forms to be filled out in order to get conditional permission to fill out a form.

  And that was how people healed; they filled needs big and small until the scars faded enough that it was no longer a shock that others couldn't see them.

  NICK

  John was sitting at the top of the stairs when Nick emerged from the bathroom, and he stood to greet Nick with a smile, his eyes gentle. His hair was mussed and he'd changed into a burgundy t-shirt and worn jeans and fuzzy slippers, no shoulder holsters or badges or uniforms in sight. This was very consciously not-FBI-agent John trying to distance himself from the prison dynamic. "Help you downstairs?"

  A warm feeling settled in Nick's chest as John stood and offered his arm. There was a sweetness to the guy that Nick had always glimpsed, but convinced himself he was making up.

  It wasn't made up. John Langley was one of the most endearing people on the planet.

  Nick nodded reluctantly. He loathed needing help, but John managed to do it without making him feel pathetic. He gripped the stair railing tight in his left hand, and John supported him on the right with an arm snug around Nick's back. Halfway down Nick stopped to gasp for air and give his legs a break.

  John didn't let go, holding him in what became a warm and gentle hug. "Nick?"

  Nick caught the concern in his voice and twisted his head around to look at John's face. "What's wrong?"

  "Everything I had to see and do to you," said John, his voice low enough that Mari wouldn't have to hear the conversation. "It was a perversion of humanity, and our friendship. You are hurt, and we wouldn't stop hurting you."

  Nick leaned close against John's side and closed his eyes.

  Nick shook his head, pushing harder against John's body, trying to get through to him. "No. You rescued me. I never want you to know what it's like to need rescuing as badly as I have, but I wish you knew how wonderful it feels. I'll never be the same person again - in a good way."

  "Okay," said John softly. He wrapped both his arms around Nick. His body relaxed, and his breathing evened out. "You want some dinner?" he asked with great affection in his voice.

  "Yes," said Nick. He leaned far more on John than the railing for the rest of the way, and could tell just from John's body language how much that soothed him. Humanity and caring were built into the man's DNA, and he needed to be trusted and have his own gentleness reflected back at him as much as he needed to breathe.

  NICK

  Mari was putting away groceries that had just been delivered, and Ochre pranced in front of the door with a whine. Mari sighed. "The neighbors just brought him back over. I guess he didn’t do his business on the way."

  John gave the dog a little smile. "He doesn't want to miss his evening walk time." He glanced at Nick. "I'd better take him out. You be okay on the couch for while?"

  Nick nodded. "Of course." When Ochre dragged John out the door, he joined Mari in the kitchen where she was washing veggies for a salad. "Can I help?"

  Mari shook her head. "No. Go lie down on the couch, I got this."

  "I wasn't just being polite," said Nick, sheepish. It looked so blissfully normal, making good food in a cheery kitchen, being trusted around sharp objects.... "Can I please help?"

  Mari frowned, her eyes worried under a furrowed brow. "Of course you can, sweetie. Doesn't it hurt you to stand?"

  "A little," admitted Nick, stepping up to the counter and starting to wash his hands. "But I'm a lot better. And this looks like something actual, normal humans would do."

  Mari's frown intensified, exaggerated. "Are you concerned they replaced you with a robot? More importantly, can you make Alfredo sauce?"

  Nick nodded, and silently began measuring out ingredients and warming the sauce on the stove.

  “I’m still one of the luckiest prisoners in the world,” said Nick, his face sober. “If you read about some other countries -” his voice broke. “If you’ve been a prisoner and know how helpless a person is, you won’t be able to sleep for a week knowing what’s done to people like you. Here I am making cream sauce.”

  “I felt strange after my kidnapping,” said Mari. “It wasn’t terribly violent, or prolonged. Nothing like the nightmares people have been through. It was weird, experiencing trauma after something that wasn’t that bad.”

  Nick cringed internally. He still blamed himself for that. "I'm sorry, Mari."

  “I won the being kidnapped lottery,” said Mari. “It wasn’t especially violent, it wasn’t sexual, and it was over fast. I knew half the city was looking for me including the two smartest men I know. Nothing technically traumatizing happened to me, but ....it was weeks before I felt safe home alone. I still like having someone with me in the kitchen.”

