February 18, 2281 3:45 PM

It takes its time, a week and a half to be really precise about it, but trouble does eventually find its way back to the office. And when it does, it arrives in the form of a grouchy, heavy-browed young man with a dented pipe rifle slung awkwardly over his back and his shoulders drowning in a grease-stained coat. He looks highly uncomfortable standing there on the threshold, like he's afraid someone's gonna ask him what the hell he's doing and to turn around and leave right now before you break something, you klutz.

"It's ah... Finn, right? C'mon in. Take a seat if you like."

Nick waves him in, hoping he'll drop that stiff stance he's affecting. Doesn't seem like it's working; at the sound of his name the kid's eyebrows drop even lower, but he does finally take the step in to let the door click shut. Though he's still hovering around in front of the coat rack like he's ready to turn and make a dash for freedom at a moment's notice.

"How the hell do you know my name?"

Well. Guess that's not too big of a surprise. It's been a couple months and the poor guy didn't really seem like the most observant fellow out there, to put it nicely. Not like Nick's gonna say 'John's babysitter, don't you remember?' anyway.

Nick waves the question away and turns to fully face the hulking scruff pile fidgeting in front of his door. "Nevermind. What can I do for you? Lookin' for something?"

"Oh." Finn doesn't make a move to sit but his posture snaps straighter and there's a scramble of changing gears on his face. "Right. Uh. I'm running a message on behalf of Boss Marowski. He's got a... problem and sent me to see if you could be hired for it, I guess."

Nick blinks.

Huh.

True, Nick doesn't know an awful lot about the political dynamics of Goodneighbor, but he's got enough of a grasp to be a lot taken aback by this almost-direct request from someone like Marowski. Not only by the strong wave of curiosity, but also the fact that Marowski knows of Nick at all. Not really sure if that's a good thing or not. He's also a little thrown off to discover that Goodneighbor doesn't have its own team of problem solvers to deal with whatever this is.

"Did he. Okay." Nick plucks the half-gutted alarm clock off his most recent notebook, flips to a blank page, and untucks his pencil from behind his ear. "What's the problem?"

Finn scratches the back of his neck before answering. "Stan didn't give me a whole lotta details but it's somethin' to do with… someone's been contaminating our chem stocks on purpose and it's making everyone sick."

Oh. Damn. That is serious. If the gossip that makes it back here is even a quarter true, that's a lot of potential victims. And on the other side, Marowski's probably in some dire straits with a big money-maker like that compromised. Cleanup isn't gonna be simple for him and his guys either, Nick imagines.

"Sicker than usual, I guess," he mutters as he scribbles a few things down.

"Huh?"

Nick shakes his head and clears his throat. Bad time for snark. "Nothin'. Contaminated chems. Has anyone died from this stuff? How bad is it?"

"I don't know. I think maybe a few people, yeah." Finn scowls again, and Nick barely hears him grumble, "Bad enough we gotta go to outsiders for help."

And Nick will graciously ignore that. Surly punk.

"Any suspects? Is it only affecting Goodneighbor?"

Finn shrugs.

"I don't know nothin' about it. Just delivering a message. Boss says…" He pauses and when he starts again, it sounds like he's reciting a script he's either been told or cooked up himself on the way over. "...he can generously compensate you for your time and discretion and he hopes for a quick resolution to this matter."

"I bet. Well. I can at least come have a look at what's going on."

Poor guy, Nick thinks again as he watches Finn twist his fingers into his cuffs. Looks like he's about to work himself into a migraine with how hard he's concentrating on getting his words correct and how much he hates being here.

"He also asks that you stop by his office to speak with him before anything else when you arrive."

Logical place to start, yeah, but the phrasing there, or maybe that he asked at all… puts him a little on edge.

"Sure, I'll do that," Nick says. "I've got a few things to put in order around here before I head over, but okay. Tell him I'd be happy to see if I can help out."

Finn's shoulders finally drop down into something a little more natural-looking. "Fine. Just don't take too long, think he wants this cleaned up fast."

"Yeah, I'd assumed so." Nick flips his book closed and stands, wincing at the twinge in his back as he does. "Well, if that was all…"

"That was it," Finn says, a little too quickly. "Thank you for your consideration." Then he mutters 'thank fuck' under his breath and without so much as a by-your-leave, disappears out the door.

As he watches the door click shut, Nick faintly regrets not badgering him into staying a few minutes longer for a torturously awkward coffee.

