February 19, 2281 10:15 AM
Much the same way as the last time they'd ventured out together, John joins him separately on the small metal balcony jutting off the side of the ever-more-familiar apartment building. He heaves himself up through the opening for the ladder and sprawls out next to Nick on the not very comfortable grating.
"Well lookie at this, here we are," he declares around a mouthful of something, tucking his arms under his head and kicking his feet out between the rails. He's all bundled up again with a beanie crammed down around his ears and rightly so; still colder than a witch out here.
"Here we are," Nick agrees.
"Goin' back to good old Goodneighbor again."
If it's possible, Nick's feeling even more nervous about it, though he is more prepared this time; at least kit-wise if not his mental state. And it's not even the city. It's the prospect of― now that he's had time to really chew it over and also after John's extremely helpful reaction― having to meet with Marowski. To 'speak with him before anything else'. For Christ's sake, he feels like he's going in for his quarterly review with the bureau chief.
"Sure are."
John turns to look up at Nick, perfectly situated so the shadow from Nick's hat blocks the watery morning sunlight. He squints anyway, cutting his eyes slyly. "If I didn't know better I might say you kinda like the place."
Good old Goodneighbor indeed. Nick huffs and unwraps a stick of gum for himself, shrugs when he offers one to John and it's waved off. He works on folding the foil into the tiniest possible square and wonders if he could get away with just not going to see the guy. Skip that whole step. Pretend he hadn't heard maybe, but no, damnit, he'd already given Finn a direct yes. And logically Marowski'd be the one with the most info on what the hell had even happened so that's a double nix. Oh well.
"You know, it must be growing on me."
John's eyebrow ticks up. "Really?"
"Like an extra limb," Nick says, blandly staring down at his gum wrapper.
John hacks and rolls away to laugh into the stairwell. He's crunching and swallowing something when he comes back and Nick catches the faint scent of mint coming from him. Morning mentats.
"So it's… what?" John says. "Creepy? But also super useful if you wanna surprise stab someone?"
"...What a strangely perfect way to put it."
"'Strangely perfect'." John snorts. "Gotta stay on brand." Then he stretches out and playfully (but still hard, little monster) punches Nick in the leg. "Wanna go? Let's go."
Nick yanks the hat off John's head and heaves himself to his feet while the kid rolls around slapping at Nick's shoes and whining about the static frizzing his hair out. John eventually gets a toe to the hip for his theatrics and then a hand up once he gives the fake tantrum a rest. They haul open the rusty fire escape door together and head through the dark, silent corridors.
When they push open the door to the roof Nick has to bite back what probably would have been an embarrassing shriek at how much colder and stronger the wind is up here.
Though, in the words of Nick's dad, that's both how you know you're still alive and how you grow as a person: by suffering at the hands of stuff like weather extremes, willfully ignorant people, and underdone food. Maybe that last one had been less about growing as a person and more about growing parasites. Dad's particular style of life advice had been eminently confusing.
John has no such reservations about screaming and promptly does so, yanking his scarf back into place and shivering.
He slips out into the wedge of muted light coming in and Nick follows, thumbing off his flashlight and tugging his collar up and around to cut the worst of the pressure change. Murky puddles of rain dot the sagging roof this time instead of the dust-laden frost of December; they wend around the biggest of them, neither feeling a desire to tempt either the roof's structural integrity or how slick the surface is by trying to hop over.
They make their careful way across the rooftops with a few more start-stops on conversation. Though it's mostly quiet. The loud kind.
"Okay. Look."
Nick comes to a stop along with John and waits there behind him. He's halted in the middle of one of the jury-rig bridges between buildings and staring out into the city, eyes unreadable from this angle but his jaw is set hard and his posture's following suit. Nick's not at all worried that the kid would do something screwy like swing himself up and over, but the way John's frowning hard down a long drop with his arm braced out and hand loosely resting on the metal rail draws a parallel there. He's about to jump into something.
So Nick stops and Nick waits.
