It was a mid-August evening when Nora leaned across the table at a high-end restaurant in the theater district and finally confiscated the nearly empty pack of cigarettes Nick had been chain smoking from since they'd first sat down. Yes, she'd been the one to initially request a table in the smoking section of the snooty establishment, she figured he could use a familiar indulgence at a time like this, but it was starting to get absurd … and a little difficult to breathe through the smoke.
Nick Valentine gave her an apologetic grimace through a haze of his own making, then started drumming his fingers against the tablecloth in an uneven rhythm, once he'd snuffed out the final butt in an overflowing ashtray.
He'd been doing so well lately too … fuck, he'd practically quit cold turkey already. Then he'd walked into that damn meeting this afternoon and ended up taking a running leap off the wagon once it was over. Now the man she hoped to settle down with one day was probably going to die an early death of lung cancer or emphysema. In a word; Nora was pissed.
When he finally decided to show his face she was going to fucking strangle her father.
Nick tapped his fingers against the table in an effort not to squirm in the stiff dinner jacket he'd pulled out of his closet before driving over to Nora's place. His trench coat was a tad too casual for a swanky joint like this. It was the type of place where you checked in your hats and heavy coats and got a little ticket for later. He felt bald without his familiar fedora, even though his hair was hanging a little longer than usual. Jesus Christ, he should've left work early and gotten a haircut, he probably looked like a hobo in stolen clothes...
His racing mind came to a grinding halt as Nora stilled his twitchy hands with her own slender digits. Rubbing the skin there gently, almost as if she was massaging his pulse back to a calmer tempo.
She was a beautiful angel, plucked straight from his dreams and made flesh, casting her unique brand of healing magic over him … what the hell was she still doing with an idiot like him?
Nick Valentine … former scourge of Chicago's grimy underbelly … summoned to Boston to bring long-overdue justice upon the head of notorious crime-lord Eddie Winter … shaking in his socks over the prospect of eating dinner with his girlfriend's father. If there was a God he was definitely laughing at Nick from his cloudy perch in the heavens.
The meeting had been optional, damn it! Why on earth had he actually attended in the end?
Nick had a mountain of paperwork to catch up on, yet here he was perched on one of the battered chairs arranged outside the chief's office for the poor saps unfortunate enough to be summoned for a tongue-lashing. From what he could glean via gossip and the general tone of the precinct; Nick would not be the one getting a reprimand today … that was being dealt out to the crooked, lower-level officer pressing false battery charges against him.
He supposed it was morbid curiosity; Nick wanted to actually meet the cop dumb and malicious enough to try and have him suspended (or sacked) over a blatant lie.
It had been when those twelve girls had needlessly died that Nick's popularity among his peers had taken a nose-dive. Back when he'd determined that each weapon found at the scene of that particular bloodbath had once been property of the Boston Police Department … which meant that someone on the force was working for Winter.
So naturally, the bastards from Internal Affairs were brought in and promptly put everyone, from the file clerks to the chief himself, under a magnifying glass. No one liked Internal Affairs, it didn't matter how clean or dirty a cop you were, they'd treat you like the worst kind of criminal scum … and everyone blamed Nick for their hovering presence.
They'd so far caught a few officers roughing up suspects… the odd cop sneaking booze or chems out of the evidence lock-up… but nothing yet to suggest a mole in the department.
Nick was brought out of his musings by a gesture from the chief's secretary, indicating that he could go in.
The chief sat behind his desk, looking thoroughly irritated by the fat, balding patrolman (Officer Druitt, his brain supplied) trying to make his flimsy case against Nick. He was actually sporting an impressive shiner and a bloody bandage across the bridge of his nose, indicating a few stitches underneath. The guy was either extremely dedicated to the lie or someone else thought that he deserved a couple of jabs to the face.
