Chapter Text
They’re not going to Kiev, he discovers very quickly, on their layover in Europe. When he asks Andy about it, she merely shakes her head and says that they needed a more secure place to stay for now–not one they’d have to find. She has one, she says, that should be safe and relatively peaceful for the time being. Familiar for all of them, which is all they can try for at this point. Alitalia reads bold on the side of the plane, a name he recognizes almost instantly when they get to their gate.
“Which safehouse, Andy?” he asks again, his voice a bit firmer this time as the pair stops at the edge of the seating. Quynh has gone to find a suitable sitting place, Booker and Nile sitting near her but not next to her, while Joe is still on his way back from the detour he was making to grab snacks.
“Marciano. Not even seventy kilometers from Naples c–”
“I’m familiar.” Nicky nods briefly, sighing quietly to himself. “It will be nice, to be near home.”
“I figured you could use it, seeing as you and Joe won’t be going anywhere for a while,” Andy muses. “Do you need anything? Water? Granola?”
“I’m alright, Joe is grabbing lunch–sitting down might be nice, though.” He doesn’t want to admit it, but his legs are definitely rubber after trekking through the majority of a very large terminal to get over here. It’s better than it was when he first got out, but that doesn’t mean he is not still frustrated by the fact his body isn’t completely back to normal yet.
Flying commercial is always a rarity for them, but some exceptions have to be made. Particularly long flights are a prime culprit, but all of them crammed into one of Andy’s drug runner cardboard boxes with wings is probably not the best idea when they’re still so frazzled. Nicky will take the simplicity and safety of coach right now.
They claim a spot by the window, Nicky sitting in the corner while Andy inhabits the space between him and Quynh. They talked. He doesn’t know what was said, but it seems to have gone well. Andy carefully takes Quynh’s hand, lacing their fingers. Good. Andy briefly smiles, shifting back in her seat and looking back to Nicky.
“You’re sure you’re alright?” she reiterates.
It would be annoying if it came from a place that wasn’t simply caring too much. “I’m sure,” he tells her with a little wry smile. “Are you, Andy?”
“I’ll be better when we’re all settled in,” she tells him. Quynh has taken up residence leaning against Andy’s shoulder, undoubtedly just as tired as Nicky is.
They quiet down once Quynh is clearly trying to sleep, though Nicky is tempted to try the same. Had he not been promised some form of food, he probably would’ve crashed on Andy’s other shoulder, but he still hasn’t found a state of feeling normal yet. If he’s not feeling dead on his feet, exhausted beyond measure, then his stomach is still twisted into knots. He can’t tell if he’s hungry or nauseated, though half the time the answer is hungry, but that’s more frustrating than anything else. It hurts, every part of his body still hurts, and it’s infuriating that it’s still not better .
Granted, he’s never spent six months dying at least ten times a day while not getting food to help fuel stitching his body back together.
Joe is visible now in Nicky’s peripheral, making his way through the rows of seats to settle in next to Nicky.
“Ciao, bello,” Nicky says quietly, letting his head rest on Joe’s shoulder once he’s sitting down. “Everything alright?”
“Of course.” Joe kisses the top of his head, passing over a small takeout box. “Better with you here, though.”
A soft smile crosses Nicky’s face, and he sits up briefly to take the box. “Grazie.”
“I’ll have whatever you don’t eat,” Joe adds, settling back in the seat once more.
It seemed like that would be the new normal for awhile. As hungry as Nicky was, he’d become unfortunately aware of the fact that he could only stomach a couple bites for now. He only eats a quarter at very most before he passes it back to Joe, aware he’ll make himself sick if he has any more. Though Joe only pokes at the food, he still wraps an arm around Nicky and holds him against his chest. Slinging an arm around him, Nicky snuggles close, not caring for the opinions of others. Given what he’s just been through, he’s allowed to be clingy.
“Are you cold? Do you need a blanket?” Joe asks quietly, his voice a low hum that vibrates through his chest. It’s comforting for Nicky to hear.
