Nick Carraway woke with a start from the couch of his garden home. His eyes were blurred from the sleep that he'd been rudely woken from. He sat up straighter, blinking hard to rid them of the snow of matter. It was nearly four- and he'd missed his train to work a half a dozen times over- and Jordan Baker had neglected to call like she usually did going from hotel to hotel. He was sure he had finally managed to upset their relationship to a certain caliber- whatever relationship there was... It didn't matter to him in the slightest; he'd grown awfully tired of these people. Their recklessness. Their hatred of everything that was not to their standing- and certainly their thought process to simply replace whatever they broke- including people.
He dragged his hand over his face with a drawn out sigh when he heard the sound that had woken him yet again. Nick stood, rubbing his eyes as he went to the front door. He'd left Gatsby to his own means right after breakfast; since he was going to go swim for the last time in summer and relax by his pool while waiting for Daisy's call. Nick frowned at the thought of Daisy- the side of him that recognized her as family told him that she wouldn't call- he wouldn't… but the side of him that had become friends with Gatsby wished that she would call- even if it was to only tell him goodbye. She was his cousin, yes, but he could easily say that she was a fool if she could not see how much Gatsby loved her. His feet took him to the wall between his plot and the looming structure of Gatsby's home. He frowned up at it, touching the fern that had grown on the wall's surface. He heard another noise and pulled it back to see a hulking man coming around the side of Gatsby's house, something clicking in his hand. His brow furrowed, "Wilson?" Was the clicking sound what woke him? Even then, how could he have heard it? He whispered softly, knowing the man only by what Tom had called him in that brief time he'd met him. Nick hurried to the archway between plots, not knowing really why he was so curious- His mind told him that he already knew. Wilson would suspect a yellow car- he would suspect Gatsby. He opened the gate- that had never seen a lock before in its short life- and followed Wilson to the pool where he could see Gatsby underneath the water swimming from one side of the pool to the other.
Nick's eyes saw the shine of a pistol and heard the whispers of Wilson. He muttered about god and the all-seeing eyes of the ashes. Nick didn't pause and would later say he didn't know what came over him as he ran toward the man raising the pistol and aiming it at Gatsby. He had never been extraordinarily brave in his life. But seeing Gatsby by the pool, seeing Wilson raising the gun sparked him into action. He flew into his side, knocking him onto the ground like this was simply another game of rugby in college. Wilson all but hissed at him and they wrestled with the gun. Nick was out matched easy by strength, size and will...and was failing not to put himself at the end of the gun. It fired five times, the sixth drawing blood and Gatsby from the pool.
He felt the liquid on him, yet he didn't understand why he'd become wet with the substance. He managed to wonder to himself if a butler had gone past and spilt wine on them in the struggle.
He had always been an intelligent man; though understand in that moment, his mind choose the lesser of two evils committed upon him. But alas the substance was thicker than the thin wine that the inhabitants of West and East egg argued about quality of. Nick breathed rapidly through his mouth, looking to Gatsby who stood not too far away dripping on the grass. He looked down at Wilson, who was gagging on blood staring at Gatsby- not Nick- but the man who he mistakenly thought was the murderer of his wife. Nick blinked rapidly and asked the elder what to do, when he did not answer, Nick did not ask again- perhaps too afraid of what he or others might say later.
Nick had killed a man- even in the war he had somehow avoided that nasty business of taking lives but alas, as far as this place seemed from the battle field, here he was standing above a dead man.
Nick was too deep in his own thoughts, too deep within his own horror to realize that Gatsby had gone into motion. Ordering men of the gangster Nick couldn't nearly remember the name of now to clean up the mess while he took Nick to the rooms upstairs in his own castle. It only took a few seconds for Nick to put two and two together and remember that he was in Gatsby's bedroom after a brief walk- though not remembering how he'd gotten there. Gatsby took the younger into the bathroom- the features beautiful chrome and cherry wood- and Nick would have commented on them if he hadn't been more scared of possible irons that would come to end his life as he knew it. And what a life it was.
When Gatsby took Nick into the restroom, he poured a tap of water into the sink and gently placing his hands inside of it. "Old Sport- Nick- come now, it isn't that serious." But the tone in his voice said it was matter that was just what he said it was not. "You saved my life, there isn't a way they can arrest you for that. Remember I have friends in the police department- they won't care about this. You saved my life." He repeated and Nick seemed to come out of his own personally created coma for just a moment. "But they blame you for Myrtle Wilson's murder… if I saved you from him getting revenge they'll think I was saving the murderer. We'll both go down for this." He said softly and looked as the blood lifted from his skin in the water and seemed to become red smoke beneath its surface.
Silence filled the room after Nick's observation. Nick went and got a towel to wipe his hands then his face from where Wilson's blood had splattered him across his nose. Nick's eyes were wide with terror though the other man had not said a word that he was at all worried about what happened in the situation. Gatsby shook his head after a good ten minutes if not more. "No we won't, Old Sport. No we won't. Daisy has made her choice, I'm going to make mine. We're going to Atlantic City." Nick opened his mouth to protest, "But work…" He made the weak attempt to argue and Gatsby gave him a look, "You want to go back to work after all this mess?" A quiet came again, before Nick whispered softly, looking at the door to make sure he did not see the shadow of a servant or gangster there. "When… when can we leave?"
Jay Gatsby paused, not expecting this at all- or at least some more argument than what was given. He had somehow, in the grand scheme of things, traded Nick for Daisy, who was no longer going to call. He asked his butler to call for her on the way to the bedroom, to discover that she had left around twelve with her husband and daughter to some unknown location. It seemed as though some sort of strange fate had been dealt to him and now Nick was being dragged in with it- how horrible. He had spent his entire life trying to make things perfect for her for her to disappear without a word. Perhaps Daisy was kidnapped by him- no, she was a smart girl and she wouldn't go where she didn't want to. She had left him and now both Nick and he had to suffer for it- surely he'd never forgive her. Gatsby shook his head slightly at the thought, soon coming out of his thoughts all together to focus on the problem at hand, "I'm not sure. But soon- before Wilson decides to rise from his grave like Bram Stroker loves to portray in his books and come after us." Nick made a soft laugh and shifted to put the towel away and out of sight, "I didn't think you liked fiction."
Another pause and a faint whisper, "There are a lot of things you don't know about me, old sport."