"Did you just invent Spider-Nick?" asked Mari. "Because I really think of him as more of a cat."
"Woman?" John raised one brow. "Yes. He's catwoman. With anklets."
Nick affected a sulky expression. "Anklets detract from my feline grace."
"Yet you still manage to land on your feet every time they throw you off a balcony," said John.
"It's an overrated skill," muttered Nick.
"I agree," said Mari. "Would you both please stop getting thrown off balconies?"
"It's not like we do it for fun," complained John, looking a little plaintive at the bite in Mari's voice.
"Yes, you do!" Mari retorted, rolling her eyes.
"You haven't felt safe since the attack. You forced yourself to work too soon, and stayed in prison to finish the job," said John.
"So, Captain Obvious?" asked Nick. “Would you like to recite some more known facts, or get to the point?”
"Can you to feel safe now?" asked John.
Nick heaved a deep sigh of relief. "Yes. In this house, yes."
"Then please take time to heal. Don't go to work. Just rest and sleep and cuddle and relax."
"Okay," said Nick, smiling at the thought. It sounded amazing. He'd never gotten hurt and not forced himself to appear strong the second he could put on that act. He was still sore, but no longer in any serious pain, so he truly could relax and sleep at will.
JOHN
John remembered Nick's silent collapse in the "exercise" yard. How physically and emotionally exhausting this week must have been for Nick, with immediate and extreme PTSD triggers of every sort imaginable, physical pain, fear for his life, fear that John was abandoning him, solitary confinement, and above all constantly trying to pretend he was fine with it.
John stopped breathing, listening to a gut feeling so strong it was almost a message from on high. Let yourself be tender with him. Stop fighting your instincts just because he's a criminal, and be tender with the other most important person in your life, who's giving you his heart.
"I'm sorry I've treated you like a bad person," said John softly. "And I'm sorry for the hell I brought to your life. Thank you for enduring me, and giving me so many chances to get this right."
Nick bowed his head, looking away to hide his face. "I should say the exact same thing."
He sat on the couch, and patted the cushion next to him. "Nick -- would you -- like to just be held for a while?"
NICK
John looked so hesitant, and caring, that something snapped in Nick. His shoulders slumped in relief, and he nodded. He sat, and John gently pulled at him and nudged him until Nick ended up sitting sideways in his lap, curled up with his head against John's chest.
He listened to John's heart beat, and felt his friend's chest rise and fall. The warmth of his body. The arms holding him lightly, one hand cradling the back of his head and the other resting on his ribcage.
John usually was all about patting and petting him, something Nick took uncommon delight in but would find difficult to tolerate right now. Oddly, the man who was so emotionally awkward and clueless at times seemed to understand, just as he had when Nick broke down in the yard. John just held him, no words or movement.
It was something Nick found he could handle feeling. The warmth, the sound of a human heartbeat. It didn't hurt. It didn't demand. Being isolated, even for such a short time, in such a hard environment, rendered him numb and yet incredibly sensitive. It was either feel nothing, or feel so much it would break him. He pressed closer into John's arms, a place he'd come to feel safer in than any other.
Protect me from out there. Protect me from you, from Mari, from Kelly with that goddamned wonderful cat burglar.... he blinked rapidly and decided against having thoughts. He just listened to John's heartbeat, and that was okay.
Ages later, a thought intruded. He wasn't hurting. It was the first time since the beating that he'd felt simple comfort unstained by pain. He felt warmth, and touch, and fabric soft against his skin. He nuzzled John's chest, loving that feeling and wanting to explore it. The soft hand on the back of his hand shifted, and Nick tensed. He didn't want it to move away. But John just stroked him once or twice, and let his hand lie still again.
Nick let out a sigh of deep, deep relief. He was feeling. And what he was feeling was soft and wonderful and didn't hurt.
This astonishingly patient man had nursed him through, had stayed at his side though agony and sickness and every kind of emotional outburst. When John had asked Nick to let him in, Nick had, too weak to turn down a trusted ally. And John started looking at him with more respect, not less. Had been at his side even in prison. Was still here, holding him, not in pity but with palpable love and desire to comfort and support.
"I'm okay now," whispered Nick.
He meant it.
John rested his chin on Nick's head, and his arms tightened. "Still not letting go."
Nick went limp in a formless puddle of relief and love and joy. "Don't want." He realized that was a bit ambiguous. "You to," he added.
John chuckled softly. "You never did. Sorry it took me eight years to realize that, you damn sweetheart felon."
Have I really been a prisoner for almost eight years? It hit Nick as a shock to realize, and think of it that way. And to realize the freedom he was seeking had, somewhere along the way, shifted from the ability to run and travel and romance and con and steal.