“I’m okay,” he mumbles. “On the plane might be another story, but you’re usually warm enough for me.”
“Alright.”
It’s good enough for Nicky. He can shut his eyes and allow himself to rest on Joe temporarily, holding no real worries about safety for now. Not that he has the brain capacity to worry about it anyways, not right now.
They’re boarding before he gets the chance to fall asleep, which means he’s rearranging himself on the too-small seats to try and get comfortable. He’s slimmer than Joe and Booker, which gives him a slight advantage in situating himself, but it’s still not easy. One glance across the aisle and Quynh is visibly already settled in on Andy’s shoulder again, curled up in a position that looks uncomfortable but probably isn’t.
Damn showoff.
Nicky can’t sleep the entire flight. He tries at first, but resorts to reading Joe’s book over his shoulder (occasionally asking him to pause on turning the page, but for the most part, he keeps up). Really, they’re not in the air for more than three hours, but Nicky is still simultaneously bored and exhausted–not a good combination–throughout the latter half of it. He’s flicking through his passport (one that was definitely illegally obtained, and who honestly knows how Booker pulled off entering them into the system) for a brief amount of time, then staring out the window as they begin the descent.
His heart is still lingering in his throat once the plane has landed. More than likely from the rapid motion downwards, however, there’s still the worry that Redthorn will be waiting for him on the other side of the plane doors. Or, better yet, that he’ll wake up from all of this and still be in a cell. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Quynh will be there and not in the other room getting tortured.
His fingers curl around the armrest, tightening until his knuckles turn white. He can hear the faint scream that would come every now and then in the engine of the plane, but knowing there is nothing he can do to help…
“Hayati,” Joe mumbles quietly, snapping Nicky out of it.
He immediately lets go of the armrest, shifting to look up at Joe with tired eyes. “Si?”
Joe sadly smiles at him, shaking his head and pressing a soft kiss to Nicky’s temple. So it was that noticeable. Part of him wants to shudder away from Joe’s touch, under the notion that it’s not real and he shouldn’t delude himself any longer.
But he never does. In fact, Nicky leans into it and exhales a shaking breath.
“Let’s go home, tesoro mio,” Joe mumbles.
“...Let’s.”
Nicky can’t lie, he’s half-asleep for most of the trek off of the plane and out into the open world. He actively makes an effort to keep an eye out for anyone tailing them, but by the time they’re standing outside, waiting for Booker and Andy to get the rental car, he’s given up on watching the street and is only watching the people exiting the airport itself. It’s far colder outside than Nicky was anticipating, and he curls into Joe’s side for the sake of warmth pretty quickly. His hoodie is far too thin–it’s still a hoodie for summer, after all–and he doesn’t realize that he was potentially shivering until Joe is wrapping his coat around Nicky.
Christ.
Wrapping up in the coat is easy, especially since it’s just a size bigger than he would usually wear (while similar in height, Joe has always had a thicker muscled build than Nicky could ever have hoped to achieve).
Quynh lingers near them, occasionally making little remarks under her breath to Nile though her body is positioned to be closer to Nicky and Joe. He can’t blame Quynh for still being a bit wary of Nile (and Booker, for that matter), but they seem to already have some sort of bond beginning to be forged. Nicky stifles the beginning of a yawn, but based on the way his head is aching again, he’s well aware he just needs to lay down and sleep off whatever’s coming next.
“Are you going to be okay?” Joe asks quietly. “Do you need something before we go?”
“I’ll be fine,” Nicky mumbles. “I just wanna sleep right now. I’ll probably make dinner when I wake up.”
“I can handle dinner, or Booker can.”
“God forbid I allow Booker to cook on our first night in Italy –you know he thinks Parisian cappuccinos are better than Italian?–besides, I can’t stomach anything French right now.” Nicky scoffs, feigning offense at the notion. “I wouldn’t mind if you handled dinner though, but I promise I can.”
Joe chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Rest, tesoro mio. You need it, I’ve got it.” Pause, then glancing down. “Wait, you knew Booker could…?”
“Cook? Yeah. Who do you think went with him to his cooking classes?”