Nick didn't recognize the third man. He had a bit of a beatnik air to him, with an odd little goatee, even though he looked to be in his mid-fifties to early sixties. Dressed in a turtleneck and a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches, he reminded Nick of a college professor that had been arrested recently for selling Daddy-O and Daytripper to his students. A mediator of sorts, maybe?
His boss must have noticed Nick sizing up Mr. Mediator because he cut off the detestable Officer Druitt in favor of introductions.
"Detective Valentine. I figure you know Officer Druitt here already, this is his lawyer, Mister-"
"Ah, so you're Nicholas Valentine" the interruption was dripping with an oily, false delight that threw Nick off for split second... it just didn't mesh with the first impression he'd gotten.
"Uh, just Nick is fine" he offered his hand in greeting. The lawyer grasped it far too firmly to be interpreted as friendly, at the same time leaning in close and giving him a shark-like grin. Alarms began blaring in back of Nick's mind.
Something's not right here.
"Franklin Fitzsimons-" The detective suddenly found himself pinned with a familiar dark-brown gaze.
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!
"-and I hear you've been screwing my daughter"
"Nick, come back to me" Nora crooned softly. He was clearly lost in a bad memory, if the far-away look in his eyes and the ashen shade of his skin was any indicator. She only needed one guess as to which memory it was.
"Don't you dare think for one minute that he'll actually go through with any of it" Nora admonished when Nick finally locked his gaze with hers… deep twin oceans that she wouldn't mind drowning in when this was all over. "It's all an act. A stupid game that he's playing with you. If it were any other day he'd laugh an idiot like Druitt right out of the building"
"I don't care about Druitt" Nick murmured, cradling her hands in his larger mitts and running his thumbs along her wrists as if she were made of fine china. "Even with a hot-shot like your old man at his back the most my boss will do is suspend me. I- I just don't want him to be sore with you"
Good grief … that's why she adored this man. Her ridiculous father had practically ambushed him at his place of work, outed their relationship to his co-workers and threatened his career … and he was worried over how it would affect her.
Her dad had been badgering her for months to bring Nick around for an introduction, it was bullshit like this that had her making excuses for them both. It wouldn't have mattered if she'd arranged a meeting between the two men in her life back when her dad first asked, the outcome would've been exactly the same; Franklin Fitzsimons would pull out every stop available to him in order to throw Nick Valentine off balance. Hoping to trip him up in a lie, or uncover a sinister plot to ruin her, or whatever dastardly deeds he imagined all men plotted against his little girl. Nick wasn't the first guy to be subject to his almost psychotic brand of parental over-protectiveness, but damn it he was going to be the last!
"Sorry I'm late" came the deceptively apologetic tone behind her shoulder. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear, Nora thought to herself. "A meeting ran late, but I see you both found the place alright"
Nick jerked his hands away from Nora's as her dad finally took his seat … leaving her free to point a chastising finger at him.
"What exactly was your plan if Nick hadn't shown up to that meeting? Would you have waited by his desk? Or just ambushed him in the car park after his shift?" Nora injected as much venom into her tone as she could manage in the refined atmosphere of the restaurant. It had the desired effect though … her father crumbled instantly under the weight of his darling daughter's ire.
"Nora, honey, I was just trying-" She shut him up with a wave of her palm and a deep frown before continuing.
"Trying to what exactly? Have Nick fired for failing to ask your permission to court me? You have a whole firm to run. So don't try and tell me that a small-fry like Druitt would've interested you if it hadn't been Nick Valentine he was angry with. You're going to drop this pathetic excuse for a case first thing in the morning, and you're going to apologize to Nick right now! Or so help me, for as long as we're dating I'll never speak to you again… and I plan to be with Nick for a very long time"
Nora's favorite part of the stunned silence following her ultimatum was definitely Nick's tiny bemused smile, the one she was treated to whenever he discovered a new aspect of his girlfriend to admire. Then again, her dad's impression of a sickly jellyfish slumped against the table in defeat was pretty memorable too.