"I don't wanna keep going around with this… thing hovering," John says. He's speaking carefully as he turns to face Nick, putting each word out slowly and clearly. Not how he usually talks. "Been feeling like I owe someone money all week and it's getting weird and it's making me fucking nervous and I don't like it. So let's. Get on with it." He twirls his hand in a 'come on, help me out' gesture. "I am completely lost so gimme something. A jumping off point. Ask me a question, I don't know."
"Yeah? Now?" Nick asks, taking a few steps forward. Just enough to rest his own arm on the same rail and join in on John's pointed surveillance of the alley and streets below with bright grey sky above it all.
"I'm— Unless we're on a time limit."
"No, no," Nick says quickly, "not what I meant. Screw Marowski; he can wait." John shoots a glance at Nick, who firmly shakes his head. Good on the kid for saying something. "I'm game, just didn't think it'd be now is all."
John grunts in acceptance. "Wasn't high enough last night, and I'm still not but close enough." He clears his throat and Nick can hear the wry smile in his voice. "Not telling how much or what… so. Onward."
A jumping off point. Okay. He can do that. Nick takes a few seconds to think and takes a shot.
"Well. I guess this one might answer a couple things. That night, you asked me a few times if I was leaving. How come?"
Despite the reassurances, John flinches and puts his hands over his face, nails clawing lightly into his forehead. From between them, Nick can hear him say, "Aaahhh… shit." He turns away completely and tries to run his fingers through his hair and only succeeds in knocking off his own hat this time. "Yeah, I bet it would answer some things. God. Fuck!" he grates out.
John spins around in a flurry of clenched fists and wild hair. It takes a bit of restraint for Nick to not fully turn to face him and put his own hands out. Kid looks like he's trying to square up for a fight.
"Look, I don't. Know. What you want out of this." John jerks a hand at Nick and then back at himself. Us, Nick thinks. Doesn't even wanna say it. "Cuz whatever you're expecting, it's probably not gonna go like that."
Aggravated deflection. Okay. Try a different tack.
"Sounds like you already know what I expect."
"Well, I mean, fuck!" John laughs a little shrilly. "Yeah, okay, so I'm making assumptions here; it's kinda hard not to."
"Think I've been makin' a few of my own. Wanna trade?"
John thins his lips.
"No judgments." Nick grins humorlessly. "Bet it'll be fun."
"Yeah, peachy."
"Or... let me take a guess what the deal is, see if I'm right or not."
John spreads his hands out and makes a half challenging half helpless sort of face. Slaps his palms to his thighs and exhales. "Sure, why not? Divine my deep dark secrets, detective."
Ignoring the sarcasm, Nick resettles his weight against the bridge rail and looks down. Stories of soot-blacked brick stretch down to an empty, but trash-filled alley guarded by chain link on one end. "I bet," he begins, wondering how best to keep this all calm and easy, "you're having the same kind of problem I am."
Even if he's way off the mark in regards to the eternal mystery that is John McDonough's thoughts and mind, at least he'll be able to get his own situation out into the air. It hasn't been weighing on him as heavily, it seems; Nick's a little more used to keeping things in and going along to get along, but maybe that's just contributing to the problem. Communication is key, lead by example, et cetera.
"You want more than you think you're allowed to have," Nick says, turning to watch the kid's face as he does.
And whatever John had been expecting, it looks like it wasn't that; shock briefly smooths out his features before the frown returns with a vengeance.
"Okay," John says slowly. "You're gonna have to elaborate on that."
And god, that hesitant little catch in his voice does horrible things to Nick's chest. Hurts him for how vulnerable John sounds, draws Nick's own worries up to the surface, scares him for how serious this could turn in a heartbeat.
"I like you a lot, kid."
John's eyes narrow as he freezes still. "You what."
"I said I li—" Nick starts to repeat, caught off-balance by the ice in John's voice.
"Yeah, no shit, I heard you but why'd you say it. What's that mean?" he demands. "Did you change your mind or something? You do wanna be my boyfriend now?" John tenses up even more and he's angling away, sneer on his face and an ugly laugh riding under his words. "Finally fuck me once and all of a sudden catch feelings for the dirty little secret? Was I that good?"
That… cuts. The tiny piece of truth in it (change your mind?) made even worse by the mocking tone of voice and the open hostility in John's posture. The derision.