February 18, 2281 6:15 PM

The McDonough house is pretty much exactly the way John described it. A small, grey shack with a battered tin roof and rust and moss encroaching on the side nearest to the city reservoir. A porch overflowing with terracotta and stone pots, most of the plants in them trimmed down and shriveled from the winter months but a few still looking peppy enough; buckets, tarps, pallets, crates, sacks, spades, a chair missing a seat, huge rolls of chicken wire, a pair of sneakers merrily rotting away, a tub of melted colored chalk. An overflowing compost bin and a rain barrel tucked around the side.

Nick pulls a folded slip of paper out of his pocket as he eyes the slightly askew door and the accumulation of jumbled stuff and farming equipment. He doesn't want to take too long here, doesn't want to look like he's casing the place or lingering for any number of other reasons (especially doesn't want the awkward situation of having to explain to the kid's parents why he's creeping around the premises; a brother is one thing, parents are a different beast entirely), but he does take a quick second to soak in what he can. He so rarely gets any honest glimpses under the party boy exterior that being able to stand in front of John's actual home (after being invited, too) is sorta sweet.

Nick smiles and takes the two steps up to the porch, unfolding the note to recheck the contents before quickly sliding the corner under a potted plant nearest the door, the dark, lacy curls of fern the only thing still going strong through the cold.

'Got a new one if you're up for some work. Seems like it might be about your speed. Heading out tomorrow morning at 10, hope to see you. -V'

John might not even be in the city right now; Nick hasn't seen the kid in a while and he knows the last time he did was ...tricky to say the least. But if he is around, this case is very much in his wheelhouse and he did offer to come along again, so it's worth a shot. Great excuse.

Nick turns and heads back home to start packing, trying not to get his hopes up too high on it as he goes. And fails terribly, of course. His world's more alive with John in it. That can't be helped.

February 19, 2281 12:15 AM

The room is dark and softly quiet when there's a familiar, four-beat knock down at the front door. Nick's been lying in bed for god knows how long but not goddamn tired, of course not. He's been repositioning the pillow every few minutes, kicking his feet to try to get the blankets to lay perfectly, his face creating phantom itches to scratch, eyes closed not because they want to be but because he's actively keeping them that way. Wondering if he should turn on the light and read (or count knots in the ceiling beams, anything) instead of rolling around like this.

Why get some rest when one of the bosses of Goodneighbor wants him to fix a possibly very high-severity problem with the city's main cash source? Who needs it. Sheesh.

So the sound of the lock clicking open downstairs and the door quietly opening and shutting again is really kind of welcome, no matter the way it makes Nick's heart run double-time for a few seconds. He's wanted so badly to see John again. For this new job and to just to see him, sure, that's a given, but also to talk. Make sure he's alright. Discuss the thing if they can, that last thing— the stiffness, the blank eyes, the resigned dread in his voice when he'd asked if Nick was going anywhere, John skipping out in the night— and get a better grip on what the hell had even happened.

Nick's had the time to make all sorts of guesses at it and let his mind worry at it with frantic little rat teeth; to ramp up the self-flagellation some more for what they've been doing. Piecing the events of the night together along with everything he thinks he knows about John paints an ugly, obvious-in-hindsight picture that breaks his heart to think about.

He wants to know where they are and the why of all this... but if that's not something John can give him, Nick supposes he can accept that and gracefully let it go. The important thing is to try. To let the kid know he's making an effort to understand. To help. Hell, just to be there for him.

Doesn't seem like he gets enough of that.

Nick raises his voice just enough to make himself heard through the warped floorboards as he reaches over to fumble the lamp on and wriggle himself around to sit up cross-legged facing the entryway. Straighten out his shirt and knuckle away the bed-head hair tickling his forehead.

"C'mon up. I'm still awake."

Light footsteps drift up the wooden stairs and there he is. The lower half of his face buried in a scarf, the rest of him packed into a too-big sweatshirt and his jacket, shoulders hunched up against the cold, hair frizzed and snarled. Hesitant, but present.

And Nick can't help the smile that wants to spring out, just from seeing him slouch around the corner. Wouldn't want to even if he could.

"Hey," he says, no doubt a little sparkly-eyed.

John leans in against the wall and pulls his scarf down to reveal his own wry smile paired with another busted lip and a blotchy red bruise spread over his cheek.

"Howdy."

"You're gonna get pinched one of these days, runnin' around so late."

"Aah." John winks. "Just gotta keep my pockets clean and it shouldn't be a problem, right? They'll let me loose."

"That's what they say," Nick agrees.

