A Hundred Years or So; David/Nick (Part 1/2)
Title: A Hundred Years or So (Part 1/2)
Author: helena_eternal
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Warnings: None.
Pairings: David Hodges/Nick Stokes, mentions of Jacqui Franco/Warrick Brown and Ryan Wolfe/Greg Sanders.
Summary: The war will end one day, in a hundred years or so, and he doesn’t want obligation to keep anyone from the remaining world. Freedom is out there in the cities, not a worn out house lost in a maze of fields.
Spoilers: None!
A/N: I'M BACK! Okay, I was never gone, but school's putting a real cramp in my writing time. Before you click, please know that this is a WWII AU. No, I don't know if you'll like it. No, I'm not quite sure of it's clarity. Quite frankly, I'm not entirely sure what to make of this, but it's taken a long time to finish up. I really, really hope you enjoy it, and I really, really hope my history's up to par. ^_^
Many thanks to the fantabulous yuuyaku for the French translations. As for the Russian, I used an online dictionary. Don’t laugh!
Dedicated to catlover2x, my historical CSI fanfic writing muse.
A Hundred Years or So
The train station is smoky, but Nicolas would rather die from suffocation than from what’s approaching the French border. He sits against the wall, alone among others who are doing the same. They’re the ones who will be left behind, they’re the ones who have no money for a ticket. One ticket to Switzerland, that’s all he wants, and he sits as though waiting -hoping- that someone has extra funds, that someone will give him a chance to escape. The conductor is bellowing “en voiture” in harsh tones; then again, everything’s harsh now. The days, the minutes, they scratch against his skin and make him bleed. The world is unforgiving.
He knows he smells badly. He hasn’t bathed in almost six days and his clothes are soiled with dirt and stale water. His face, his breath, it’s all filthy, but no one cares about the trivial. He can hear the seconds tick away and he knows the train will leave, will never come back. It’s the last train out before the Nazi’s come. It’s the last train that will ever board this station.
All aboard! Two minutes, all aboard!
A man is begging the conductor for a ticket, pleading, offering everything he has. But everything’s not enough now, and he’s refused; they’ve all been refused. All ten of them, and Nicolas expected there to be more. He expected so many more to be crowding the station, beseeching anyone for spare change so that they might escape France.
Has the world given up?
“S'il vous plaît, je vous donnerai quelque chose!”
That’s what the man is saying. He’s on his knees, crying, saying My family took the first train, I know where they are, let me go to them, but that doesn’t change the fact he’s poor. He can’t afford it.
Nicolas knows he shouldn’t hold out hope. There’s nothing to hope for now, because getting to Switzerland by foot is almost impossible. He has no money for food or shelter, he doesn’t even have a change of clothes. Everything was lost when word spread that the Germans were coming; he’s Jewish, he’s terrified, and he knows what’ll happen to him if the Nazi’s take over the country. He, along with many of his Jewish friends, had left their homes the night before to try and flee, but Nicolas has reached a dead end. He hopes his friends are doing better.
“En voit-’’
Another man suddenly rushes in. He, like everyone else, is dirty, but hasn’t reached Nicolas’ state yet. He will soon, probably, as will the entire population. It’ll be as though civilization never evolved at all. They’ll be like animals: no compassion, no sympathy, everyone for themselves.
Nicolas doesn’t understand what the new arrival shouts, but the conductor does and quickly moves aside. The man speaks in Russian, that’s all Nicolas can recognize, and trips over the poor soul who had been begging before. He’s on his knees, crying, pleading with the whole of his heart, and the Russian looks around and notices the other nine who will be forced to stay behind. He seems alarmed that human nature has left them, that the conductor won’t take in those who are less fortunate than he, and then his startling blue eyes settle on Nicolas’ tired brown ones. He turns to the conductor and speaks again.
His words are sharp, but Nicolas is French and can’t translate it. His heart, though, nearly stops when the Russian and the conductor hastily usher the ten men towards them, telling them Get on the train! Hurry! and the men are too grateful to be stunned. The Russian reaches into his pocket and shells out the money it takes to get them all on board, and looks onto the beautifully empty station. They aren’t leaving anyone behind. You can’t put a price on that.
The train lurches forward, puffing out steam, and Nicolas is glad to breathe semi-fresh air. The new men quickly find their quarters, little rooms with a window and bench, but Nicolas is so tired and hungry that he can barely move. The train floor is carpeted, dark red with a floral design, and he wonders how comfortable it is before he spots the Russian. The man has cerulean eyes, so shocking and electric, but wears no expression when he motions Nicolas towards him with a wave of his hand. Nicolas hesitatingly approaches until he realizes the Russian is offering to share half of his compartment, and Nicolas is so thankful that he almost cries.
He sits in one seat as the Russian closes the door behind them. They face one another, unsure of what to say, until Nicolas speaks.
My name is Nicolas.
The Russian merely frowns, and Nicolas realizes he can’t understand him.
He says something in return, and Nicolas can’t translate it either. However, it ends with David, pronounced da’veed, and he supposes that’s his name. Nicolas repeats it uncertainly.
David?
The Russian nods and echoes, Nicolas?
They give a small laugh, figuring a name is a good a start as any, before David opens his suitcase. Nicolas averts his eyes, not wanting to be nosy, but then smells something like bread and tomatoes, and can’t help but glance back. David has a sandwich. It’s on sourdough, and Nicolas’ mouth waters. He bites his lip and looks towards the window. The man bought him a ticket, saved his life. Nicolas can’t ask for more than that.
Hungry?
David’s asking a question, but Nicolas can’t understand him.
What?
They stare for another moment, both recognizing that this is going to be a very quiet train ride- no conversation. David merely hands him half his sandwich, and Nicolas plans to protest, plans to say No, you’ve done enough, but David’s insistent. Nicolas wolfs it down; it barely sates his hunger, but it’s more than he’s had the past six days. Before he knows it, he’s peeling off his coat and bunching it in the corner of his bench. He lies sideways, exhausted, and lets the tracks and the train wheels lull him to sleep.
…
He’s not sure how much time has passed since they left France, but the sky is dark when Nicolas finally wakes. Someone is shaking his shoulder -David, he realizes- and David’s pointing to the compartment door. The train seems to be slowing, so that must mean they’ve reached Switzerland. Nicolas feels a rush of joy fill him. He’s been so scared that their train might be stopped somehow, and now they’re in the mountains. It makes him weak.
Other passengers shuffle off before him, but he doesn’t mind. He feels patient and rested, although he’s definitely still hungry, and moves with the flow. He’s standing behind David and the scent of sweet cologne ghosts towards his nose. He’s suddenly embarrassed by his own stench and hangs his head a bit lower in an attempt to not stand out. As he does so, he admires David’s shiny leather shoes. He must be a businessman or banker, perhaps. He’s certainly wealthy.
His own beaten boots hit the concrete station floor with a soft thud and he feels the chill of the mountains begin to creep through his bones. He crosses his arms around himself to keep warm, but it doesn’t help much, and briefly wonders whether he can find a place to sleep for the night. It’s too cold to sleep outside, but he has no choice. He has nothing to pay with. Nothing, perhaps, except labor, and these times require more human effort then monetary gain. He turns to David and wants to say “thank you,” but doesn’t know how in Russian. He hopes his expression conveys it.
David meets his eyes. They’re silent. Nicolas struggles, but is purely French and can’t even express his gratitude in English.
Their eyes don’t let go of each other, and even through the hustle and bustle, David holds up his right index finger and then makes a circular motion, as though indicating every possible direction. Nicolas is confused at first, but then realizes what he means. He’s asking where Nicolas intends to go, so the brunette merely shrugs. He has no idea.
David sets down his briefcase and flips open two silver locks; there are papers with black print and news articles and photos, and now Nicolas knows he’s some sort of financial master. David shuffles through the paper piles until he pulls out a yellowed photograph and hands it to his French companion. Nicolas furrows his brow but takes it. It’s of a beautiful mansion, stunning with its pillars and windows and sky backdrop. David points to it and then to himself. Nicolas realizes that the mansion is David’s house.
He doesn’t want to hope that maybe David is asking him to go there, to live with him in that beautiful house, but what else can he mean? David takes the picture back and shuts his suitcase before touching Nicolas’ arm and tugging him towards where David is heading.
Would you like to come with me?
There’s nowhere for Nicolas to go, so even if they aren’t heading to the mansion, at least they’re heading somewhere.