Freedom would be from the threat of prison, from having to wear an anklet, from being treated like a lesser person, from being subject to chains and cells. There wasn't much else he wanted to change. No radius would be nice, the ability to fly to New Orleans or go to a gallery opening without begging for a tolerant babysitter. He was pretty damn happy, and there wasn't much he had any desire to escape.
Forget pretty damn happy. He was in heaven.
MARI
Mari stopped, transfixed by the tender scene on the couch. John and Nick were both unusually still, Nick in what looked like exhausted surrender, John in absolute focus on Nick.
She'd fallen in love with John in part because he had a far gentler soul than his job would suggest. His sweet nature and playful spirit were utterly disarming when they belonged to one of the most capable agents of the nation's top law enforcement agency.
And in Nick, John had found his exact counterpart.
An equally gentle, sweet, playful ....convicted felon. No wonder the two were so fiercely bonded to each other. They were each other, with each bringing to the friendship what the other was lacking and needed in order to be whole. In almost losing Nick, John almost had a vital part of himself killed.
Maybe that was why she felt no jealousy. Her husband wasn’t being taken from her, he was being completed. This was an additive relationship, not a subtractive one.
And his adorable prisoner ....looked completely blissed out, his eyes closed, his head against John's collarbone and a little smile on his face.
"Come on, boys," she whispered, sensing how fragile Nick was right now by the way John's hands rested on his skinny body. "Bed."
Nick's groan was almost a whimper. John shot her a tense, mild glare that said, not now. Get away from my cub, he's hurt.
Mari, too, was momentarily hurt, until she saw Nick relax when no further disturbance was imminent. The way he was curled up against John.... this was likely a form of safety and comfort Nick had never experienced in his life.
This was a sort of trust he'd never shown, being vulnerable not because he was terrified and in pain but because he could, because there was someone to care and protect him.
This was a sensitivity John had never shown, feeling Nick and listening to him. John, too, was trusting. That Nick wasn't conning him, wasn't playing an angle, just being a person who desperately needed holding.
That was perhaps the most monumental trust of all. John had feared and been told, non-stop from day one, that Nick was out to manipulate him, corrupt him, and exploit any form of trust he could get his hands on.
Nick didn't help matters by attempting to manipulate and corrupt him. But what John sensed yet was too scared to believe was that Nick was a good man with only half of being a functioning, loving human being figured out.
Mari had believed that for a long time. John finally did too. Nick had broken her heart by saying he was glad it happened. It was horrifying, but if the outcome was two deeply connected friends learning to trust for real.... even John didn't realize how much he needed that himself.
She approached the couch and sat carefully next to John. Neither of them tensed this time. She took Nick's hand almost timidly, and he immediately tucked his fingers into her palm with a light squeeze. She didn't know exactly what prison had been like for Nick, and probably never would. But reading John was enough to know he took it very, very seriously now. And took comforting Nick just as seriously.
She hadn't wanted to stare at his newly un-bandaged wrists earlier. But she was able to now. Those were some healing but still very tender wounds.
It was hard to imagine the alternate universe that would be cold enough to insist on handcuffing him in a condition where it would cause so much pain. Handcuffing an injured torture victim. A gentle one, with no history of violence. That, and Nick's terror of what could happen to him in police custody, should be enough to tell her what she needed to know.
They don't care about his pain, at all. If they can ignore physical wounds like that, just imagine the emotional ones they disregarded.
And they had him for years.
Nick had some 'serious being cared about' to make up. When he'd first been released into John's custody, John had cared about him. And that probably explained a lot of Nick's endearing loyalty. But in those early days, there hadn't been anything close to the level of trust allowing the two of them to hold each other like this.
Nick probably could have used comforting after his release back then, though.
"We care about you so much, Nick," she whispered. His hand tightened. "We missed you and worried about you. I know there are worlds out there that're heartless and cold and frightening, and sometimes you have to live in them and do battle with them. But don't ever think we don't see or can't understand your scars, okay?"
Nick nodded.
"I can," said Mari. "And I want to hold you and tell you I'm sorry you got those wounds, and I admire you for healing from them, but any time you need a pair of arms to support you while you go, 'Ow, God, that hurt,' I'm right here and so is John."
An adorable little smile formed on Nick's lips. "Ow, God, that hurt."
Mari hugged him, making a Nick Aster sandwich between her and John.
NICK
I can't remember being this happy. Ever.
Every muscle in Nick's body had melted. He was warm, the most delicious kind of warm, like hot water in the shower on a cold morning. The FBI agent he adored, whose approval he craved, whose caring had saved his soul, suddenly respected and trusted him. Mari was saying the sweetest things imaginable, cuddling him and welcoming him into her sanctuary.
Family. I have a family.
There were times he loved John so intensely, it had wrenched his heart to know there was a solid barrier of caution installed in John at all times. He's a con artist. A convict. A criminal. Care about him, but don't love him. Be ready at all times to arrest, prosecute, or shoot him.