It is what they say, just not necessarily what they do. He'd seen Morrison getting harangued by a guard for a good five minutes over something as silly as popping a couple headache tabs on the upper walkway and looking 'awful furtive about it' not two days past. Poor fella'd ended up frustrated nearly to the point of tears; probably would have been if his sister hadn't swooped in with a well-timed grab-and-drag and a loud 'what the hell are you doing walking around contagious like this, you probably gave it to that poor guy!'

"—That or call in that favor Danny owes me. But what's up? What's the deal? Got me awful curious with the note you left." He shakes his head and grins ruefully. "And boy, aren't I lucky ma didn't see it before I did. Never hear the end of it."

Huh. And here Nick thought he'd been fairly circumspect about his wording; kept it short and simple. He'd also talked himself down from putting in anything less professional than he had; had to knock out a 'please' and a rogue 'I miss you' from the final version.

"The deal is… I had a visit earlier today from your friend from Goodneighbor. The one who always looks like someone called him a schlep and he's trying to figure out if he should throw down over it or not."

John's eyebrows shoot up. "What, Finn? No shit. What the hell did he want?"

Nick crosses his arms and leans back against the wall, considering the whole thing again. Seems like it's gonna be a big one. If he does end up able to find who or whatever's at the bottom of it, he doesn't envy them whatever consequences come their way. Not at all.

"Apparently Marowski's having some trouble and wants me to go see him."

"You got a job from Marowski," John says, sounding and looking absolutely dumbfounded. And the weird awe in his voice makes another twinge of nervousness shoot through Nick. Justifies that first one from earlier.

"Yeah."

"The Marowski."

"What, is there another one?"

"Oh," John says, stunned. "Man. You're gonna do it, right?"

"Lookin' that way. It sounds fairly dire and I don't have a good enough reason to tick him off by saying no. ...Does he even have a first name?" Nick adds.

"If he does I dunno what it is. Adds to his mystique though, don't it. One of those 'no one's heard it and lived to tell the tale' things."

Nick snorts. "Sure."

"So what's the trouble? Or did he not say?"

"Yeah. Some unknown party is poisoning the chems over there."

Emotions flash rapidly over John's face before settling on shocked outrage and he sputters out, "What? You're joking." Nick shakes his head and John hisses. "For how long!? What the fuck are they doing about it? What kind of poison? Does Cooke know?"

Another head shake. "You know the same amount I do now. Finn didn't seem to really be in the loop, he just brought the message over. So that's all I've got." Nick smiles and leans forward. "And with yourself being a guy on the inside, so to speak… I could really use your help. Feel like lending your expertise to the cause?"

"Wh— yeah. Yes, of course. Hell, this is practically personal."

"Guess it is, isn't it," Nick says. "You run for Fred." He doesn't quite pose it as a question because he knows the answer's yes, and doesn't quite make it a statement in case it comes out as an accusation. ...But from the look that crawls over John's face and the way his shoulders stiffen up he definitely heard it that way.

"Helps keep the lights on," he says, flat as anything. And just like that, they're combatants. The air tightens down and the room feels more like a boxing ring than a bedroom. Familiar feeling, but not one Nick likes.

He breathes out and rubs the back of his neck, watching John where he's still slouched against the wall. "Look," he starts. He's not really sure where John got the idea that Nick's out to get him for this. Though maybe it's not even personal, just a side effect of living in a city that has a mile long list of what counts as contraband and cracks down hard on it. "I'm not judging. I didn't back in Goodneighbor when you showed me, and I'm not now either. I know money's hard to come by, and if that's how you do it, that's how you do it. Might not exactly be legal around here I'm guessing, but it's not like you're out there stealing or hurting innocent people. And you're being safe about it, aren't you? I know you're smart."

John frowns, looking struck.

"Okay?" Nick prompts, trying a smile. He idly wishes he had a cigarette or something. Too late at night for this kinda thorny navigation. "I'm not here to turn you in; I don't have some weird vendetta against chem dealers cuz I used to be a cop if that's what you're thinkin'. In fact, I want your experience on this because mine is from the other way around. And not to be a jerk about it, but this is gonna be a really tough go if you gimme the death stare every time I mention it or if I got a question for you." He spreads his hands out. "C'mon, no need for the defense. It's just me, kid."

John's still frowning, but it's starting to look more like it's because he's grudgingly agreeing with what Nick just said. He hopes.

"Okay." John exhales loudly, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "You're right. Yeah. Yeah, I do, I run for Fred. I buy from him and sell over here in the city."

"And Cooke?" Nick asks gently. "Is he the same?"

"Sorta, probably. I don't really know; we stay outta each other's way. He deals to the standers out of the Taphouse and I deal to the fieldies out of… well, you've seen it, my backpack or my pocket usually."