…
The mansion is more rundown than in the photo, but God, what a lovely sight it is. Vines climb over stone walls, pillars ignore the rules of time, and the doors tower over any man. The sky is a bright blue setting and the green grounds are carefully kept, although the gates that separate the gardens have long since rusted. Nicolas feels small and insignificant when compared to the immense home that lay sprawled before him, but at the same time, he feels safe. David touches his arm again and steers him forward. The contact is rather comforting, actually, and he feels warm when David’s arm brushes up against his.
David smiles, the expression tinged with excitement, and Nicolas can tell he’s glad to be home. Nicolas would be too, if he lived here. The word “home” bids a brief, unwanted memory of France; it was once an empire, but a few days has changed everything. Now parts of it are in ruins while the rest is black with fear. Nicolas remembers what his own house looked like before he left it and feels homesick already.
“David! David, you’re back! Jacqueline, get Robert and Ronald!”
The voice is so unexpected that Nicolas jumps slightly as a tall, dark man comes bounding out of the house, running towards David with an admirable speed. David barely has time to set down his suitcase before the man grabs him and actually twirls him around. David’s laughing and hugs him back while a parade of others rush from the house as well. There’s a woman with dark curly hair and several men who seem thrilled that David’s returned. There’s a hurricane of words that Nicolas doesn’t understand, so he stays quiet while the reunion takes place. The woman seems as thrilled as the dark man is, but she doesn’t have the strength to lift and twirl him, so she merely squeezes until David gives a breathy laugh and pushes her away.
They quickly speak in Russian and then David turns and gestures to Nicolas. The Frenchman supposes he’s introducing him to the woman, so he smiles and nods his head in uncertain greeting. She waves enthusiastically before bestowing a hug on him as well, being kind enough to ignore his ripe smell.
You’re French, yes? she asks, smiling sympathetically, understanding how alienated he feels in his surroundings. He feels a wave of relief crash through him; someone speaks his language! He eagerly nods.
Yes! Are you?
She laughs but shakes her head. No, I’m an American reporter. I’ve been stuck here for months now. I’m glad that David brought you, though. You can tell me what’s been happening in France.
He makes a face as the fresh memories come flooding back. Silence, fear, desperation. With respect, madam, I’d rather not.
That’s understandable, Nicolas. Maybe some other time, but let’s get you settled in first. I’ll explain the language barrier here, yes?
But David-
Oh, he isn’t leaving. I believe that’ll be his last business trip for a little while. When we caught word that the Germans were so close, we… She trails off, looking as though her mind is somewhere far away. Her grip tightens on his arm as she shakes her head. Yes, well, let me take you to your room. My name’s Jacqueline Franco, by the way. Before we go any further, you must understand our speaking system. Rick and Robert can only speak English. David and Ronald speak only Russian. You and Sofia speak only French. I know all three languages, plus Spanish, so I’m the heart of communication here.
Then it’s a pleasure to meet you, Nicolas says, taking her hand in his and placing a kiss on her knuckles. She merely smiles and rolls her eyes good-naturedly.
I’m surrounded by the nicest men, and yet I’m still unmarried. Why is that?
I wouldn’t know, madam.
She leads him towards a long hallway. We’ll get you a bath and something to eat. How does that sound?
Lovely, Ms. Franco, he manages to reply. He turns to see where David is; several others surround him, but their eyes are able to meet before Jacqueline leads him down another hallway. David disappears behind the wall.
…
They all rise and shine before the sky lightens. Nicolas feels so revitalized, because sleeping on a bed is far better than a street. He’s able to freshen up and then goes down to breakfast, only he’s struck with a bit of shyness. He hovers on the outside of the door and listens to his new house mates talk amongst themselves, with Jacqueline participating in several conversations at once. He realizes that he doesn’t really know them and that he can’t just walk in and expect anything, and he almost decides to not go in at all when someone taps him on the shoulder.
He turns to see… Rick, isn’t it? Rick Brown from America. He’s a photographer who came with Jacqueline, and now they’re both stuck in Switzerland. He’s tall, handsome, has the most stunning green eyes, and is obviously in love with his reporter counterpart. Nicolas is instantly mute, having no idea what to say. He can’t even make himself meet Rick’s gaze; he feels like he did something wrong, so he crosses his arms around himself and softly kicks the floor with his right foot.
“What’re you doin’? Breakfast ain’t out here, man,” Rick says, not that Nicolas understands him. “And trust me, you don’t wanna miss Sofia’s eggs.”
All Nicolas knows is that Rick’s grabbing his shoulder and pushing him through the door. He’s struck with shyness again, and once again wonders where to sit, but Rick seems to know what’s what. He plops down next to Jacqueline and then indicates for Nicolas to take the seat on the other side of him.
Multi-lingual conversations flow between those who occupy the large table. It seems, though, that no one besides Jacqueline is any good at French, so Nicolas remains quiet as he takes the seat Rick offered. Everyone shoots him a welcoming smile while plates and glasses are heard clinking from the kitchen. A moment later, Sofia emerges, her golden hair pulled back into a ponytail and balancing several dishes at once. Nicolas has always been polite -his parents and sisters had taught him how- and so he jumps up to assist.
Let me help, he offers, taking a few plates. You do this all by yourself?
Sofia grins and nods, surprising him by replying in his native tongue. Most days, yes. I like it. It gives me something to do.
They set breakfast out, everyone murmuring their appreciation in different languages, before the two sit down with them to eat. Nicolas’ initial hesitation seems to disappear, because everyone is friendly, and Sofia seems like a nice person to talk to. They introduce themselves (Jacqueline translates) and he discovers that Ronald’s a sensible man who runs a Russian newspaper company. Robert’s playful, always laughing and joking despite the dark times. He used to serve in the Army until he lost his troop somewhere in Germany. Albert’s intelligent and serves as their resident doctor, making sure they all keep warm in winter and eat properly.
When they finish, Sofia sees to cleaning the kitchen while the others disperse. Nicolas has a feeling they all have specific responsibilities, and he’s proven right when Jacqueline leads him to the garden in back of the house.
Our life is simple here. We keep up the house, the livestock, and the garden. You seem like the outdoors type, so we’re assigning you garden duty. Do you mind?
Nicolas shakes his head. How could he ever mind? He’s been given cleaning facilities, food, a place to sleep, and the least he can do for them is plant and water.
She explains what he’s supposed to do -root plants, harvest seeds, pick the ripe fruits, water everything- and the tasks are simple but laborious. He doesn’t object, though. As a matter of fact, he rather enjoys it. He sets to work immediately. He’s careful, because their garden is most of their food supply, and in the distance, he can see Robert caring for the chickens and cows. The idea of this life, the notion of such simplicity, is comforting. In a world so torn by war and suffering, this minimalism is paradise.
Three hours later, he glances up to see someone standing on the back porch. He’s too far away to tell who it is, but the pale skin color and build makes him think it’s David. He wants to wave or something, show friendliness, but as soon as David knows he’s been spotted, he turns and goes back inside. Nicolas wonders why David was watching him in the first place.
…
By the second day, Nicolas knows he and Rick are going to be friends. There’s just something between them; even though their native tongues don’t mix, their personalities do, and they’re always egging each other on, trying to outdo the other. Around four, when Nicolas has finished up with his daily garden work, Rick approaches him with a ball and bat. He cocks a dark eyebrow.
“You like baseball, man?” he asks.
“Baseball?” Nicolas repeats. The ball and bat seem familiar, but he’s never actually played.
“Yeah. We all play sometimes, and I figure you might as well know the rules. You ever watched a game?”
“Pardon, mais je ne comprends pas.”
“Ne comprends, huh? Look, it’s like this,” Rick says, motioning for Nicolas to follow him. “There’re three bases. Three. Tres, man,” he continues, holding up three fingers. “Then there’s home plate. Ball-’’ He holds up the baseball, yellowed with dirt and black stitching. “-and bat.” He holds up the long, wooden object. “Just gotta hit the ball and run.”
When Nicolas pins Rick beneath a blank stare, the taller man merely sighs and shakes his head. “I can see Jacq’s gonna be needed for this. How ‘bout some regular practice, then?”
He hands Nicolas the ball and then steps about ten yards back. He motions for Nicolas to throw it. He does, rather uncertainly, and Rick lightly taps it so that it doesn’t go flying across the field and into some unknown location. Nicolas repeats his previous action, throwing it a bit harder this time, and the bat makes contact with a slight thud.