I'm just a person, a hurting part of Nick often wanted to cry out, looking into John's caring eyes and wanting that without the reserve. Then Nick would remember all the ways in which he was not just a person. Would remember that he was and continued to be a reckless criminal, and that what measure of trust and caring John extended with that full and unvarnished knowledge was an exceptional thing.
A wave of responsibility swept over him. Imagine how much it'd hurt John, now that he had lowered that barrier he was protecting himself with, to have to take part in imprisoning him again. Or even to see it happen and be unable to intervene. Or if Nick committed the perfect crime and had to vanish to another identity, never to contact the Langleys again.
He couldn't betray the trust and love that was being extended here. Even if it broke something inside of him, to face never feeling the thrill and the freedom of living outside the constraints of law and society.
But none of those thrills matched the pure bliss of being held and comforted right now. He needed solace and was enveloped in it by the people he wanted it from the most.
If choices were sacrifices, this he was willing to sacrifice for.
"Thank you for saving me," said Nick quietly.
"Thank you," said John. "For trusting and forgiving and - choosing me."
Nick wiggled, trying to contain the ecstatic little kid inside him bouncing around and shrieking, "John said thanks for choosing me! John says I'm good and he wants me! Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
That little kid was really, really annoying. At least the little bastard was happy now, instead of hiding in the bedroom sobbing.
John burst out laughing. "Was that seriously a reply-by-wiggle?"
Nick wiggled.
MARI
"Come on, sweetheart," said Mari. "Every night you were in prison, I wished I could cuddle you to pieces. Let's make some headway on that."
"You seriously wanted to cuddle me?" Nick sounded baffled, and just a bit hopeful. He opened one eye to look at her, amusement twinkling in it. "You do realize a few hours ago I was such a menace to humanity I needed to be chained up in order to stand in the same hallway as another person."
"Come be a menace to humanity in bed. You can't be a proper desperado without fluffy pillowcases and a stuffed cat burglar."
Nick's tiny laugh was almost a giggle, and Mari had never seen such delight in every ounce of his body language. "You people are lunatics."
"Darling, sweet Nick Aster." Mari took his hand in hers, smiling at his baffled expression. "You are loved. You are cherished. We adore you."
"Speak for yourself," muttered John. He wrapped an arm around Nick's back. "I'm just never letting him out of my sight again because he might, you know, steal something or something."
Nick snuggled closer to John's side. "I'm feeling thievish." He hadn't encouraged Mari to let go of his hand, either. "Very, very thievish."
NICK
“This feels -- so wonderful, and I know it’s totally messed up,” said Nick, nestled in bed between John and Mari’s warm bodies. It felt like home, and love, and everything worth living for.
John nodded. “Yeah. That’s easy enough to think. But ....remember accusing me of not believing evil exists?”
“Yeah ....”
“I do believe it," said John. "And in a comprehensive look at evil and awful and cruel and sick, I step back and think that finding joy and comfort in sheer human affection is the opposite of messed up.”
“It’s more okay to hurt people than it is to care about them, isn’t it?” mused Nick.
“It’s because caring is vulnerable,” said Mari. “And vulnerable is a pretty dangerous thing to be.”
Nick shivered. “Yeah.” He looked into Mari’s eyes, his stomach tight. He remembered John’s words.
Meet the person I trust with my soul.
Nick had always been afraid to connect with Mari; a line so uncrossable neither he or John even spoke of it was the mere thought of serious flirtation with his handler’s wife. But he was starting to understand the bond between John and Mari ran so deep that John had no problem with Mari snuggling with his partner.
And electric tingle of realization straightened Nick’s spine. That was also a deep trust of him, on both John and Mari’s part. Mari looked back at him, her eyes heavy with understanding, seeing everything he’d been through, and meeting it with love.
He had become part of this marriage.
Please don’t let me screw this up.
Nick went limp, more exhausted than he was capable of processing. Years worth of exhausted. Maybe a lifetime.
“I’m tired too,” said John, reading his mind. “I
think my soul is tired.”
Nick nodded. “You think we’ll ever wake up? Or was it just too much weight, at some point?”
“I think we just need to crumble under the load and hold each other and go to sleep for a very long time,” said John. “And we’ll wake up in a warm, safe house with people we love.”
Nick closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of John and Mari beside him. The softness of the bed, and the pillows, and the cat burglar against his cheek. “If we weren’t so tired, it wouldn’t feel this good.”
This contrast was almost unbearable. A few hours ago, he’d been in a cold cement crypt of unyielding surfaces, noise, and complete isolation from the outside world and from any emotional or tactile contact with other human beings. In a place where warmth was a foreign element.
Broken Blue Lines: Love. Hate. Criminal Justice.: An FBI Crime Drama / LGBT+ Love Story Page 52
