Work Text:
"How did you get this number?" Roache asks, and Nick feels a little giddy and a lot happy, because he watches just enough TV to know that the CIA aren't exactly the most trustworthy of guys.
(And yeah, he's taken into account that watching TV in Russia might leave one with a bit of a biased view on that sort of thing. Even though, honestly, it's not that bad - apart from the bit where people seem to assume that just because he's American, he can get them tickets to Disneyland on the cheap.)
"A friend gave it to me," Nick says.
He can almost see Roache rolling his eyes. "A friend."
"I have friends." Not a lot, he thinks, and anyway, they're more like colleagues. Ex-girlfriends. People who prefer him not to call them because he reminds them of that time they almost got crushed, eaten and/or stepped upon by a huge lizard. "In fact, I have lots of friends." The entire city of New York owes him their lives. That's quite a high number of people.
Plus, he's got Roache. "Nick." More or less.
"Good to hear your voice again, Phil," Nick says, because if being with Abby has taught him anything, it's that it's always least painful to get the awkward bits over with first.
"Don't call me 'Phil', you crazy American," Roache says. There's an odd sound, muffled. "And don't call me at work."
Nick suspects he recognizes the next sound, although, of course, Roache might just be firing his gun in the air, like a warning. Or maybe he's at the shooting range, practicing.
Good, perfectly innocuous explanations all. "Sorry." Nick's not an idiot; he can picture the kind of trouble a guy like Roache could get into when his phone goes off at a bad time.
So much for the CIA actually being nice guys.
"S'okay," Roache says. "It's not a problem."
"No, really, I feel kind of terrible right now."
"Do you need me to call you an ambulance?" Roache asks, which Nick thinks is either a joke or kind of sweet in a slightly weird kind of way. Also:
"How'd you even know where to send it to?" Stupid question. "You've been spying on me?"
"What happened in New York has made you a person of interest." Roache's tone implies this is perfectly reasonable and logical and not at all something Nick should find slightly creepy and a little offensive. "I have no doubt your own secret service is keeping tabs on you as well. The Russians, too, probably. The English - they always go sticking their noses into things that are none of their business."
"You do know you guys were allies in both World Wars, right? I mean, English-French rivalry is so pre-nineteenth century."
"They started it," Roache says.
"Right." Nick feels this falls into the same category, roughly, as 'it's not you, it's your job'. You can't win those kinds of arguments. "Do you need me to call you an ambulance?"
"I need you to hang up now and never call me at this number again."
"Oh." Not quite what Nick had been hoping to hear. "I - oh. Sorry." Apologizing twice in one conversation: not a good sign, generally.
"Enjoy your worms," Roache says, and then he's gone.
Nick stares down at 'his worms'. They wriggle back at him sympathetically.
*
Dear Nick,
I am currently in a location I cannot disclose, for reasons I can say nothing about. I might be here on vacation; I might be not. I might be with friends; I might be alone.
The weather might be rainy, or sunny, or something in between. There might be snow.
I am drinking coffee. It does not taste good, but perhaps I am only writing that because I know that you know that I don't like coffee the way they make it in America.
Enclosed, you will find an address. Letters you send there may well be intercepted and read by others, but you may be reasonably sure that eventually they will, in fact, reach me.
How have you been?
PR
*
Dear Mr Roache - or should that be Agent Roache? I don't know; they never offered a correspondence-with-foreign-secret-service-agents-course at uni.
Anyway, I've been great. The worms are great. Russia has a lovely climate. Lots of rain. I like it.
I'd say you don't really appreciate the beauty of worms until you've seen what radiation can do to a lizard, but I know that's not true in my own case, so why should it be any truer in yours?
I have always found worms to be very interesting life-forms. For example, did you know -
[message truncated]
*
Dear Nick,
I am well, thank you for asking.
Yrs trly,
PR
*
Dear Mr Roache,
fine, fine, I can take a hint. I have to ask, though: why is everyone always hating on the worms? Very useful creatures, worms. In fact, if we didn't have worms, life on Earth would be -
[message truncated]
*
Dear Nick,
you cannot take a hint. At all.
Also, while pneumonia may look less intimidating than a giant lizard, both may cause severe damage to your health. You are behaving very recklessly.
Yrs trly,
PR
*
Dear Mr Creepy Stalker,
are you watching me right now? Would it make you happy if I took my shirt off, right here, right now?
Anyway, I just forgot my umbrella. No big deal; I went back and got it. As I'm sure you've seen, so what are you getting all grumpy about, anyway?
Hugs and kisses,
Nick
P.S. Just kidding about the shirt. And the hugs. And the kisses.
*
Dear Nick,
yes to both.
Yrs trly,
PR
P.S. I don't believe you were. I may be wrong, of course, in which case I will be slightly embarrassed and also, Hell is currently experiencing a considerable climate shift.
*
"Okay, this is just - " Nick says, shaking his head.
Russian coffee tastes much like American coffee to him; it's hot, and there's caffeine in it. Sugar, if you want a bit of a boost; milk, if you need some extra fat. (The amount of calcium in it is negligible.)
"Romantic?" Roache suggests.
Nick thinks the guy with the newspaper two booths over may be on Roache's team. The red-haired girl with the shiny ear-rings and the tinkly laugh. The two scowlers at the bar.
The three guys in suits and sunglasses look more like CIA. Incredibly out of place.
"Guys," Nick says. "It's just worms, okay? I'm studying worms."
"Big worms," Roache says. The red-haired girls mutters something unflattering in Russian, so Nick figures maybe she's not actually French secret service. Or maybe she is, and just good at hiding it.
"Not exactly 'demolishing New York' big."
Roache shrugs.
"What you're saying is, I'm stuck with you guys for the rest of my life, so I should just suck it up and learn to deal with it?" Having Roache around for the rest of his life doesn't sound so bad, Nick thinks.
Considering his past experiences in that area, he should probably be glad that Roache's boss actually wants him to stay close to Nick, that Roache is only ever going to leave if he quits his job at the same time.
"Stuck with me, only if you want to," Roache says.
"I do," Nick says, before he can really think about it. Then again, what's there to think about? He likes Roache, and apparently, Roache likes him well enough, too. The stuff of romance.
Roache nods once. "Good."
"Although, you know, I'm thinking I might go somewhere else. I mean, it's a big world out there and, let's be fair, us humans messed up in lots of places."
"And worms are kind of boring, compared to giant lizards?"
"Safe," Nick says. "Harmless. Really, I think exciting is way overrated. Don't you?"