“Think ya got it?” he asks. Not waiting for an answer, he picks up the ball and then hands Nicolas the bat. It feels strange in his hand, but he turns slightly, trying to copy Rick’s stance and grip. When Rick finally tosses it, Nicolas not only misses, but swings too hard. He feels embarrassed when Rick laughs, but the laughter isn’t mean; it’s amused at most, and he quickly retrieves the ball before tossing it again, determined to get Nicolas into the sport. Nicolas concentrates. He keeps his eye on where the ball’s going… and then swings.
The resulting crack reverberates throughout the field.
Rick’s mouth drops open as he watches the baseball soar over him, over the field, and finally hitting the roof of the house with a thump. It’s still for a moment before rolling off and falling onto the ground, landing in a flowerbed that lines the back wall. Rick’s green eyes are wide when he turns to face Nicolas. Behind him, Jacqueline scrambles onto the back deck to make sure everything’s okay.
“And… you’re sure you’ve never played before, right?” he asks at last. Nicolas merely looks at him before handing him the bat.
“Baseball,” he repeats. Rick’s quiet for a moment before bursting into peels of laughter and shaking his head.
“You and me? We’re gonna be friends, I can just tell,” he says, throwing his arm around Nicolas’ neck.
“Friends?”
“Amis, man. Now stop with the yard work, ‘cause Sofia’s cookin’ chicken for dinner. You’d be crazy to miss that.”
Nicolas wasn’t sure of everything Rick had said, but he recognizes “Sofia” and “dinner” and amis. They walk to the house together, Rick’s arm still slung around his neck.
…
Sunday, Jacqueline claims, is a day of rest. Nicolas doesn’t want to rest. He’d much rather garden than do nothing, although there’s a library on the second floor, and some of the books look interesting. There’s a lake here, Sofia says. Past the fields and barn. Go take a swim or look at the wildlife. The idea is pleasant, so Nicolas heads off to look for it once breakfast is over. He promises to come back and help Sofia with lunch and dinner (she’s the only one who doesn’t get any rest of Sunday), but he can’t bear the indoors on such a beautiful day. It doesn’t take long to locate the lake -it’s not huge, but it’s blue and lovely- and Nicolas instantly falls in love with it. He lived in the city and never saw these things before. He feels free in the country.
At the moment, looking is more appealing than swimming. He’s always been interested in details, so the aquatic life fascinates him, and the birds are especially beautiful. The surrounding sand is gritty beneath his feet as he walks along the shore. Water hides items that are otherwise lost -bird feathers, coins- and it’s possible that this lake is nothing but a blue mystery. Maybe there’s a treasure chest at the bottom, or an airplane, although it couldn’t be that deep. Could it? Nicolas has a feeling he’ll never find out, so he lets the question go and rolls up the bottom of his pants. He doesn’t want them to get too wet, and the water’s far more inviting than the sand.
There are ducks floating in the middle. They’re pretty quiet for such noisy creatures. A few toads hop here and there and fish quickly swim away from Nicolas’ threatening ankles. This place is so strange; he remembers freezing in France, and somehow he’s warm here. It’s still a bit chilly to go swimming, but there's no doubt of the sweat he’s worked up gardening lately. He listens to the water splash as he walks, observing all the small creatures that grace the lake, and wonders what his place is. How long can he stay here? Is he expected to eventually contribute money? He’s fairly certain that he can stay as long as he likes, and as long as he does his share of work, money won’t be a problem. The issue of coins and bills always lead to thoughts of David, though. Nicolas wonders how David ever afforded this place, and what it is he does for a living.
The sound of a snapping twig makes Nicolas turn around, and before he knows it, he has company. David’s standing a few feet away, looking rather surprised himself.
There’s a long stretch of silence where David looks terribly uncomfortable, so Nicolas tries to manage a smile. Hello, he says. Am I disturbing you?
It’s so strange not to be able to talk to someone. Nicolas feels ridiculously stupid a moment later, realizing David can’t understand him. All the things he wants to say are alien to the other man; he might as well be speaking Greek or maybe some ancient, lost language that’s nothing but dust by now. David pauses, uncertain, before taking a few steps forward. He simply smiles and doesn’t bother to say anything; they both know it’s a useless endeavor anyway.
They walk barefoot and side-by-side. David is more of a watcher, content to study the lake and Nicolas, while Nicolas wants to touch and see everything from each angle. It’s almost like David’s amused by Nicolas’ curiosity and wonder. He reaches out for anything, even the fish, and his chestnut hair blows in the mountain wind. The wind whistles through the trees, threatening a cold winter, but this time of year isn’t frightening. It’s cold at night, sure, but it heats up during the day. David likes it that way.
Something catches Nicolas’ attention. David watches as the other man scrutinizes it first. It seems to be a small turtle, about the size of Nicolas’ hand, and it takes its time as it crosses from the brush towards the water. Nicolas gently picks it up, laughing as the head and legs go in. David’s struck by the man’s smile, the beautiful crow’s feet around brown eyes, and how his laugh’s contagious. Nicolas sets the turtle down and continues his investigating, his feet wet as he walks through water while David stays dry on land.
Nicolas, though, isn’t quite used to bodies of water, and slips a few minutes later. They’d been in companionable silence, only to have the silence broken by a loud splash. David, being David, can’t help it: he laughs. Nicolas shoots him an annoyed look as he sits waist deep, drenched. Even his hair’s wet and plastered against his forehead. He looks a bit childish, especially with his glare, and he holds up his hand in an expectant gesture. Surely David has a heart, right? He wouldn’t leave a man to fend off lake creatures alone, would he? David reaches to help Nicolas onto his feet, but realizes too late that he’s been tricked; Nicolas’ hand tightens around his before he yanks David down with him. He makes a startled shout as he plops in next to Nicolas, and now they’re both soaked.
That’ll teach you to laugh at me, Nicolas grins. David merely glares.
“Ya ne ponimayu,” he growls back, which only furthers Nicolas’ amusement. He’s still snickering as he crawls onto the sand, intent to leave, but David believes in revenge. He grabs Nicolas’ ankle and pulls him back, and by now they’re so wet that Jacqueline probably won’t let them eat at the table until they’ve cleaned up. Nicolas slaps his hand away, David pushes him onto the ground, and they find themselves in an awkward position moments later. David’s dominant, Nicolas is sprawled onto his back, and they’re staring into each other’s eyes without meaning to.
The seconds pass without passing at all. Time seems to slow, nearly stop, and Nicolas can honestly say that he has no idea how long they’re like that. He’s almost sure -almost- that David wants to kiss him, but perhaps everyone has sent their bravery to the soldiers, because David lurches back. It’s like he realizes what’s happening and cuts it off as soon as he can.
Without another word, David leaves, heading back across the field and to the house. Nicolas stays. He stays, uncertain of how to respond, and wishes that David had leant in closer. Thoughts swirl through his head as he rises unsteadily. He’s no longer concerned about water or birds. He heads back to the house, slower than David, and when he wanders into the kitchen to help Sofia, she merely takes in Nicolas’ wet appearance before smiling.
She seems to know something, but Nicolas isn’t sure what it is.
…
It’s a few weeks later that Jacqueline falls sick. Albert takes good care of her, despite her protests, and Sofia makes enough chicken soup to last them all week. Their only concern is who plans to take her chores, and David’s just about to offer when Nicolas speaks up instead. The garden’s doing well, he says. I’ll have time to do her share. There’s no reason for David to stop his work.
As it turns out, Nicolas is more fit for outside labor. He’s not used to washing clothes and windows, and finds himself tackling the floors too aggressively. Even worse, his ability to shake out the rugs is questionable at best. He’s horrified by the shoddy job he’s doing, and can only imagine the lecture he’ll get if Jacqueline sees that there are spots on the floor, so he ends up doing everything more than once. He goes over his work with a fine-tooth comb, which sets him back a great deal. By the time dinner rolls around, the windows still need to be cleaned, and he wonders if he should just skip dinner altogether and try to finish his chores.
Sofia, however, isn’t a fan of having her cooking ignored. She tracks him down and drags him away from his bucket of water. He’s still protesting as she pushes him onto a seat, and they have an argument in French before she says something that has Nicolas quiet and willing to eat whatever she dreamt up. Jacqueline isn’t there to see it, but David’s laughing at Nicolas’ expression, and the Frenchman sticks out his tongue (childish, maybe, but so is laughing) before taking a bite of his beef stew.