Joe blinks once. Twice. Then shakes his head with a quiet laugh. “I should’ve known.”
“I don’t mind cooking,” Nicky muses. “Probably why I never said anything.”
“Andy will kill him if he doesn’t cook at least once within the next few days.”
“Let him handle breakfast. He’s good at that, and I can suffer through it.” Nicky’s wry smile only grows when Joe laughs again and his head goes to instinctively lean on Joe’s shoulder. It’s pleasant, especially when Joe’s arm wraps around his shoulders to keep him close. “Santa Maria, madre de dio. What’s taking them so long?”
“Who knows,” Joe mumbles. “Looks like they’re about to head back over, though.”
“You think?”
Joe chuckles quietly. “Booker keeps turning and making faces, so I might be more sure that they’re about finished.”
“Thank God.”
Sure enough, Andy and Booker return with a car. Definitely a larger car than they’ve gotten in recent years, but at least it’s not a van. If Nicky remembers correctly, he left his new Ferrari in the garage of this safehouse, which is marginally reassuring for when they inevitably have to split up to drive somewhere. God forbid he be seen anywhere in this damn country in a fucking SUV.
Nicky finds himself getting lightheaded once he’s in the car with the strange plastic-leather smell not helping him by any means. That does not make him feel better, and when he realizes that he’s a tad dizzy as well, Nicky exhales slowly and leans back, shutting his eyes and trying to make it stop. Naturally, it does not work.
The drive feels like it takes four hours, when it at most takes one. Nicky can’t sleep wedged between Quynh and Booker, though it’s quiet enough in the car that he could. Thank God they don’t argue with each other, because that’s not a headache he needs right now.
They arrive at the safehouse intactly just as it’s beginning to drizzle. Nicky slips out of the car, and though his first instinct is to go to the trunk to help carry things in (what little they have), Andy is quick to grab him by the collar of his shirt and tug him into the little house. It’s not very big, and somewhat dusty at that, but pleasant to Nicky. The floors are all tile of various kinds, a couple of rugs haphazardly thrown in with seemingly no real pattern.
Clearly, it’s an Andy safehouse.
Andy does not stop him from helping her get the living room and kitchen somewhat cleaned up. Tarps get removed from the couch and chairs, the table is wiped off, rug vacuumed and tile swept. The kitchen is a bit harder to get clean, as there’s more that was left uncovered that needs to be washed up, but Andy works pretty hard at it.
Quynh was in the bedrooms, Nicky discovers, once she comes out to stand next to Andy and whispers quietly. He can hear it perfectly well, she’s telling Andy that she’s going to go sleep. It’s probably what Nicky’s going to do as well, once he can justify climbing up the stairs to retreat. He would just stay down in the kitchen, help clean it up, and wait to cook dinner if it weren’t so early in the day and he wasn’t dead on his feet after another ten minutes.
He excuses himself quietly to slip out and up the stairs only to quickly discover his body still is not the biggest fan of moving vertically. Getting to the top is a fast feat, only to keep the suffering from being prolonged, and is rewarded with being able to push open the door that’s been left ajar to go into a room that’s clearly already been worked through.
“You took a while,” Joe remarks, closing one of the drawers on the dresser. “I was kind of surprised, you seemed more out of it.”
Nicky takes a moment to stare and process the words before he shakes his head. “Maybe I was. I’m not now.”
“I can tell.” Joe comes to Nicky’s side, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Get some sleep. I left out some pajamas if you’d like.”
“You’re a Godsend.”
“If that’s what you’d like to call me,” he teases. “I’ll be up here for a while cleaning if you need me, okay?”
He nods quickly. “Yes, alright. Thank you.”
“Of course.”
Joe disappears quickly to leave Nicky with his thoughts and pajamas that are definitely Joe’s to change into. They hang on his body differently than he’s used to, but he doesn’t linger to think about it. One minute, he’s settling down on the bed to sleep, letting his body melt into the mattress, the next there’s nothing.
—
The door that creaks open sounds heavy, swaying on hinges with a slow whine.