"And you asked about timeframe because you're worried some of the bad ones got over here from your last pickup."

John rolls his shoulder and nods.

"Yeah," Nick says. "I wondered about that myself. I haven't got a clue how long this's been going on and I wouldn't know the first thing about trying to fix it if it were the case. Tough situation. Gotta get there and get this sorted out quickly and hope no one OD's in the meantime."

"Guess so. Could be okay; I haven't re-upped in a while." John's face scrunches down into a scowl again and he mutters, "Still though. Fuck, dude."

"Mmhm, not really ideal. Just gotta do the best we can."

About a minute passes.

Very quietly.

And throughout all this John still hasn't moved from his post at the corner of the room; he's standing there staring into the corner and worrying at his split lip with his tongue. His arms aren't crossed over his chest anymore, but Nick's not really a fan of the big, obvious chunk of space between them caused by the other big, obvious discussion they're not having. Any other time and John would at the very least be wandering around the room. More likely sitting on the edge of the bed with a hand on Nick's knee or pinching his sleeve or drumming on the bedspread. Snapping his gum or twisting one of his earrings.

Nick takes a deep breath in. Might as well air all the drama at once. "John."

John sighs. "That's what they call me," he says, sounding guarded and purposefully not looking over.

"The other night," Nick starts, then halts, not really sure what he wanted to follow that up with anymore.

Front and center would be, Are you okay? Maybe followed by, Has it ever happened before? or What set it off? or even more prying, What created it in the first place? Distant last, and probably one that shouldn't be spoken, comes a Would you have come back on your own or would that have been enough to end this?

"Yeah," John says before Nick can find his feet. "I uh. Guess it's a little too late to say it was nothin', huh."

Nick shakes his head. "Wasn't nothing."

The joking look on John's face falters and falls away. "I know."

"I'd like to talk, if you want," Nick says slowly. "When you keep stuff in it has a habit of getting bigger and… I dunno. Festering. I'm not the greatest problem solver, not when it comes to people or, hell, anything really, but I'm here. I can listen. I just want to help figure this out, if I can."

"I―" John says, then shakes his head. Makes a frustrated choking noise. He stares down at the bare slats of wood underneath him, eyes shielded by his hair and mutters, "Fuck. I'm not fucking stoned enough for this shit."

And again, the last thing Nick wants to do is force it. Absolutely no desire to make the kid have a conversation he's not ready to have yet. Fine and good to squeeze down on some asshole withholding info on an illegal arms sale or on who's stealing a city's entire supply of scrap copper and power cores et cetera, but not this. Nick puts his palms out to try to call a stop to the (he doesn't wanna call it fear… but almost) extreme discomfort filling John's face.

"We don't have to yet if you don't wanna. You can tell me to wait." Nick looks on in silence until John turns to meet his eyes, needing him to hear him on this. "I'll wait for you."

He watches the crease in John's brow slowly soften, the tense angles of his shoulders and arms loosen, the over-sharp look in his eye fade down to something more neutral.

"Wait then," John says. Unsure, like it's hard to believe that that's really an option.

"Okay, I will," Nick answers. "For however long you want."

John stares. "Okay." He blows a slow breath out. "Okay."

There's another long silence, this one not quite as horrible. Nick watches tiny, half-made expressions flit over John's face and an instance where it looks like he's going to say something but changes his mind. Eventually he sighs and flops his arms down to his side. Nods and mouths 'okay' to himself again, looking a little more confident. Relieved.

"I. Guess it's a big day tomorrow then, isn't it. I should, eh," John says. He cocks his thumb back over his shoulder and there's the tentative start of a smile tugging the corner of his lips up. "Probably get goin'. You old guys need your sleep."

Nick snorts and raises his eyebrows. "Wh― Hey. Don't worry about me, you need to get home before your mom grounds your tiny ass."

"Pfff! You love my tiny ass."

And with that, things feel a little more normal again. The air isn't stiff with unsaid words or worry, it drifts back to two friends who stayed up too late poking fun at each other.

"I love the ass when he's not standing in the middle of my room making... incredibly weak attempts to damage my ego."

John huffs, smile now completely unhidden. "Cranky prick."

"Don't start it if you can't take it, squirt." Nick shifts around in the puddle of blankets in his lap and nods up past John as he realizes he's still hovering around. "Want me to walk you down?"

"Oh, would you? Might lose my way; it's such a frightfully long journey," John says, twisting his shoulders coquettishly and his gaze going completely moony.