"I… I already dropped the case" her father admitted meekly, staring at a cloth napkin he was fiddling with. "Conflict of interest and all that. Plus I don't think I could've tolerated that Druitt fellow much longer" He then looked to Nick and asked; "What exactly did you do to slight him?"
"Well, I didn't beat him up..." Nick answered calmly, happily slipping back into his default smooth charm after being out-of-sorts for so long. "I wouldn't want to risk busting my knuckles on a skull as thick as his"
Her dad laughed at that. He hadn't apologized yet but this was good too, she wanted them to get along so Nora merely watched them carefully as they conversed. Nick explained how Internal Affairs had been snooping around the precinct of late, how his co-workers blamed him, and how Druitt had been one of the officers caught pilfering smuggled wares from the evidence lock-up.
"So what did he steal? Bootleg liquor?" Her father asked. An innocent enough question, but the answer was anything but. Nora dipped her head in an effort to hide her blush under her fringe, a habit that she'd picked up from Nick and what she'd affectionately dubbed his 'bashful mode'.
"Uh… no. Not liquor" It sounded like Nick was in the beginnings of 'bashful mode' himself, he answered so quietly that Nora almost didn't hear him. "He was caught with a small crate of… uh, rubbers"
Condoms. The latest and by-far stupidest item to be added to the rationing lists. God forbid that the proud men and women of the United States armed forces be defeated by an epidemic of syphilis or gonorrhea. It certainly brought a new light to the phrase 'Make love, not war'.
Her traitorous brain suddenly decided it was the perfect time and place to regale her with a downright pornographic memory from a week earlier, when their own personal supply had finally run out…
She was still quivering from the dizzying high of an orgasm when she felt Nick slip his cock from her body. Biting down a whimper she watched with bleary-eyed fascination as he pumped himself into his fist once, twice, then panted heavily as he spilled himself thickly across the expanse of her lower abdomen … the molten look he gave her as he admired his handiwork was enough to gear her up for round two…
Nora mentally slapped herself and squeezed her legs together, hoping to disperse the slight ache there. She was positive that her face was redder than a tomato by now.
Unfortunately her father noticed her discomfort and gleefully launched into the mortifying tale of eight-year-old Nora, having heard from an older child that condoms were a type of "special balloon", asking her father if she could have some at her next birthday party. Nick's mirthfully evil expression said it all; "I will never let you live this down for as long as I draw breath".
The waiter eventually made his way to their table to take their orders as her dear ol' dad was beginning the epic saga of her boarding school years. His sudden shift in attitude regarding Nick was likely revenge for dressing him down in public. Nora ordered a steak, medium-rare, and the largest amount of whiskey the bartender was allowed to give her in one go … she didn't feel like being sober anymore.
It was long after the food had been polished off when Nick mused that of all the ways he'd expected the evening to go this definitely wasn't the outcome he'd been anticipating.
He'd reclaimed his cigarettes from Nora and was sharing the last few in the pack with her father. Please, call me Frank, he'd insisted. Gone was the Franklin Fitzsimons of that afternoon, with his cold serial-killer-esque tones. In his place was just Frank, the doting but embarrassing father, hard working attorney and, on the weekends, proud participant in historical re-enactments. It certainly wasn't the worst hobby Nick had ever heard of … the dorkiest maybe.
Neither had he expected to learn so much about his sweetheart in one sitting. Things he'd been wondering about for a while too…
She was a busy and accomplished lawyer, so why did she insist on taking public transport when she could easily afford her own car? Nora insisted it was because of the skyrocketing fuel prices. Frank instead told the story of how it had taken her an extra two years to get her drivers license, because the idea of piloting a ton of metal powered by highly combustible materials scared her so witless that she suffered anxiety attacks during her tests.
She was 5'2 and waif-like in stature, so how on earth was she able to drink broad-shouldered, 6'1 Nick under the table? Practice apparently. According to Frank she'd taken to drinking smuggled-in beer within her first week of boarding school, building up to hard spirits over the years until she could out-drink the most dedicated of Irish alcoholics.