  Nick glanced over at her, spatula in one hand, and smiled. “I think -- for a while, I’m going to feel safest with John by my side.”

  “How do you feel about your apartment?” asked Mari.

  Nick added flour and stirred. “I don’t feel unsafe there.”

  “What about here?”

  Nick maintained a fixation on the contents of the pan. “This was ....I cringe inside, when I think about how much pain I went through here, and John having to nurse me, and being so terrified that I made two grown adults sleep with me. But I’m always going to associate this house with feeling more loved and protected than I’ve ever been.”

  “Would you like to stay here for a while?” asked Mari.

  Nick shook his head, not very convincingly.

  “We want you here,” said Mari.

  He glanced at her. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me.”

  “We want you here,” she repeated. “Of course I feel sorry for you. But that’s not why we want you here. If you’ve ever had the desire to hold and protect another person and show them just how much they’
re loved, you’ll know how we feel.”

  Nick focused on the cream sauce, stirring it with frantic concentration. “I ....am not a very good person. I know that. I know ....my actions have played a role in getting people I love murdered. I can’t ....convince you how much I care about John when I hurt him and his career. I got you kidnapped. I’m ....standing here feeling awful because I’m comparing my trauma -- that I brought on myself -- with yours. I’m responsible for what happened to you.”

  Mari set her knife down and wiped her hands. “John ....told me his first response to you was absolute fury. He wanted to kill you. He still swears to me the worst he did was slam you against a wall. Is that true?”

  Nick nodded, feeling like a lost little boy. “It was more like a shove.”

  “He also said when he looked into your eyes, and talked to you, he got another person to worry about. Because you would lay down your life for mine. He was afraid you’d feel so guilty and desperate you’d get yourself killed. Then you were going to make confessions that would probably send you to prison for life in order to make sure my kidnapper remained behind bars.”

  Nick turned off the heat and pulled the pan away, but kept stirring it. “When it comes to facing the consequences, most criminals are frantic to press rewind. That’s no great reflection on me.”

  “Maybe not,” said Mari. “But I think my husband’s love for you is.”

  Nick gave her a questioning look. “I’ve never known John to be.... well, as nice as he has been. Don’t get me wrong, he’s my rock and my most trusted friend. But he can be pretty harsh.”

  Mari sighed and handed him a head of garlic. “My husband has a strong internal sense of justice. He cares about you, but it drives him nuts to see the harm you cause be met with a luxury apartment and supermodels fawning over you and a job he had to attend years of college to even be considered for.”

  Nick’s stomach flipped. It was valid, and it was probably headed back his way. He nudged the anklet with his free foot, and wondered if he’d ever be immune to its complex impact.

  John took so much gleeful pleasure in putting it on him, it felt borderline sadistic. But there was something deeply comforting in it, as if John was telling him, Don’t worry. This is the absolute meanest thing I want to do to you. This is as bad as it gets. If I want to really turn the screws some day when I get pissed off, I’ll sit there and take your anklet on and off all afternoon.

  Mari stuck the garlic press in his hand. “But I know he never wanted you to suffer, just get figuratively smacked around enough to feel some sort of remorse and responsibility. What you’ve just gone through is so unjust, it pretty much erases any sense of you as having it too good. I don’t think that’ll ever come back.”

  The clove of garlic he was trying to peel shot out of his hand onto the floor. He wiped his face, got garlic in his eyes, and ended up with his elbows on the counter, head in his hands, trying to process anguish and relief. “I’m glad it happened, then,” he blurted without thinking.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Mari stroked the back of his head. “This is going to haunt John. He never, ever would’ve had this happen to you.”

  Nick couldn’t answer. Because his answer was still too broken.

  “Who are his closest friends?” asked Mari.

  Nick looked up, shaken out of the emotional blur by the unexpected question. “Um. Kelly, Wash....” He frowned.

  John didn’t have close friends. He was friendly. But he rarely hung out with people from the office outside of work. His family was never around. He didn’t socialize with people outside the FBI.

  He stole a glance at Mari, who was patiently waiting for him to figure it out with a hidden twinkle in her eyes. “You. And.... me.”