Dinner, as always, is a pleasant affair. Ronald’s an interesting man to know, and Robert’s always smiling. Rick offers to take some stew up to Jacqueline, but Nicolas takes it instead, considering he consumed his within ten minutes and is ready to start working again. He’s off like a shot, scrubbing windows like a man possessed, fuelled by the fact that he can get some shut-eye as soon as he’s completed everything. The first floor’s finished by the hour, and he’s climbing up the stairs to start on the second floor just as Ronald’s retiring to his room with a book from the library.
The first room, he notices, is David’s. The door’s cracked, so he peeks inside to see David storing books and notebooks away in drawers. He opens it a bit further, hoping to silently announce his presence. The door works as a fabulous broadcaster; David looks up, smiles, and waves him in. Nicolas smiles in return, lugging in the bucket of soapy water and the rag that goes with it. They don’t -can’t- make conversation, so he sets to his task and they both work in companionable silence for the first few minutes.
Nicolas stands by the window, cleaning the gold rod that hangs the curtains, and David watches from his place at the bedpost. Nicolas is a good worker, and David observes him move, dark hair that falls onto his forehead, muscles that shift beneath tanned skin that comes from backyard duties. Nicolas hops down from his stool and then quickly moves to his next window, aware that he’s keeping David from sleeping. His motions are quick, although David rather enjoys the view.
“Nicolas?”
The man turns from his elevated space and gives David an inquisitive look. David indicates for him to come down from the stool, which Nicolas quickly does.
Content that they’re on level fields, David hesitantly approaches his friend. Nicolas looks as though he wants to ask something, but knows it’s pointless. Body signals are all they have, and David figures it’s all they’ll need.
Now that they’re a foot apart, David reaches out and touches Nicolas’ face. Their eyes meet, and he subtly leans forth, hoping his actions are clear. He wants to give Nicolas the opportunity to say no. Nicolas’ back is against the wall and David takes the final step forth; their bodies are pressed together, their lips hover over one another’s like a dirigible over the earth, and their heartbeats somehow match.
You can say no, David says, and Nicolas’ brows draw in confusion. David bites his lips and repeats it slower, the Russian fluent on his tongue. But it’s clear Nicolas has yet to become so assured with the language, and David hopes he’s been catching a few of Jacqueline’s English words.
“You can…” He trails off. He doesn’t know English very well either. “Said… you can said no.”
“No,” Nicolas repeats, frowning in puzzlement. He knows what David wants, and he wants it too. Why is David saying no? Has he changed his mind?
David looks disappointed, but steps back, and Nicolas is struck with understanding. David was giving him a choice.
“Yes!” he suddenly says. “Yes, David.” (What is the word I’m looking for?) “Wait, yes. Don’t… go.”
David looks uncertain, but leans forward again, trying to determine whether what he thinks Nicolas is saying actually is what Nicolas is saying. Their lips linger again, both tentative until Nicolas finally presses them together. It’s an odd feeling until Nicolas opens his mouth and his tongue swipes against David’s lips. David takes a deep breath and follows suit, and their tongues hesitatingly meet in the middle. They break away and meet each other’s eyes, brown gaze on blue -earth staring up at the daytime sky- and Nicolas gives a shaky breath before pressing his groin against David’s thigh. There’s hard evidence of what he wants. He can feel David, can tell that he craves it too, and the windows can wait until tomorrow morning.
They kiss again, both now aware that their desire is the same. David’s hands -long fingers, pale skin- creep up Nicolas’ shirt, brushing against his stomach. Nicolas sighs, a breathy sound, and smiles. David’s struck with how beautiful he is; these encounters never happened in Russia, but that was before the war, and now people are too busy trying to stay alive to care what others do in their bedroom. Besides, David’s employees are too grateful for his sanctuary to give him a hard time.
David’s slowly unbuttons the shirt, trying to take it all in. Nicolas’ eyes never leave David’s face.
He finally reaches the last button and tugs the shirt off, revealing a body that’s sun-kissed by garden work and strengthened by an adequate diet. His hand reaches out and he presses his palm against Nicolas’ chest; he feels the other man’s heart beat against his hand before David leans in and kisses his neck and right shoulder.
But his mind won’t slow down. He wants nothing more than to keep this going, yet his door is wide open and anyone can pass by and see. He quickly lets go; even as Nicolas’ expression flashes with question, he doesn’t -can’t- answer.
He grabs the brass knob and shuts the door, locks it just to be sure, and then turns and leans against it. He and Nicolas stare at each other from across the room; the French man smiles nervously before looking down at his feet. David grins and removes his own shirt, allowing it to fall onto the wood floor. He walks over again and presses his body against Nicolas’ as they kiss, hands exploring every available inch of skin. The feeling is absolutely electric -they’re burning- and David interlaces his right hand with Nicolas’ before leading them towards his bed.
Nicolas slides on first and David straddles him; the sheets are cool and soft against Nicolas’ back while David’s lips and skin are smooth against his chest. It’s like heaven, not that Nicolas has ever seen such a place. Still, he has an idea.
Before this -when France was without war- he found his encounters in midnight clubs that catered to men like himself. Nicolas was often drawn to men more imposing than he (their size made him feel safe), but when it was over, it was over. David's different somehow. He's not necessarily stronger or anything, but he seems to genuinely care for Nicolas.
David’s lips go to Nicolas’ neck, biting softly as his fingers begin fiddling with the other man’s pants fly. He undoes them as quickly as he can, even though his hands tremble, and pulls them off. He then tugs the breeches beneath, leaving Nicolas splayed out and naked. David tosses the clothes onto the ground, his eyes never leaving the body below him. Nicolas’ chest heaves furiously, trying to catch its breath, while his cock lay against his stomach and glistens with pre-cum. It’s clear that he’s shy; he barely meets David’s eyes before looking away and towards the East wall.
David thinks he looks beautiful.
Although terrified, his body commands him to keep going, and Nicolas doesn’t seem afraid, only timid. David’s hands slink down and sweep against the other man’s stomach before hesitantly brushing his penis; Nicolas hisses, arches up, and then says something in French.
“S'il vous plaît.”
David freezes, terrified that he’s done something wrong. Nicolas opens his eyes and searches David’s face, breathily repeating what he said earlier, but David has no clue as to what he’s trying to get across. His heart falls at the thought of stopping, but he prefers that over unknowingly continuing against Nicolas’ wishes.
He quickly rises from his position and climbs to the side of the bed, cursing their inability to properly converse. S'il vous plaît. Did that mean “stop”? Or “no”? Had Nicolas only acted interested out of respect? Or thankfulness? Or fear that he may be kicked out otherwise? David isn’t sure, and doesn’t want to risk losing Nicolas’ company to misunderstanding.
“David?”
The Russian turns to gaze over his right shoulder. Nicolas is sitting up, looking worried.
“S'il vous plaît,” he echoes, his tone earnest. David can only shrug helplessly. Nicolas tilts his head, attempting to understand the problem; David stopped the moment Nicolas had spoken. What did that translate to? He frowned. Maybe…
He touches David’s back, warm skin on warm skin, and then points at David before pointing to himself. “S'il vous plait,” he says. “Please.”
David blinks, allowing his mind to process the new information. Nicolas had been saying “please”? Well, that means… oh. Oh.
Nicolas laughs as David scrambles towards him, desperately pressing their lips together before pushing him down as he continues from his mouth to his neck to his chest. Nicolas begins breathing harder as David progresses downwards, whispering “please” over and over, tinting the word with remnants of Paris. His right arm rests over his eyes as he speaks, thrusting his hips up, dying for friction or suction or something.
“David, please,” he whispers, his voice nearly broken by a sob. David brushes the tip of Nicolas’ cock with his lips, kisses it, letting his tongue swipe off the cum. Nicolas groans and moves restlessly, visibly refraining from thrusting up again. David gives a soft laugh, pleased that the other man seems to be enjoying it, and takes Nicolas in his mouth.
He’s never been with someone so responsive, so he’s surprised when Nicolas cries out and clutches the sheets hard enough that his knuckles fade into white. He’s babbling in French now, but David’s no longer afraid that he doesn’t want it. It’s quite clear that he’s desperate for it, in fact, so David sucks harder as Nicolas writhes beneath him.