She squirreled her money away and loathed over-spending on anything. Nora claimed that she was just trying to be frugal. Frank then proudly relayed her genius plan in the event that the country was destroyed by nuclear fire...
The money she saved was to eventually be spent on a large yacht, stocked with supplies and, in the event of impending disaster, sailed across the ocean to Bikini Atoll, the site of many nuclear test firings in the past. The logic being that no nation on the planet would think to further bomb an already irradiated hellhole. Nick had to admit it was genius … in a backwards sort of way.
He glanced at his girlfriend across the table; Resting her head on her folded hands, a slight redness dusting the top of her cheeks and nose signaling that she was deep in her cups by this point, but still managing to coherently debate the merits of her cunning plan with her pops.
"Honey, it's a wonderful plan, and I'll definitely be your first mate if cast-off day ever comes. All I'm saying is that eventually your rations are going to run out, and you'll have to start fishing for your food. So you're going to have to get over your hate of seafood before then"
Frank was playfully trying to feed his inebriated daughter a piece of cold shrimp leftover from his appetizer, Nora responded by pouting and turning her head like a fussy toddler in a high chair.
"When I have to eat fish then I'll suck it up and eat it. Beggars can't be choosers. But for as long as I have other options you can keep your slimy, gross shrimp all to yourself"
She pushed the offending morsel away and rested her head against the table. Nick took it as a sign that she was likely to fall asleep if left to her own devices, so he shook her gently and turned to Frank to say his goodbyes.
"I should probably get her back before she decides to camp out in the middle of the restaurant" he said as he stubbed out his cigarette. "Shall we split the bill?" Frank waved off the suggestion as he finished his own smoke in one long draw.
"Nah, I got it. What's the point of being so highly paid if I can't cover the cost of my daughter's drunken nights out?"
Nick appreciated that he left the obvious unsaid; That it was a very ritzy place Frank had chosen, and that it wasn't exactly a secret the boys-in-blue were paid peanuts.
He shook Frank's hand, made a show of hoisting a tipsy Nora over his shoulder like an un-amused sack of potatoes and carrying her out to the cloakroom near the entrance.
"He never said he was sorry, y'know" Nora grumbled from her perch as Nick donned his fedora once again.
"Sure he did. He told me all those delightful stories about you. That's the best apology anyone's ever given me" Nick chuckled as he handed over another ticket to the valet just outside the restaurant doors. She was adorably peeved now.
"Oh, I can't wait to meet your mom" she threatened, a tiny slur surfacing in her tone. "I'm gonna get all the dirt from her, and I'm gonna take copies of all the embarrassing baby pictures she probably has of you"
"I'm sure you will" he humored her. If by some miracle you remember any of this, Nick refrained from saying. He'd been toying with the idea of inviting her to come with him to Chicago for Christmas, it was still a little early to ask but if she was serious about her revenge then just maybe she'd say yes when he got around to broaching the subject. Plus he now knew that she was in it for the long haul with him, unless he'd taken those final words at the end of her ultimatum the wrong way?...
"Or so help me, for as long as we're dating I'll never speak to you again… and I plan to be with Nick for a very long time"
What did she consider a very long time?
Any further pondering on the implications of those words were put on hold as his dinged-up black Corvega was brought around by the valet. He deposited Nora in the front passenger seat, where she promptly fell asleep, and started the journey back to her apartment … a small grin lifting the corners of his mouth as he imagined what 'a very long time' might look like.
Author's Note: What are dads for if not for threatening your boyfriend/girlfriend and embarrassing you in front of them?
Fun Fact #2: Nora's plan to sail out to Bikini Atoll was my own dad's real life plan in the event of nuclear armageddon during the Cold War. Except he didn't have enough money to put away for a yacht, he just scoped out Sydney harbor for suitable crafts to steal. Good thing it never came down to that, eh?
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