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Nicolò startled awake without a sound or movement, his eyes sliding open to the suffocating darkness that seemed to tuck itself into every nook and cranny of the small, decrepit bedroom. In his chest, his heart beat an unsteady rhythm, his breathing coming low and shallow as he fought to control himself. Already the remnants of the nightmare slid away, disappearing into the folds of his mind and he didn’t try to snatch them back, did not want to recall what he knew had been painful and scary.
Sighing softly, he turned his head carefully toward Joe, whose arms curled around his waist firmly, as though he were daring him to try and slip away in the night. Nicolò hadn’t been sleeping, not that it was a strange occurrence for him, but the nightmares refused stop, to fade into the background of the many other horrors haunting his mind and body.
It was too dark to properly see his lover, much to Nicky’s disappointment. Some nights he could turn into Joe’s embrace, close his eyes and pretend what he saw did not bother him. He could catch a few more hours of sleep and Joe would be none the wiser about his hellish night. This happened most often, the other man’s warmth and steady breath against his skin the best kind of lullaby, a promise of love and safety.
Tonight, was not one of those nights.
No, his body felt prickly, like the nightmares were dragging their nails down its skin, leaving their marks and refusing to be fully forgotten. There was a hollow space in his stomach that warned him, if he tried to fall back asleep it wouldn’t be for long, monsters lurked, ready to pounce on him once again. There would be no more sleeping tonight and probably tomorrow night as well, knowing his luck.
Usually, Joe insisted he wake him at times like these. Nicky understood, intimately, the need to comfort the man he loved, the urge to distract and defend him from all things that sought to cause harm…even those that were only dangers of the mind. Still, he wondered if it was no small part the guilt, the fact that when Joe woke from a nightmare, Nicky inevitably woke with him, but when he himself startled awake, Joe would continue to sleep on.
Regardless, Nicky saw no reason for them both to drive themselves to exhaustion. When Nicky faltered, he needed Joe alert and rested enough to catch him.
Moving with practiced ease, Nicky curled his hand around Joe’s wrist, his touch feather light, as he slipped that arm away from his waist. He moved slowly, finding his hold stiffer than usual, certainly a reaction to the many nights Nicky had been leaving their bed lately. There was the softest huff of breath, but he knew Joe had not woken as he moved away.
They had been in this safe house for nearly a week and Nicky had learned all the tricks of the bed and floorboards the first night. He placed his foot carefully on the floor, bare toes shifting over the roughened wood until he found a familiar groove. Pressing his weight on it, there was no creaking as he moved into a sitting position. The old rusty springs of this particular bed gave the quietest of squeaks and Nicky was standing and free from its uncomfortable embrace.
Still, Nicolò found himself decidedly colder without Joe’s arms around him, without his body pressed against the line of his own. Shaking his head, he made his way to the door, glad they had thought to leave it open slightly so the rattling of the knob wouldn’t wake anyone and the screeching the hinges would be muted.
Their bedroom opened directly into the main room, which was one large space made up of the living room, kitchen, and dining room. There was a bathroom tucked away in the corner with a barely functioning shower and a sink that gurgled ominously when you turned on the tap, but at least it actually gave you water, unlike the one in the kitchen. Another bedroom was next to theirs, where Andy and Nile were supposed to be sleeping but the form tucked on the too small couch suggested otherwise.
Making his way closer, Nicky felt a smile tug at his lips as he took in the sight of Andromache, her legs curled nearly to her chest, her head twisted at an awkward angle, still fully clothed from the day. He wasn’t the least bit surprised, neither by her presence nor the ache in his heart at the exhaustion in her pale face.
Nicky had intended to go for a walk, to breath in the fresh air and try to clear his head for a little while. This was a common practice these days, one he had kept carefully hidden from Joe, who would be less then impressed given the rumblings Copley warned them of…suggesting Merrick wasn’t the only one aware of their existence.
Yet, the vulnerability that seemed to exude from Andy in that moment made an age-old wave of protectiveness wash through him. Resigned to the fact that he would be unable to leave her and his family undefended while she was herself so weary, Nicky stepped closer and carefully lowered himself to the floor by her head, his back pressed against the couch.