His tongue swirls around the head, driving Nicolas insane. It’s the good sort of insanity, though, so David continues without pause, grateful Nicolas even accepted this interlude in the first place. Listening to him speak so uninhibitedly -despite the fact he can’t understand it- is also exciting. He only wants to give Nicolas pleasure, surprising himself when he realizes that whether the other man returns this pleasure is unimportant.
Nicolas’ barrage of unintelligible words suddenly stops; his back arches, he squeezes his fists even tighter, and then he comes. Hard. David swallows without thought, his mind concentrating on how Nicolas looks right after, and how he can’t seem to catch his breath or focus his gaze on anything but the ceiling. He notices that it didn’t take very long, but it’s been quite awhile for either of them. Personally, David hasn’t been with anyone for almost a year, and he’s sure that if Nicolas were to return the favor, he’d be finished in minutes.
As if reading his thoughts, Nicolas’ eyes flick towards him, and he grins. He sits up, pushes David back, and kisses him like… like maybe he loves him, but David knows that can’t be the case. David had helped him, and offered him a home, but that can’t constitute love like this, and he doesn’t want Nicolas to get confused. He doesn’t want Nicolas to be stuck here after the war. The war will end one day, in a hundred years or so, and he doesn’t want obligation to keep anyone from the remaining world. Freedom is out there in the cities, not a worn out house lost in a maze of fields.
His notions melt when he feels Nicolas’ mouth on him, and his toes curl involuntarily while he wonders where Nicolas learned to do that. He comes shortly after, like he knew he would, and watches as Nicolas dresses. It’s quiet between them. David doesn’t like it. He wonders whether this was a bad idea, and then Nicolas smiles, says “merci”, and walks out to finish his chores.
When the door closes, David starts crying.
…
You look pleased, comes a teasing voice, and Nicolas glances up to see Jacqueline grinning rather knowingly. Care to share or shall I drag it out of you?
Nicolas merely blushes and continues eating breakfast, the memories of last night returning full force. He’s confused but elated. He wonders whether he treated the situation properly; should he have stayed? Or did David want him gone? Was it only for one night or would they be doing it again? He curses his inability to speak David’s language and knows he must learn if he has any hope of staying.
He feels rather than sees Jacqueline take a seat across from him. They’re both up early and know the others will be down soon; this is their only chance to talk. Nicolas wishes that Rick might be early as well so as to stall their conversation, but then again, avoiding Jacqueline and her thirst for knowledge is an impossible task. She’s a reporter, after all, and always gets her story.
What do you mean? he asks as he takes another bite of eggs. He’s tremendously thankful to have a food source; being allowed to eat on a daily basis has done wonders for him.
It takes ten minutes to clean windows and you were in his room for forty. Would you like to talk about it?
God, he wants to tell someone. He needs to get out all his uncertainty, his fears that perhaps he and David couldn’t be friends after what happened, but it feels wrong to speak of it. Jacqueline would never tell a soul, and yet it’s still so private that not even she’s the right person to discuss this with.
I’d rather not.
What? Why? Nothing… bad happened, did it? As far as I know, David has always been a very good person-
No, nothing like that. I just don’t know where we stand now. I don’t know what he wants.
Her voice -so tinged with worry- fades for a moment as she sorts out Nicolas’ insecurities. He takes this moment to admire her dark curly hair and pleasant face, and thinks that she’s the sort of lady he’d fall in love with if only he wanted the company of a lady to begin with. As it is, he much prefers David. He desired nothing more than to stay last night, but he was so shaken and unsure that he left as soon as he could. He hopes he didn’t give David the wrong impression.
I see. Would you like me to talk to him?
What? No! No, this is something I need to find out for myself.
Oh really? And how do you propose to do that? David’s Russian, you’re French, and both of you barely know ten English words. How do you expect to communicate?
We’ll find a way.
She snorts and Nicolas thinks he hears her mutter “foolish romantic” beneath her breath, but thinking and knowing are two very different things. Nicolas finishes breakfast early so that he can complete his chores from last night as well as the ones for today. He works quickly, barely stopping for lunch, and doesn’t see David the entire time.
Part 2!
Author: helena_eternal
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Warnings: None.
Pairings: David Hodges/Nick Stokes, mentions of Jacqui Franco/Warrick Brown and Ryan Wolfe/Greg Sanders.
Summary: The war will end one day, in a hundred years or so, and he doesn’t want obligation to keep anyone from the remaining world. Freedom is out there in the cities, not a worn out house lost in a maze of fields.
Spoilers: None!
A/N: I'M BACK! Okay, I was never gone, but school's putting a real cramp in my writing time. Before you click, please know that this is a WWII AU. No, I don't know if you'll like it. No, I'm not quite sure of it's clarity. Quite frankly, I'm not entirely sure what to make of this, but it's taken a long time to finish up. I really, really hope you enjoy it, and I really, really hope my history's up to par. ^_^
Many thanks to the fantabulous yuuyaku for the French translations. As for the Russian, I used an online dictionary. Don’t laugh!
Dedicated to catlover2x, my historical CSI fanfic writing muse.
A Hundred Years or So
The train station is smoky, but Nicolas would rather die from suffocation than from what’s approaching the French border. He sits against the wall, alone among others who are doing the same. They’re the ones who will be left behind, they’re the ones who have no money for a ticket. One ticket to Switzerland, that’s all he wants, and he sits as though waiting -hoping- that someone has extra funds, that someone will give him a chance to escape. The conductor is bellowing “en voiture” in harsh tones; then again, everything’s harsh now. The days, the minutes, they scratch against his skin and make him bleed. The world is unforgiving.
He knows he smells badly. He hasn’t bathed in almost six days and his clothes are soiled with dirt and stale water. His face, his breath, it’s all filthy, but no one cares about the trivial. He can hear the seconds tick away and he knows the train will leave, will never come back. It’s the last train out before the Nazi’s come. It’s the last train that will ever board this station.
All aboard! Two minutes, all aboard!
A man is begging the conductor for a ticket, pleading, offering everything he has. But everything’s not enough now, and he’s refused; they’ve all been refused. All ten of them, and Nicolas expected there to be more. He expected so many more to be crowding the station, beseeching anyone for spare change so that they might escape France.
Has the world given up?
“S'il vous plaît, je vous donnerai quelque chose!”
That’s what the man is saying. He’s on his knees, crying, saying My family took the first train, I know where they are, let me go to them, but that doesn’t change the fact he’s poor. He can’t afford it.
Nicolas knows he shouldn’t hold out hope. There’s nothing to hope for now, because getting to Switzerland by foot is almost impossible. He has no money for food or shelter, he doesn’t even have a change of clothes. Everything was lost when word spread that the Germans were coming; he’s Jewish, he’s terrified, and he knows what’ll happen to him if the Nazi’s take over the country. He, along with many of his Jewish friends, had left their homes the night before to try and flee, but Nicolas has reached a dead end. He hopes his friends are doing better.
“En voit-’’
Another man suddenly rushes in. He, like everyone else, is dirty, but hasn’t reached Nicolas’ state yet. He will soon, probably, as will the entire population. It’ll be as though civilization never evolved at all. They’ll be like animals: no compassion, no sympathy, everyone for themselves.
Nicolas doesn’t understand what the new arrival shouts, but the conductor does and quickly moves aside. The man speaks in Russian, that’s all Nicolas can recognize, and trips over the poor soul who had been begging before. He’s on his knees, crying, pleading with the whole of his heart, and the Russian looks around and notices the other nine who will be forced to stay behind. He seems alarmed that human nature has left them, that the conductor won’t take in those who are less fortunate than he, and then his startling blue eyes settle on Nicolas’ tired brown ones. He turns to the conductor and speaks again.
His words are sharp, but Nicolas is French and can’t translate it. His heart, though, nearly stops when the Russian and the conductor hastily usher the ten men towards them, telling them Get on the train! Hurry! and the men are too grateful to be stunned. The Russian reaches into his pocket and shells out the money it takes to get them all on board, and looks onto the beautifully empty station. They aren’t leaving anyone behind. You can’t put a price on that.
The train lurches forward, puffing out steam, and Nicolas is glad to breathe semi-fresh air. The new men quickly find their quarters, little rooms with a window and bench, but Nicolas is so tired and hungry that he can barely move. The train floor is carpeted, dark red with a floral design, and he wonders how comfortable it is before he spots the Russian. The man has cerulean eyes, so shocking and electric, but wears no expression when he motions Nicolas towards him with a wave of his hand. Nicolas hesitatingly approaches until he realizes the Russian is offering to share half of his compartment, and Nicolas is so thankful that he almost cries.