Nicky jolts awake, backing away from the edge of the bed before his eyes are even completely open. His heart is in his throat, even if as soon as he’s in the middle of the bed, he’s trying to at least look presentable for whoever has come to see him. Until he remembers that he’s not in a vault.
Upon seeing Joe, his shoulders relax and he lays back down with a flop, swearing up and down the cross quietly in Italian between apologies. He can hardly stand to look at Joe, whose eyes had simultaneously gone wide while also maintaining some level of horror the last time Nicky dared to look (which, admittedly, was when he first had the realization that it was all okay and not Curtis or Kozak waiting for him). It’s hard not to slink under the blankets and hide, and Nicky is very tempted to do so, but Joe sets down a bowl on the nightstand and sits on the edge of the bed. Like a bear drawn to honey, Nicky scoots closer and sits next to him, legs crossed underneath himself.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly, “I didn’t mean it.”
Joe scoffs, setting his hand on Nicky’s thigh. “The last thing you should be doing is apologizing right now. I promise.”
“If you’re sure…”
“I’m sure.”
One look at Joe tells Nicky that he is definitely not sure, but he seems to at least understand it, and any ounce of hurt in Joe’s eyes is gone seemingly momentarily.
Nicky cracks a faint smile, leaning forward to rest his head on Joe’s shoulder. “I appreciate it.”
“I brought dinner,” Joe muses, tucking hair that had been hanging in Nicky’s face behind his ear. “You can have as much as you want, there’s still more in the kitchen I can pick from.”
“You know you’ll probably get most of it,” Nicky points out, but still sits up and shifts to take the bowl and hold it in his lap.
Joe seems content to be there with him, taking up a spot in the middle of the bed and either watching him or staring at the ceiling. Not that Nicky minds, the fact that Joe is with him in any aspect is all he could hope to want at this point in time. Joe makes good tikka masala (still, a sin to not be having anything Italian on their first night in Italy, but for Joe, Nicky will let it slide), and Nicky has a bit more than he can stomach just because he likes the taste. He’s handing the bowl back to Joe before too long, definitely less than half eaten.
There’s something overwhelmingly good about the moment that rushes into Nicky’s chest at once, threatening to burst from his throat. He’s tempted to let it, even though his body makes a valiant effort to swallow it down before he can get close to coming apart at the seams. Perhaps literally, considering the current state of his chest.
It will heal soon, he tells himself again (for perhaps the fourth time today). It will all eventually go away.
Joe’s fingers eventually wander over to lace with Nicky’s, once the bowl is put down on the nightstand. It’s a simple gesture, but it means so much that he can barely put said meaning into the words he knows are going unspoken. I’m here. We’re here. It’s just you and me now. I love you. I’m here for you.
He lays down next to Nicky shortly, on his back. The invitation is blatantly clear–he nearly never just lays like that–and it’s one that Nicky is quick to take.
Moving closer, Nicky curls up into Joe’s side and lets his head rest on Joe’s chest. Soon enough, Joe’s fingers curl back around Nicky’s, while his other hand stays wrapped around Nicky’s body to hold him close. What almost elicits a reaction from Nicky is the feeling of fingers smoothing over his ribs and just as quickly jerking back away in what might be surprise.
It does not, however, elicit a reaction.
He does not sleep yet. Merely existing in the moment is all too much for him, the world is too much with him and Nicky just needs to bask in his safe corner so he can rationalize every minor detail that’s trying to pummel into his skull at once.
Joe leaves to take care of the dishes before Nicky’s ready to let him go.
He stays on the bed at first, but curls up into a small ball under the sheets before much time has passed. The room is cold, too cold, and that’s with the window shut and the heat slowly but surely beginning to kick in. God fucking dammit goes through Nicky’s head all too quickly. Dammit all to hell. Why couldn’t I have taken it better than I did?
A quiet rustling comes from behind him. Joe’s arms wrap around Nicky in a fluid motion, tugging him gently closer to be against his chest. The way he pulls Nicky in shouldn’t hurt, but the sharp pinch from under his ribcage gets Nicky to wince into the pillow. At least, once he’s against Joe, where his body naturally tucks after nine centuries, any sense of pain dissipates and his muscles can relax.
