Reflections
A/N: Okay, so this is my first Nuke fanfic, just a little idea I whipped up for a drawing but unfortunately I can't draw so I decided to write it instead. The main reasoning behind this was that I couldn't find enough Nuke fanfic on here so I thought I'd just write some myself. This didn't turn out exactly like my initial idea but oh well, I gave it a go. Enjoy! And if you do actually enjoy it, please give it a quick review, I'd like to see what people think :)
Moonlight filters steadily in through the window, tracing the dust patterns that drift lazily through the air like smoke and casting gloomy shadows into the recesses of the room. The cold, pearly sheen that clings to the glass betrays little hint of the outside world and a cuckoo clock ticks softly from the opposite wall, its face illuminated by the dull silvery light. The monotonous rhythm counts down the seconds until dawn, its measure punctuated only by the soft rustling of fabric.
The man sits hunched on the arm of the threadbare couch, fingers of one hand idly pulling at loose threads whilst the other hand clutches the cold metal barrel of a loaded rifle, its butt balanced against the floor. The rifle sways slightly on its pivot every time he adjusts his weight, and the soles of his sneakers brush softly against the carpeted floor.
Every few minutes the man looks up to the shimmering glass and falls still, searching for the tiniest of movements in the darkness, drowning out the ticking of the clock, to stretch his hearing beyond the confines of the room, listening for any other sounds that penetrate the silence . If he listens hard enough, he can hear the low snuffling of the people asleep upstairs and the slight creaking of a wooden bed as someone turns over fitfully in their slumber. The clock ticks on, and Luke's eyes grow heavy, his fingers slacken around the rifle barrel and his head droops onto his chest. His eyes close as he tries to listen to the sounds around him but all he hears is the fading ticking stretching into the distance.
A loud creak overhead wakes Luke with a start. He jolts back up into a sitting position and his fingers tense automatically around the barrel of the rifle, pulling it up from the floor whilst the other hand searches for the stock. Another creak and the sound of slow footsteps, followed by a metallic thud as somebody twists a doorknob. Luke's fingers relax again and he lets the butt of the rifle drop back onto the carpet, his shoulder muscles untensing.
A beam of flickering amber falls on the wall at the top of the stairs and moves slowly downwards, encasing its bearer in a warm bubble of light. He reaches the foot of the stairs and places the candle on a small table, the motion upsetting the liquid wax which drips down the stick, forming ugly bumps on the smooth surface.
The man stands there for a second scratching the back of his head and gazing around the empty room, his raised arm pulling the faded red Braves jersey up over his belly, revealing a thin trail of dark hair running down from his navel and into the waistband of his checked black boxer shorts. Luke smiles sleepily at the newcomer and the man pads closer.
"I couldn't sleep" Nick whispers as he lowers himself onto the couch behind the arm where Luke sits, glancing over his shoulder. Luke unwraps his fingers from the barrel of the rifle and swaps it to his right hand. His left hand reaches out to the other man's head, fingers curling fervently in to the wild tufts of dark hair that lay there, bringing Nick's head closer and placing a light kiss on top of it.
Nick murmurs slightly at the touch and he pulls his arms tightly around Luke's waist, clasping his hands together and pressing his face into the back of Luke's shirt, grey-blue eyes staring into the darkness. Luke sighs gently as he pulls his fingers reluctantly from the other man's hair and turns back around to face the window once more, transferring the rifle to his dominant hand. "I have to keep watch". He feels Nick slump in resignation, and the hands slowly unclasp from in front of him, disentangle from around his waist. Nick's legs unfold as he begins to raise himself back off the couch.
A soft thud sounds as the rifle drops to the carpet, raising a small pattern of dust into the air. Luke's hands dart out and grasp Nick's, entwining their fingers together and pulling Nick gently back into a sitting position. "Stay with me?" A shy smile forms on Nick's face and he blinks softly, sinking obligingly back into the ragged couch. He waits for Luke to pick up the rifle and lean it against the wall, freeing both his hands, before encircling his arms once more about Luke's waist, drawing him closer. Fingers still entwined, they sit together in silence watching the dying quivers of the candlelight on the wall and the pearly sheen on the window turning to dew as the seconds count ever closer to dawn.
When he's alone, Luke likes to pretend that the world hasn't changed; that if he were to walk to the window and rub a circle of mist away with his sleeve, and if he were to peer out he would see a pitch sky scrubbed with charcoal clouds. Beneath it would lay the jagged outline of a bristling forest and the only sounds would be that of the night creatures who ruled it. There would be no destruction, no death, no difficult decisions, just perfect moments. But as Luke sits in the quiet of the morning, his head resting on Nick's shoulder, listening to the gentle snoring and feeling the warmth of Nick's arms wrapped around his waist, Luke reckons, maybe this moment could be perfect too.