He sits in one seat as the Russian closes the door behind them. They face one another, unsure of what to say, until Nicolas speaks.
My name is Nicolas.
The Russian merely frowns, and Nicolas realizes he can’t understand him.
He says something in return, and Nicolas can’t translate it either. However, it ends with David, pronounced da’veed, and he supposes that’s his name. Nicolas repeats it uncertainly.
David?
The Russian nods and echoes, Nicolas?
They give a small laugh, figuring a name is a good a start as any, before David opens his suitcase. Nicolas averts his eyes, not wanting to be nosy, but then smells something like bread and tomatoes, and can’t help but glance back. David has a sandwich. It’s on sourdough, and Nicolas’ mouth waters. He bites his lip and looks towards the window. The man bought him a ticket, saved his life. Nicolas can’t ask for more than that.
Hungry?
David’s asking a question, but Nicolas can’t understand him.
What?
They stare for another moment, both recognizing that this is going to be a very quiet train ride- no conversation. David merely hands him half his sandwich, and Nicolas plans to protest, plans to say No, you’ve done enough, but David’s insistent. Nicolas wolfs it down; it barely sates his hunger, but it’s more than he’s had the past six days. Before he knows it, he’s peeling off his coat and bunching it in the corner of his bench. He lies sideways, exhausted, and lets the tracks and the train wheels lull him to sleep.
…
He’s not sure how much time has passed since they left France, but the sky is dark when Nicolas finally wakes. Someone is shaking his shoulder -David, he realizes- and David’s pointing to the compartment door. The train seems to be slowing, so that must mean they’ve reached Switzerland. Nicolas feels a rush of joy fill him. He’s been so scared that their train might be stopped somehow, and now they’re in the mountains. It makes him weak.
Other passengers shuffle off before him, but he doesn’t mind. He feels patient and rested, although he’s definitely still hungry, and moves with the flow. He’s standing behind David and the scent of sweet cologne ghosts towards his nose. He’s suddenly embarrassed by his own stench and hangs his head a bit lower in an attempt to not stand out. As he does so, he admires David’s shiny leather shoes. He must be a businessman or banker, perhaps. He’s certainly wealthy.
His own beaten boots hit the concrete station floor with a soft thud and he feels the chill of the mountains begin to creep through his bones. He crosses his arms around himself to keep warm, but it doesn’t help much, and briefly wonders whether he can find a place to sleep for the night. It’s too cold to sleep outside, but he has no choice. He has nothing to pay with. Nothing, perhaps, except labor, and these times require more human effort then monetary gain. He turns to David and wants to say “thank you,” but doesn’t know how in Russian. He hopes his expression conveys it.
David meets his eyes. They’re silent. Nicolas struggles, but is purely French and can’t even express his gratitude in English.
Their eyes don’t let go of each other, and even through the hustle and bustle, David holds up his right index finger and then makes a circular motion, as though indicating every possible direction. Nicolas is confused at first, but then realizes what he means. He’s asking where Nicolas intends to go, so the brunette merely shrugs. He has no idea.
David sets down his briefcase and flips open two silver locks; there are papers with black print and news articles and photos, and now Nicolas knows he’s some sort of financial master. David shuffles through the paper piles until he pulls out a yellowed photograph and hands it to his French companion. Nicolas furrows his brow but takes it. It’s of a beautiful mansion, stunning with its pillars and windows and sky backdrop. David points to it and then to himself. Nicolas realizes that the mansion is David’s house.
He doesn’t want to hope that maybe David is asking him to go there, to live with him in that beautiful house, but what else can he mean? David takes the picture back and shuts his suitcase before touching Nicolas’ arm and tugging him towards where David is heading.
Would you like to come with me?
There’s nowhere for Nicolas to go, so even if they aren’t heading to the mansion, at least they’re heading somewhere.
…
The mansion is more rundown than in the photo, but God, what a lovely sight it is. Vines climb over stone walls, pillars ignore the rules of time, and the doors tower over any man. The sky is a bright blue setting and the green grounds are carefully kept, although the gates that separate the gardens have long since rusted. Nicolas feels small and insignificant when compared to the immense home that lay sprawled before him, but at the same time, he feels safe. David touches his arm again and steers him forward. The contact is rather comforting, actually, and he feels warm when David’s arm brushes up against his.
David smiles, the expression tinged with excitement, and Nicolas can tell he’s glad to be home. Nicolas would be too, if he lived here. The word “home” bids a brief, unwanted memory of France; it was once an empire, but a few days has changed everything. Now parts of it are in ruins while the rest is black with fear. Nicolas remembers what his own house looked like before he left it and feels homesick already.
“David! David, you’re back! Jacqueline, get Robert and Ronald!”
The voice is so unexpected that Nicolas jumps slightly as a tall, dark man comes bounding out of the house, running towards David with an admirable speed. David barely has time to set down his suitcase before the man grabs him and actually twirls him around. David’s laughing and hugs him back while a parade of others rush from the house as well. There’s a woman with dark curly hair and several men who seem thrilled that David’s returned. There’s a hurricane of words that Nicolas doesn’t understand, so he stays quiet while the reunion takes place. The woman seems as thrilled as the dark man is, but she doesn’t have the strength to lift and twirl him, so she merely squeezes until David gives a breathy laugh and pushes her away.
They quickly speak in Russian and then David turns and gestures to Nicolas. The Frenchman supposes he’s introducing him to the woman, so he smiles and nods his head in uncertain greeting. She waves enthusiastically before bestowing a hug on him as well, being kind enough to ignore his ripe smell.
You’re French, yes? she asks, smiling sympathetically, understanding how alienated he feels in his surroundings. He feels a wave of relief crash through him; someone speaks his language! He eagerly nods.
Yes! Are you?
She laughs but shakes her head. No, I’m an American reporter. I’ve been stuck here for months now. I’m glad that David brought you, though. You can tell me what’s been happening in France.
He makes a face as the fresh memories come flooding back. Silence, fear, desperation. With respect, madam, I’d rather not.
That’s understandable, Nicolas. Maybe some other time, but let’s get you settled in first. I’ll explain the language barrier here, yes?
But David-
Oh, he isn’t leaving. I believe that’ll be his last business trip for a little while. When we caught word that the Germans were so close, we… She trails off, looking as though her mind is somewhere far away. Her grip tightens on his arm as she shakes her head. Yes, well, let me take you to your room. My name’s Jacqueline Franco, by the way. Before we go any further, you must understand our speaking system. Rick and Robert can only speak English. David and Ronald speak only Russian. You and Sofia speak only French. I know all three languages, plus Spanish, so I’m the heart of communication here.
Then it’s a pleasure to meet you, Nicolas says, taking her hand in his and placing a kiss on her knuckles. She merely smiles and rolls her eyes good-naturedly.
I’m surrounded by the nicest men, and yet I’m still unmarried. Why is that?
I wouldn’t know, madam.
She leads him towards a long hallway. We’ll get you a bath and something to eat. How does that sound?
Lovely, Ms. Franco, he manages to reply. He turns to see where David is; several others surround him, but their eyes are able to meet before Jacqueline leads him down another hallway. David disappears behind the wall.
…
They all rise and shine before the sky lightens. Nicolas feels so revitalized, because sleeping on a bed is far better than a street. He’s able to freshen up and then goes down to breakfast, only he’s struck with a bit of shyness. He hovers on the outside of the door and listens to his new house mates talk amongst themselves, with Jacqueline participating in several conversations at once. He realizes that he doesn’t really know them and that he can’t just walk in and expect anything, and he almost decides to not go in at all when someone taps him on the shoulder.
He turns to see… Rick, isn’t it? Rick Brown from America. He’s a photographer who came with Jacqueline, and now they’re both stuck in Switzerland. He’s tall, handsome, has the most stunning green eyes, and is obviously in love with his reporter counterpart. Nicolas is instantly mute, having no idea what to say. He can’t even make himself meet Rick’s gaze; he feels like he did something wrong, so he crosses his arms around himself and softly kicks the floor with his right foot.
“What’re you doin’? Breakfast ain’t out here, man,” Rick says, not that Nicolas understands him. “And trust me, you don’t wanna miss Sofia’s eggs.”
All Nicolas knows is that Rick’s grabbing his shoulder and pushing him through the door. He’s struck with shyness again, and once again wonders where to sit, but Rick seems to know what’s what. He plops down next to Jacqueline and then indicates for Nicolas to take the seat on the other side of him.