And years ago in a different life and a different mind he might've reacted in a supremely unhelpful way. Reached out and smacked John or said something petty and mean or shoved him in the chest then gone diving after him when he stumbled away, whoever lands more face shots and flailing, accidental knees to the balls is the winner.
As it is he just grits his teeth together, sucks in a deep breath, and lets it back out.
"You can quit it with that right now, if you don't mind," Nick hisses. "You can just say 'I'm not interested' without all the goddamn lip for once."
Nick's suddenly thankful for the damp, freezing wind shooting up past the rooftop eaves. He's hot and prickly all over and he forces— really forces— his voice back down to calm when John doesn't have an immediate retort to that. Back to quiet and slow. Take a second and think and calm the hell down. Because he knows he got too close to something John wasn't ready for or really, really doesn't like. Something about this scares him and that's what this nastiness is. Fear.
"I don't have the first idea what happened," Nick says, "or what I did to make you think I'd wanna push you out or run away from you but that's not gonna happen.
"And honestly, it's none of my damn business if you dont wanna tell me about it but… with this I kinda do need an answer. At some point, before I make an even bigger ass out of myself. If you don't want this to be anything more than… just something fun, working off some energy sometimes, then tell me and I'll try and back off. Just tell me what you want. Cuz I thought I knew but it's starting to look like maybe I'm not as on top of things as I thought. I'm a little lost here.
"I don't want to ask you for anything you don't feel like giving, or push anything on you that you don't want. You're your own man and so am I. You like your space, I like my space too. I just don't want you to feel like you gotta hide anything from me. If you think you're gonna run me off or something, you are very much mistaken. Whatever you want me for, that's what I'll be."
John's expression is indecipherable, an utterly blank mask of nothingness. When he speaks after a minute of teeth-grit silence, his eyes twitch up to Nick's and away just as quick, the words coming out in a plaintive rushing whisper as he stands stock-still and arms crossed.
"Goddamnit, why are you like this? No one says shit like that and means it."
All that statement does is call up a heavy wash of sadness through Nick. Sad, he thinks, that such a young guy is already so cynical. That for someone so free with his body it's such a daunting task to open up a little about his mind. He knows it well; John's almost always more inclined toward jokes or language so foul it loops back around into being funny rather than toward discussing anything serious. Not an unfamiliar defense.
"I don't know how to make you believe me, kid, but I do mean it." Nick spreads his palms out flat in supplication before stuffing his hands back into his coat pockets. Maybe it's not so smart to put this all out there like he's about to, he's gotten bitten for it before, but some things just need saying. Simple as that. "I really do. You've got a key to my house; I trust you more than anyone else I know around here. You're a quick thinker, you're hilarious, a little more adventurous than I can handle sometimes, sure, but I still admire the gusto, and underneath that smart-aleck attitude there's a caring, considerate guy with a good set of morals."
Nick tips his eyes down to trace the rigid outline of John's face. The cut curling over his lip, the way he's blinking too frequently, the thin angles of his cheek turned pink, the hat getting a steady squeeze and release in his fist, the usually-relaxed curve of his jaw now jutting out too far at an angry angle. If he didn't think he'd get incinerated for trying, Nick might reach out and run his fingers through John's hair, slide his palm down the side of his neck where the muscles are tense and long. He wants to. As tactile as John is, all it does is make Nick want to touch right back.
"I don't spend time and talk with you and bring you along to hunt down the scum of Boston out of pity or cuz I think it's funny or somethin'," Nick says softly. "I'm completely crazy about you, kid."
Seconds pass. Nick sighs and looks back out at the building-toothed horizon when there's no verbal or visible reaction from John; the sun's changed position a bit but it's still all as grey and dreary as ever out here. Even if John does tell him to take a hike or to back off a little and lock up the sappy feelings— which at this point it seems like he might— at least whatever Marowski wants to see him for can't be as difficult as this. Silver lining, he thinks sardonically.
"But if that's not something you want," Nick says through a long breath out, "I can try and stop. It'll be tough but I'll find a way if that's not what you're here for. I'd stop."