“We’re going to linger here for a while,” Joe tells Nicky, a murmur into the back of his neck after several minutes. “A few months. Booker is looking into work in Naples, Andy will probably join him. You’re going to have to teach Nile some Italian, otherwise she’s staying here with you and Quynh until you’re better. Even then, we’ll need to lay low for a bit as it is.”
“I’m fine, Joe–”
“No, you’re not.”
Nicky can’t exactly argue it, and knows not to try.
Joe continues, “I’ll scope out what I can locally, but I’ll look into Naples too if there’s nothing around here.”
“If you’re all looking into Naples, it may be worth it to move closer,” Nicky mumbles.
Joe’s arms tighten briefly around Nicky. He doesn’t say any words for a long time, not that Nicky blames him. Upon further consideration, it is the first real night they’ve had to decompress together. Nicky’s first real night in safety.
Curling up ever so slightly, Nicky lets his eyes shut as he exhales, long and slow. Joe’s arms around him are comforting, familiar, and maybe enough to help him drift off to sleep faster than usual.
He does not dream at first. When he does, they’re horrifically reminiscent of getting torn apart, bit by bit. There’s nothing flashy to tip him off that it’s a dream at first, either. No, Kozak does not contort into an evil monster, she does not rip out a giant weapon, she simply tears into him bit by bit, the pain all too real, and he doesn’t die . He lives through each and every wound that should kill him but he clings onto life with claws he cannot detach.
When the wound finally goes too deep and cuts him in two, he jerks awake and inadvertently out of Joe’s arms. Nicky catches himself on the nightstand before he can fall off the bed, blinking rapidly as he tries to catch his breath. Staring at the floor does not calm him down, his heart still pounding through his ribcage.
A muffled hum comes from behind him, Joe’s fingers curling around his shirt and getting tight for a moment. His hand ultimately rests gently on Nicky’s side.
“‘m sorry, I…” Nicky can’t speak, the words are getting caught in his throat. Slipping out of Joe’s grasp, he gets to his feet to grab a coat from the pile on the dresser and wander out through the house and onto the back patio.
It’s cold. Not as cold as Chicago, but enough to nip at what skin is exposed. Stopping at the half-wall, he leans forward to let his elbows sit on the stone and rub his face. The ocean is clearly visible from this spot on the patio. The mere presence of the water being so close is refreshing, and being able to look out and know he could go out and be in it helps.
His eyes flick up to the stars next, what stars are visible from here. There’s less light pollution here, especially compared to the United States, and he can observe the little lights winking down at him. It feels like it’s been so long since he’s seen the stars…
“Hayati,” Joe’s voice muses from behind, “are you alright?”
Part of Nicky was expecting it to take a little more time before he came out.
“Just a bad dream,” he explains quietly. “I’m sorry for waking you.”
“How many times do I need to tell you that you don’t have to apologize?” Joe asks him quietly.
Nicky anticipates arms going around his waist from behind, but instead, Joe comes to his side (and his peripheral vision) before his arm wraps around Nicky and does not pull him in close. It’s all careful and calculated, Nicky knows this, and somehow it makes it more difficult to accept. Almost as if he’s been broken and still needs fixing–which, well, he might. The more he thinks about it, the more he accepts that he might need a hefty amount of recovery time.
And it’s infuriating.
“Quite a few more, I imagine,” Nicky mumbles. “Until I’m better. Past that, too, probably.”
Joe shakes his head, his lips pressing to Nicky’s shoulder for a brief moment. “Every time, I’ll tell you the same thing.”
“I know.”
“Do you want to talk about the dream?”
“Not really, no.”
Joe nods and rests his forehead on Nicky’s shoulder. “That’s okay. Just tell me what you need me to do, I’ll do it.”
“...Stay. Please,” Nicky muses, his voice almost a whisper.
“Sempre.”
“Shukran.”