Multi-lingual conversations flow between those who occupy the large table. It seems, though, that no one besides Jacqueline is any good at French, so Nicolas remains quiet as he takes the seat Rick offered. Everyone shoots him a welcoming smile while plates and glasses are heard clinking from the kitchen. A moment later, Sofia emerges, her golden hair pulled back into a ponytail and balancing several dishes at once. Nicolas has always been polite -his parents and sisters had taught him how- and so he jumps up to assist.
Let me help, he offers, taking a few plates. You do this all by yourself?
Sofia grins and nods, surprising him by replying in his native tongue. Most days, yes. I like it. It gives me something to do.
They set breakfast out, everyone murmuring their appreciation in different languages, before the two sit down with them to eat. Nicolas’ initial hesitation seems to disappear, because everyone is friendly, and Sofia seems like a nice person to talk to. They introduce themselves (Jacqueline translates) and he discovers that Ronald’s a sensible man who runs a Russian newspaper company. Robert’s playful, always laughing and joking despite the dark times. He used to serve in the Army until he lost his troop somewhere in Germany. Albert’s intelligent and serves as their resident doctor, making sure they all keep warm in winter and eat properly.
When they finish, Sofia sees to cleaning the kitchen while the others disperse. Nicolas has a feeling they all have specific responsibilities, and he’s proven right when Jacqueline leads him to the garden in back of the house.
Our life is simple here. We keep up the house, the livestock, and the garden. You seem like the outdoors type, so we’re assigning you garden duty. Do you mind?
Nicolas shakes his head. How could he ever mind? He’s been given cleaning facilities, food, a place to sleep, and the least he can do for them is plant and water.
She explains what he’s supposed to do -root plants, harvest seeds, pick the ripe fruits, water everything- and the tasks are simple but laborious. He doesn’t object, though. As a matter of fact, he rather enjoys it. He sets to work immediately. He’s careful, because their garden is most of their food supply, and in the distance, he can see Robert caring for the chickens and cows. The idea of this life, the notion of such simplicity, is comforting. In a world so torn by war and suffering, this minimalism is paradise.
Three hours later, he glances up to see someone standing on the back porch. He’s too far away to tell who it is, but the pale skin color and build makes him think it’s David. He wants to wave or something, show friendliness, but as soon as David knows he’s been spotted, he turns and goes back inside. Nicolas wonders why David was watching him in the first place.
…
By the second day, Nicolas knows he and Rick are going to be friends. There’s just something between them; even though their native tongues don’t mix, their personalities do, and they’re always egging each other on, trying to outdo the other. Around four, when Nicolas has finished up with his daily garden work, Rick approaches him with a ball and bat. He cocks a dark eyebrow.
“You like baseball, man?” he asks.
“Baseball?” Nicolas repeats. The ball and bat seem familiar, but he’s never actually played.
“Yeah. We all play sometimes, and I figure you might as well know the rules. You ever watched a game?”
“Pardon, mais je ne comprends pas.”
“Ne comprends, huh? Look, it’s like this,” Rick says, motioning for Nicolas to follow him. “There’re three bases. Three. Tres, man,” he continues, holding up three fingers. “Then there’s home plate. Ball-’’ He holds up the baseball, yellowed with dirt and black stitching. “-and bat.” He holds up the long, wooden object. “Just gotta hit the ball and run.”
When Nicolas pins Rick beneath a blank stare, the taller man merely sighs and shakes his head. “I can see Jacq’s gonna be needed for this. How ‘bout some regular practice, then?”
He hands Nicolas the ball and then steps about ten yards back. He motions for Nicolas to throw it. He does, rather uncertainly, and Rick lightly taps it so that it doesn’t go flying across the field and into some unknown location. Nicolas repeats his previous action, throwing it a bit harder this time, and the bat makes contact with a slight thud.
“Think ya got it?” he asks. Not waiting for an answer, he picks up the ball and then hands Nicolas the bat. It feels strange in his hand, but he turns slightly, trying to copy Rick’s stance and grip. When Rick finally tosses it, Nicolas not only misses, but swings too hard. He feels embarrassed when Rick laughs, but the laughter isn’t mean; it’s amused at most, and he quickly retrieves the ball before tossing it again, determined to get Nicolas into the sport. Nicolas concentrates. He keeps his eye on where the ball’s going… and then swings.
The resulting crack reverberates throughout the field.
Rick’s mouth drops open as he watches the baseball soar over him, over the field, and finally hitting the roof of the house with a thump. It’s still for a moment before rolling off and falling onto the ground, landing in a flowerbed that lines the back wall. Rick’s green eyes are wide when he turns to face Nicolas. Behind him, Jacqueline scrambles onto the back deck to make sure everything’s okay.
“And… you’re sure you’ve never played before, right?” he asks at last. Nicolas merely looks at him before handing him the bat.
“Baseball,” he repeats. Rick’s quiet for a moment before bursting into peels of laughter and shaking his head.
“You and me? We’re gonna be friends, I can just tell,” he says, throwing his arm around Nicolas’ neck.
“Friends?”
“Amis, man. Now stop with the yard work, ‘cause Sofia’s cookin’ chicken for dinner. You’d be crazy to miss that.”
Nicolas wasn’t sure of everything Rick had said, but he recognizes “Sofia” and “dinner” and amis. They walk to the house together, Rick’s arm still slung around his neck.
…
Sunday, Jacqueline claims, is a day of rest. Nicolas doesn’t want to rest. He’d much rather garden than do nothing, although there’s a library on the second floor, and some of the books look interesting. There’s a lake here, Sofia says. Past the fields and barn. Go take a swim or look at the wildlife. The idea is pleasant, so Nicolas heads off to look for it once breakfast is over. He promises to come back and help Sofia with lunch and dinner (she’s the only one who doesn’t get any rest of Sunday), but he can’t bear the indoors on such a beautiful day. It doesn’t take long to locate the lake -it’s not huge, but it’s blue and lovely- and Nicolas instantly falls in love with it. He lived in the city and never saw these things before. He feels free in the country.
At the moment, looking is more appealing than swimming. He’s always been interested in details, so the aquatic life fascinates him, and the birds are especially beautiful. The surrounding sand is gritty beneath his feet as he walks along the shore. Water hides items that are otherwise lost -bird feathers, coins- and it’s possible that this lake is nothing but a blue mystery. Maybe there’s a treasure chest at the bottom, or an airplane, although it couldn’t be that deep. Could it? Nicolas has a feeling he’ll never find out, so he lets the question go and rolls up the bottom of his pants. He doesn’t want them to get too wet, and the water’s far more inviting than the sand.
There are ducks floating in the middle. They’re pretty quiet for such noisy creatures. A few toads hop here and there and fish quickly swim away from Nicolas’ threatening ankles. This place is so strange; he remembers freezing in France, and somehow he’s warm here. It’s still a bit chilly to go swimming, but there's no doubt of the sweat he’s worked up gardening lately. He listens to the water splash as he walks, observing all the small creatures that grace the lake, and wonders what his place is. How long can he stay here? Is he expected to eventually contribute money? He’s fairly certain that he can stay as long as he likes, and as long as he does his share of work, money won’t be a problem. The issue of coins and bills always lead to thoughts of David, though. Nicolas wonders how David ever afforded this place, and what it is he does for a living.
The sound of a snapping twig makes Nicolas turn around, and before he knows it, he has company. David’s standing a few feet away, looking rather surprised himself.
There’s a long stretch of silence where David looks terribly uncomfortable, so Nicolas tries to manage a smile. Hello, he says. Am I disturbing you?
It’s so strange not to be able to talk to someone. Nicolas feels ridiculously stupid a moment later, realizing David can’t understand him. All the things he wants to say are alien to the other man; he might as well be speaking Greek or maybe some ancient, lost language that’s nothing but dust by now. David pauses, uncertain, before taking a few steps forward. He simply smiles and doesn’t bother to say anything; they both know it’s a useless endeavor anyway.
They walk barefoot and side-by-side. David is more of a watcher, content to study the lake and Nicolas, while Nicolas wants to touch and see everything from each angle. It’s almost like David’s amused by Nicolas’ curiosity and wonder. He reaches out for anything, even the fish, and his chestnut hair blows in the mountain wind. The wind whistles through the trees, threatening a cold winter, but this time of year isn’t frightening. It’s cold at night, sure, but it heats up during the day. David likes it that way.