Slowly, slowly enough Nick can see the minute shake in his legs as he does, the kid lowers himself to the surface of the bridge. Lets his feet swing free over the edge and leans his forehead against the rail. Stares out at nothing in particular, eyes flicking back and forth. He starts talking, so staggered and quiet Nick has to shuffle over and crouch into a sit just to hear.
"I thought," he begins haltingly. "Shit. Fuck, I don't know. You… we fucked and it was so fucking… normal and safe and it…" he barks out a harsh laugh, "and you acted like such a fucking gentleman the whole time and you kept looking at me like I was… I was…" John loses the thought and shakes his head, frustrated or embarrassed and sucking air through his teeth.
"Then it was after and I thought that's it. This is when I gotta get out before you tell me to get out cuz I didn't want to hear that. I didn't… think you would but I still expected it if that makes any sense. I thought now we fucked, that's it. He's done. Because that's what happens. Everybody's done with me after that usually. Which is… it's fine." His head falls forward then and he laughs again, low and bitter this time. "Unless I still got a pill or two hidden somewhere or a tube of jet left. Then it's all hey, you done already, sweet thing? What's the rush?
"But then you didn't, did you. Didn't do or say any of that. No, you gave me a fucking hug and told me it was alright and that I could stay and I don't know why but that scared me even more." A grimace wavers its way across John's face and he turns enough to look roughly in the direction of Nick's knee. "How fucked up is that, huh? I mean what. I got scared of someone not being an asshole to me? How fucking stupid is that shit?"
"I dont think it's stupid," Nick says. Telling, but not stupid.
John snorts. "Yeah, well, we can agree to disagree on that one.
"So, I still don't know what you want. I don't know what I want, which would probably also be helpful." He frowns. "And besides all of this there's still... I mean. Jesus fuck, Nick. You're straight, aren't you?"
And now it's Nick's turn to snort. He turns away and laughs, nervousness and absurdity spilling out audibly. Hadn't been expecting that one. "I wouldn't call all this straight exactly," he says.
"Okay... I'm not really an expert on this but aren't you a little late to be making huge fucking life changes like that?"
Nick shrugs. "Yes."
"And?"
"And what?"
John's eyebrows quirk and he's got a partly confused and mostly exasperated look on his face. "Aaand..?"
"And nothing," Nick says. "You think I got an explanation for this?"
John just looks at him for a moment, a slow, candid search of Nick's face. "I've been an experiment before, it's not new," he says, dry and dropping his gaze back down at where he's chipping two of his fingernails together. "Guys who tell me... " he huffs a laugh, "who insist at great length that they've never even looked at another dude before. Y'know, trying it out just this once to see if they like dick and a flat chest better. Or at all. Sometimes it's just desperation; a hole is a hole, you know. I dunno."
"Is that what this seems like to you? An experiment?"
"It…" John trails off and looks uncertain now. "At first. Yeah."
Nick leans back on his hands. "Yeah. Maybe at first it was. Don't think it is anymore."
"Things to think on," John mutters and Nick hums his assent.
It would've been easier to not get into any of this, sure. Any of it, way way back at the start. Would have been easier to stick to his guns and just keep with a hard no. Try nothing new. Maintain the status quo of solitude. Keep things friendly but platonic.
John would have eventually gotten bored with trying. Probably. Maybe. Kid is persistent.
Would have been easier, but easier isn't always better and he doesn't regret any of it at all. Nick's happiest when the kid's at his side or in his arms and if he doesn't have to, he never wants to give him up.
John reaches over and blindly backhands Nick's shoulder, knocking him out of his thoughts. "Keep moving? You can say 'screw Marowski' all you like, but that's probably not very smart if he's expecting you. Just sayin'." He spits off the edge. "And before you say anything, I know. I know this ain't finished. Not off the hook."
"Yeah, you're probably right. Let's go." Nick scoots back up to his feet feeling… not really satisfied with any of this, but, well. Shit, it was something. A start. Like the kid said: TBC. John swings back up as well, way more graceful than Nick'll ever be again, he observes with only slightly irritated admiration. "And it's not a hook, kid."
"Be real, it's a little bit of a hook."