FUTUREFIC: In Repair
Justin doesn't do much of anything that first night. He puts his Nikes away, drops his overnight bag on Nick's bed, and spreads himself out on the floor. Nick just lets him, just gets up wordlessly and draws the curtains without having to be told, locks the door, and goes back to fiddling with his laptop.
Pretends to, at least, but Justin's listening for the steady 'plick' of the keyboard, the comfort in their usual routine, and it never comes.
He watches the ceiling in the dark, counting the heartbeats between each breath, onetwo onetwo onetwo until he can't anymore. Until every inhale runs into an exhale, harsh and ragged. Until his vision goes glassy.
Nick slides onto the floor beside him, then, close enough that their thighs are touching, and he can feel the muscle shifting under Nick's arm. "You about done here?" Nick asks, after another second of silence. It's meant to be a brush-off, but his tone is a little too gentle to be convincing. "Do I need to give McLean lessons on how to deal with your post-Trace shit?"
Justin's pulse stumbles and he shakes his head, blindly. "It's not," he says, but he chokes on the words, trying to breathe past the sudden, sharp clench in his chest. Nick is very, very still. "I can't go back there. AJ--" The name is so bitter in Justin's mouth that he snaps it closed. Shakes his head again. He can't talk about this now.
Nick's quiet for a second, then he swears under his breath. "That son of a bitch. I'm going to fucking kill him."
There's a hollow note in Justin's watery laugh, and he's pretty sure that's the only thing that keeps Nick stationary. "Think I need rescuing, Carter?"
"Justin," Nick says.
Justin swipes a rough, angry hand over his face. "Yeah."
Nick anchors a hand on his shoulder, a warm, reassuring weight. "It's gonna be okay."
Pretends to, at least, but Justin's listening for the steady 'plick' of the keyboard, the comfort in their usual routine, and it never comes.
He watches the ceiling in the dark, counting the heartbeats between each breath, onetwo onetwo onetwo until he can't anymore. Until every inhale runs into an exhale, harsh and ragged. Until his vision goes glassy.
Nick slides onto the floor beside him, then, close enough that their thighs are touching, and he can feel the muscle shifting under Nick's arm. "You about done here?" Nick asks, after another second of silence. It's meant to be a brush-off, but his tone is a little too gentle to be convincing. "Do I need to give McLean lessons on how to deal with your post-Trace shit?"
Justin's pulse stumbles and he shakes his head, blindly. "It's not," he says, but he chokes on the words, trying to breathe past the sudden, sharp clench in his chest. Nick is very, very still. "I can't go back there. AJ--" The name is so bitter in Justin's mouth that he snaps it closed. Shakes his head again. He can't talk about this now.
Nick's quiet for a second, then he swears under his breath. "That son of a bitch. I'm going to fucking kill him."
There's a hollow note in Justin's watery laugh, and he's pretty sure that's the only thing that keeps Nick stationary. "Think I need rescuing, Carter?"
"Justin," Nick says.
Justin swipes a rough, angry hand over his face. "Yeah."
Nick anchors a hand on his shoulder, a warm, reassuring weight. "It's gonna be okay."