She did not stir at his movements and that alone made his heart swell, knowing that besides himself, she too was a terrible sleeper, the most likely to never sleep, startling awake from a wrong breeze. Nicky let his eyes settle on the door, his limbs loose and relaxed, prepared to strike at any moment should the occasion arise.
It was nice to feel useful, even if he knew they were relatively safe here.
At his back, Nicky could feel Andy’s soft breaths, his skin tingling where it ghosted over his hair, the curve of his ear. The sound was comforting, a silent declaration that he was not alone even while he needed the distance. Then again, he suspected it was equally reassuring to know she was still there, still alive, she hadn’t been taken from them yet.
His mind began to drift, though he was mindful not to recall whatever he’d dreamed of, he found himself wondering about their frequency. They all went through particularly rough bouts of sleepless nights and the nightmares never really went away, not after everything they had seen and been a part of…but usually there was a concrete reason to point to.
Being taken by Merrick was hardly traumatizing. He and Joe had been kidnapped more times then they cared to remember, all with varying purpose and far worse tortures then was dealt at the hands of the doctor. They would have escaped eventually, with or without the team’s help, of that he had no doubt, even if it would have taken far longer then he would have liked. There was his particularly distasteful death at the hands of Keane, the memory still mildly jarring from the array of sensations and the adrenalin of the situation. Nicky knew Joe had more then a few nightmares about it since, though they came less from the physicality of it and more from enhanced fear that came from knowing of Andy’s mortality.
No, none of that truly spoke to the feeling his own nightmares inspired in him these days. Not even Andy’s loss of immortality seemed to sway his feelings. He loved her and he had already begun to grieve her…but his dreams held a sharper edge, one that spoke to a time long past, one that ate at the edges of his soul.
Failure.
Anger.
Grief.
Booker.
The floor beneath him was hard and unpleasant, bruising his legs and ass as they slowly went numb from the uncomfortable position, he sat in. Nevertheless, it was a welcome distraction from the place his thoughts had travelled to, even if it was something he’d need to examine sooner rather then later.
It was difficult to feel all that again, directed at one person, the whirlwind of those emotions, the way they settled over him like a stone reminded him far too much of a time beneath a too hot sun from above and the burning, shifting sand from below.
Shaking his head, Nicolò chose not to think on it. There would be time later, when they were no longer truly running to acknowledge his own frustration, to make peace with the betrayal that had cut deeper than any blade or needle.
For now, he was simply too tired.
At some point in the night, Nicolò must have drifted off to an uneasy sleep because the next thing he knew, he was being startled awake by the gentle creak of his bedroom door. His head snapped up, finger already curling around the gun that was kept on the unsteady coffee table, only to realize it was coming from inside their house, not outside.
Blinking rapidly, Nicky took in the sight of Joe standing in the doorway, the dim lighting only hinting at his features. Still, he knew him well enough to recognize the slump in his posture and the tightness of his grip on the doorframe…and of course it was impossible to miss the way his lips were turned down in a decidedly heartbroken way.
Without prompting, Nicky rose from his place on the floor and crossed the small distance. He walked right into Joe’s waiting arms, which wrapped around him like he was coming home after years away, and he let himself drown in the warmth of his body and the hum in the back of his throat.
They stepped back into the bedroom, not parting in the slightest until the door could be nudged closed with a creak and well-placed boot. Joe held him, inhaling deeply and Nicky knew he hadn’t been startled awake by his own nightmare but by the empty bed. He could practically sense his lover’s disappointment.
“You didn’t wake me,” Joe’s voice was hoarse with sleep. “You should have woken me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Nicky,” he sighed.
“I love you.”
“I know,” his arms tightened briefly. “I wish you would let me help.”
He sounded so despondent, so resigned that Nicky’s heart cracked just a little. They had always handled things differently and if Joe were not still drowsy and exhausted, he would feel guilty for saying that.
“You do help, simply by being here. You know this Joe; this is how it has always been.”
The sigh that escaped the man he loved was exasperated, “come to bed?”
“Always,” Nicky murmured, pressing a kiss to his jaw, his cheek, his lips. “Always.”