But he doesn't move when Nick slides out of bed with an eye roll and walks over to him. Just stays still with his hands planted on his hips and watches, quietly defiant and beautiful in that way that he is. Nick reaches out, slowly enough to see John's reaction as he does it (also to let him step back if he wants), and brushes his hair out of his face, careful to avoid the bruise.

"Glad to know I didn't scare you off for good," Nick says, serious again. "Wasn't sure you'd be back."

John closes what little distance there is between them, wraps his arms around Nick's neck, and pushes up on tip toe to hook his chin over his shoulder. Nick bends to meet him and leans his head against John's, surprised but very willing to join in. He shuts his eyes as he gathers the kid in and luxuriates in the warmth and feel of the two of them slotted together like this. The smell of fading detergent on the collar of his jacket where it's crushed up against Nick's jaw and cheek, the bones of John's hips pushing against his, the easy fit of Nick's arms around his back and waist, the simple heat of him- wonderful and welcoming.

"You don't scare me, man," John says, low and soft right next to his ear.

Liar. Maybe not in the traditional sense, but there's something going on there. Here. Somewhere.

"That's good," Nick says. "'S about the last thing I wanna do."

He's had time (and some serious motivation) to think about it, to piece together what he can about what the almost complete attitude reversal and subsequent shutdown had meant. About John and his hyper-fascination with sex. With violence. With justice and chaos and independence. Many many shades and facets and splinters to shuff together into one heap.

And Nick's come to the brilliant conclusion that he's been utterly self-centered about it… this. Them. In a way. Never really stopped to think about how what they're doing affects John on a mental level even though Nick's supposed to be the more conscientious of the two, at least on the merit of age.

He'd known at the time, on a basic level but with nowhere near the depth he has now, that going along with John cornering him in the office that first time had been a really bad mistake. Not so much the deed itself, though that certainly came with its own set of trip ups, but that that kind of careless, impulsive acceptance had set the stage for something soulless and empty, and by now Nick is well beyond the point of knowing that's not what he ever wanted. And if he's reading this right...

If he's right, maybe it's not exactly what the kid wants anymore either. Doesn't want the game it used to be.

Nick's got excuses, some good and a lot more not so good, but it's better late than never on the awareness front, he supposes.

"Can I kiss you?" Nick says into John's neck.

John leans back to look up at him, mouth pulled into an amused quirk and tilting his head like Nick's done something quaint again.

"Always," he says.

Nick pushes his lips against John's, slow and thoughtful and cradling the back of John's head in his hand. He can feel the interrupted skin on John's lower lip and reminds himself to keep it gentle, keep it all soft and light as they crush together and sink into the kiss. He wishes, as John's hands creep up the back of his neck and he breathes out heavier over Nick's cheek, that he could do this forever. Wouldn't be too bad.

Nick lets him go before he falls into that kind of infinity, easing back to press his lips to the skin between John's eyebrows. Then laughs because John is laughing at him because he can't, as per usual, keep off. He kisses John's temple, the corner of his jaw, and his mouth again; one final, lingering kiss there feeling fond as hell as he does it. They part and he rests his forehead down against John's.

"Missed you, kiddo," Nick murmurs. "It's boring around here without you."

John briefly sucks his own lip back into his mouth, chewing on the edge. And it might be a trick of the low light, but his cheeks seem pinker as he raises up and meets Nick's eyes again.

"Careful what you wish for," he says. "Well, implied wish. Sounds like we're gonna be truckin' together for a while."

"Lookin' forward to it."

"Eh. Might be tolerable." The grin on John's face belies the indifferent words. Nick pinches and prods him until he's dancing away and slapping at Nick's hands.

"C'mon," Nick says. "I need a few hours and you do too. We're not gonna get very far if we're both cranky and missing obvious stuff from sleep deprivation."

Down at the front door, John stops again with his fingers resting on the handle. He ducks his head and looks at the floor as he zips up his jacket.

"Thanks," he says, quiet and still facing the door.

"'Course. Like you said, long and treacherous journey."

John huffs a quiet laugh. "No, not that… the…" he says, and then trails off.

"Mm?"

"Nah, I dunno. Nothin'."

He shakes his head, tugs his scarf back up over his nose and tucks the ends into his collar before pulling the door open. Cold air rushes in and Nick holds the edge so John can stuff his hands into his pockets and slip through the threshold into the alley.

"I'm on your team, kid, if you want me there," Nick tells him as he steps out. "Remember that."

John stills for a moment but recovers quickly, nodding before he steps out of the pool of indoor light and turns a little so Nick can see the crinkle of a smile in his eye. And Nick returns it, freezing toes be damned.

"Night, Nick."

"Night, John. Get some sleep, I'll see you tomorrow."