Work Text:
Missouri.
It's quiet on the river bank. Well, no, not quiet, exactly; it's just that Nick's been so used to the soundscape of the city for so many years that this place feels unsettlingly calm. Calm--that's the word he's looking for. The rushing water, at least, helps him focus on something while he recovers from his sprint, his heart still pounding in his chest. He watches the sun start rising into the sky, and it's well above the horizon when he hears footfalls behind him, in a pattern he couldn't forget even if he tried.
Instead of saying hi, Manny hands him a bottle of water. He drained the last drops from his thermos a few minutes ago, so he expresses his gratitude and opens the bottle.
Manny sits next to him, cross-legged, staring at the river. "Made us a deal. We're safe for now."
"Good," Nick says when he pauses to swallow. "That's good." He's very pleased--though not surprised--that his instinct to believe in his husband was the correct one to act on.
They just sit for a while in the mid-morning calm, and then Manny says, "You know why they call it a marathon?"
"Some Greek guy, right?" Nick replies, tucking the now-empty water bottle safely into Manny's backpack. "Ran from Marathon to Athens. Or the other way around. Can never remember."
"The first one," Manny says. "He delivered his message, and then dropped dead."
They've been together, and been playing this game, for so long that stating the obvious has become somewhat of a taboo, but that was such a thinly-veiled allegory that it all but requires a response. "There wasn't another play we could've made. Not if we wanted to keep the balls."
"I know."
Nick looks over at Manny. His jaw is set in a way Nick hasn't seen in many years. He's upset, but it's not you didn't take out the garbage, and it's not I asked you to turn down the television, and it's not you stole all my covers last night. It's much deeper than that, and it would make Nick's chest feel tight if he wasn't so exhausted.
Without looking back, Manny continues: "It's just that the last twenty-two hundred years were only worth it because I had you."
Nick knew exactly what he was doing when he took off running on the highway, but knowing consequences and having to deal with them are two very, very different experiences. He remembers an old saying, something about asking permission and begging forgiveness. "I'm sorry."
Manny sighs, sounding more than a little resigned.
"We'll figure it out, babe." Nick has no idea if they actually will, but if they don't have faith in themselves, then really, what the fuck else do they have?
Manny makes a vaguely affirmative sound and yawns quietly.
"I guess just--" Nick yawns too, reflexively, "--maybe after we haven't been awake all night, huh?"
"Yeah," Manny half-chuckles, a bit more relaxed. He stands up, holds out his hand, and pulls Nick to his feet. He realizes, as it happens, that this is the first time they've looked into each other's eyes since he ran off the field, and it's sort of overwhelming.
"Thanks for trusting me," Nick says without really thinking about it.
A smile tugs at one corner of Manny's mouth. "Thanks for not dropping dead."
It's a bad joke, but it totally dissipates any tension that was left between them. They kiss, briefly, before making camp under a tree, a little uphill from the riverbed. They settle in, squeezed into a single sleeping bag, and Manny falls asleep almost immediately.
(By the time Nick closes his eyes, the soft, gentle rhythm of Manny's breathing has drowned out everything else, and he feels like he's right back in their condo in Atlanta.)