  NICK

  Nick caught Mari glancing between the clock and the door several times, so he wasn't the only one wondering. "Where's John?"

  Mari sighed, exchanging a nervous glance with Nick. She picked up her phone from the kitchen table and dialed. The phone rang five times before going to voicemail. She texted him.

  Dinner almost ready. Where are you?

  Nothing.

  They shut down the oven and burners, covered the food, and left together without exchanging a word. They scanned left and right.

  "There's a little park nearby he likes to take Ochre," said Mari.

  Nick nodded at her to lead the way. "Want me to call Kelly or Wash?"

  "Let's wait."

  They came to a crosswalk five blocks out, and Nick looked down at his ankle where a warning light blinked. "We're about to go outside my radius."

  He sucked in air. This was one of those Nick moments. Do it, and face the consequences later. Consequences be damned.

  And what about fighting towards the good things? But one of those was John. Even the slightest chance that he was in trouble....

  "Can anyone else give you permission?" asked Mari.

  Nick stared at her. It was that simple. There's always another way. He dialed Wash, explained the situation, and got his immediate approval to break the radius. He was across the street legally within thirty seconds.

  The park looked empty, but he called out anyway. "John?"

  There was only a soft whine in reply, and he saw the top of Ochre's head. As they grew closer, they saw John's arms around his dog's neck. The two of them were hidden behind a hedge and a bush, keeping the eyes of the city away. Ochre was sitting, as was John. John had his face pressed against the boxer's back, his shoulders shaking.

  Mari gave Nick a little push forward, and Nick walked up to them, putting one hand on Ochre's head and the other on John's back. Getting little response from John, he sat down with them. After a minute, John sniffed and fumbled with one hand until it touched Nick's anklet, which he grabbed and held tightly.

  Finally John looked at him. His face was a map of pure grief. "I think it all just hit me, now that you're safe."

  "How can I help?" asked Nick, instantly distressed.

  "I hope you know -- we treasure you." There were still tears in John's eyes. "Not just me and Mari, but everyone in Art Crimes."

  "What's wrong, John?" Nick hurt, just looking at the pain on John's face.

  "Everything. I - we - almost lost you. I represent and love the profession that did it, that's been hurting the hell out of you ....when did being good get so twisted?"

  Nick reached out and pulled John into a tight hug. His big, tough FBI agent needed comforting, an astonishing enough thing. Even more so was the fact that it was over the well-being of Nick Aster.

  "Don't start generalizing on me now. Everything people do gets broken sometimes. You're way too good of a man to do the guilt by association thing to yourself."

  Mari poked John in the back of the head, her other hand on her hip. She was standing in a less-than-patient-wife stance.

  “You and Nick both got in some nice brooding time while we made dinner. Now it’s time to come eat it. On your feet, Husband.”

  NICK

  Nick pushed his empty dinner plate away and smiled to himself, looking at John's face.

  The inquisitive horizontal wrinkles in his forehead that always seemed to be quirked like a raised eyebrow, soft brown eyes that projected playful affection even when serious, the permanent creases of a gentle smile around his mouth, eyebrows slightly drawn together in a sweet, slightly concerned half-frown.

  This was the face of the man who'd walked into a maximum security prison and adopted him. He'd brought that sweetness and affection into Nick's life, and with it friendship and joy on a level Nick had only dreamed about.

  And now, John was bringing him home and cuddling him. Nick wanted to reach across the table and rumple the soft brown hair that so perfectly matched John's eyes, but he wasn't in the mood to get shot, so he just sat there in deep contentment.

  "That's the most adoring look I think a human being's ever given me," said John. "Including my wife."

  "My hero," whispered Nick, a smile twitching his lips.
He wanted it to come out sarcastic, but really not. An FBI agent was his unlikely hero in all senses of the word.

  Mari threw a cloth napkin at John. It landed on top of his head and slowly slid down his face, catching on his nose. She pouted. "Clearly I'll have to worship you more."

  "All hail the great Napkinschnoz," said Nick, bowing his head. "Hallowed be His name."

  John snatched the napkin away and glared, eyes wide and aimed right at Nick. "I'm gonna need more anklets. You're gonna be wearing so many anklets, you'll need to grow eight legs to hold 'em all. And each one'll have a different radius."