Something catches Nicolas’ attention. David watches as the other man scrutinizes it first. It seems to be a small turtle, about the size of Nicolas’ hand, and it takes its time as it crosses from the brush towards the water. Nicolas gently picks it up, laughing as the head and legs go in. David’s struck by the man’s smile, the beautiful crow’s feet around brown eyes, and how his laugh’s contagious. Nicolas sets the turtle down and continues his investigating, his feet wet as he walks through water while David stays dry on land.
Nicolas, though, isn’t quite used to bodies of water, and slips a few minutes later. They’d been in companionable silence, only to have the silence broken by a loud splash. David, being David, can’t help it: he laughs. Nicolas shoots him an annoyed look as he sits waist deep, drenched. Even his hair’s wet and plastered against his forehead. He looks a bit childish, especially with his glare, and he holds up his hand in an expectant gesture. Surely David has a heart, right? He wouldn’t leave a man to fend off lake creatures alone, would he? David reaches to help Nicolas onto his feet, but realizes too late that he’s been tricked; Nicolas’ hand tightens around his before he yanks David down with him. He makes a startled shout as he plops in next to Nicolas, and now they’re both soaked.
That’ll teach you to laugh at me, Nicolas grins. David merely glares.
“Ya ne ponimayu,” he growls back, which only furthers Nicolas’ amusement. He’s still snickering as he crawls onto the sand, intent to leave, but David believes in revenge. He grabs Nicolas’ ankle and pulls him back, and by now they’re so wet that Jacqueline probably won’t let them eat at the table until they’ve cleaned up. Nicolas slaps his hand away, David pushes him onto the ground, and they find themselves in an awkward position moments later. David’s dominant, Nicolas is sprawled onto his back, and they’re staring into each other’s eyes without meaning to.
The seconds pass without passing at all. Time seems to slow, nearly stop, and Nicolas can honestly say that he has no idea how long they’re like that. He’s almost sure -almost- that David wants to kiss him, but perhaps everyone has sent their bravery to the soldiers, because David lurches back. It’s like he realizes what’s happening and cuts it off as soon as he can.
Without another word, David leaves, heading back across the field and to the house. Nicolas stays. He stays, uncertain of how to respond, and wishes that David had leant in closer. Thoughts swirl through his head as he rises unsteadily. He’s no longer concerned about water or birds. He heads back to the house, slower than David, and when he wanders into the kitchen to help Sofia, she merely takes in Nicolas’ wet appearance before smiling.
She seems to know something, but Nicolas isn’t sure what it is.
…
It’s a few weeks later that Jacqueline falls sick. Albert takes good care of her, despite her protests, and Sofia makes enough chicken soup to last them all week. Their only concern is who plans to take her chores, and David’s just about to offer when Nicolas speaks up instead. The garden’s doing well, he says. I’ll have time to do her share. There’s no reason for David to stop his work.
As it turns out, Nicolas is more fit for outside labor. He’s not used to washing clothes and windows, and finds himself tackling the floors too aggressively. Even worse, his ability to shake out the rugs is questionable at best. He’s horrified by the shoddy job he’s doing, and can only imagine the lecture he’ll get if Jacqueline sees that there are spots on the floor, so he ends up doing everything more than once. He goes over his work with a fine-tooth comb, which sets him back a great deal. By the time dinner rolls around, the windows still need to be cleaned, and he wonders if he should just skip dinner altogether and try to finish his chores.
Sofia, however, isn’t a fan of having her cooking ignored. She tracks him down and drags him away from his bucket of water. He’s still protesting as she pushes him onto a seat, and they have an argument in French before she says something that has Nicolas quiet and willing to eat whatever she dreamt up. Jacqueline isn’t there to see it, but David’s laughing at Nicolas’ expression, and the Frenchman sticks out his tongue (childish, maybe, but so is laughing) before taking a bite of his beef stew.
Dinner, as always, is a pleasant affair. Ronald’s an interesting man to know, and Robert’s always smiling. Rick offers to take some stew up to Jacqueline, but Nicolas takes it instead, considering he consumed his within ten minutes and is ready to start working again. He’s off like a shot, scrubbing windows like a man possessed, fuelled by the fact that he can get some shut-eye as soon as he’s completed everything. The first floor’s finished by the hour, and he’s climbing up the stairs to start on the second floor just as Ronald’s retiring to his room with a book from the library.
The first room, he notices, is David’s. The door’s cracked, so he peeks inside to see David storing books and notebooks away in drawers. He opens it a bit further, hoping to silently announce his presence. The door works as a fabulous broadcaster; David looks up, smiles, and waves him in. Nicolas smiles in return, lugging in the bucket of soapy water and the rag that goes with it. They don’t -can’t- make conversation, so he sets to his task and they both work in companionable silence for the first few minutes.
Nicolas stands by the window, cleaning the gold rod that hangs the curtains, and David watches from his place at the bedpost. Nicolas is a good worker, and David observes him move, dark hair that falls onto his forehead, muscles that shift beneath tanned skin that comes from backyard duties. Nicolas hops down from his stool and then quickly moves to his next window, aware that he’s keeping David from sleeping. His motions are quick, although David rather enjoys the view.
“Nicolas?”
The man turns from his elevated space and gives David an inquisitive look. David indicates for him to come down from the stool, which Nicolas quickly does.
Content that they’re on level fields, David hesitantly approaches his friend. Nicolas looks as though he wants to ask something, but knows it’s pointless. Body signals are all they have, and David figures it’s all they’ll need.
Now that they’re a foot apart, David reaches out and touches Nicolas’ face. Their eyes meet, and he subtly leans forth, hoping his actions are clear. He wants to give Nicolas the opportunity to say no. Nicolas’ back is against the wall and David takes the final step forth; their bodies are pressed together, their lips hover over one another’s like a dirigible over the earth, and their heartbeats somehow match.
You can say no, David says, and Nicolas’ brows draw in confusion. David bites his lips and repeats it slower, the Russian fluent on his tongue. But it’s clear Nicolas has yet to become so assured with the language, and David hopes he’s been catching a few of Jacqueline’s English words.
“You can…” He trails off. He doesn’t know English very well either. “Said… you can said no.”
“No,” Nicolas repeats, frowning in puzzlement. He knows what David wants, and he wants it too. Why is David saying no? Has he changed his mind?
David looks disappointed, but steps back, and Nicolas is struck with understanding. David was giving him a choice.
“Yes!” he suddenly says. “Yes, David.” (What is the word I’m looking for?) “Wait, yes. Don’t… go.”
David looks uncertain, but leans forward again, trying to determine whether what he thinks Nicolas is saying actually is what Nicolas is saying. Their lips linger again, both tentative until Nicolas finally presses them together. It’s an odd feeling until Nicolas opens his mouth and his tongue swipes against David’s lips. David takes a deep breath and follows suit, and their tongues hesitatingly meet in the middle. They break away and meet each other’s eyes, brown gaze on blue -earth staring up at the daytime sky- and Nicolas gives a shaky breath before pressing his groin against David’s thigh. There’s hard evidence of what he wants. He can feel David, can tell that he craves it too, and the windows can wait until tomorrow morning.
They kiss again, both now aware that their desire is the same. David’s hands -long fingers, pale skin- creep up Nicolas’ shirt, brushing against his stomach. Nicolas sighs, a breathy sound, and smiles. David’s struck with how beautiful he is; these encounters never happened in Russia, but that was before the war, and now people are too busy trying to stay alive to care what others do in their bedroom. Besides, David’s employees are too grateful for his sanctuary to give him a hard time.
David’s slowly unbuttons the shirt, trying to take it all in. Nicolas’ eyes never leave David’s face.
He finally reaches the last button and tugs the shirt off, revealing a body that’s sun-kissed by garden work and strengthened by an adequate diet. His hand reaches out and he presses his palm against Nicolas’ chest; he feels the other man’s heart beat against his hand before David leans in and kisses his neck and right shoulder.
But his mind won’t slow down. He wants nothing more than to keep this going, yet his door is wide open and anyone can pass by and see. He quickly lets go; even as Nicolas’ expression flashes with question, he doesn’t -can’t- answer.
He grabs the brass knob and shuts the door, locks it just to be sure, and then turns and leans against it. He and Nicolas stare at each other from across the room; the French man smiles nervously before looking down at his feet. David grins and removes his own shirt, allowing it to fall onto the wood floor. He walks over again and presses his body against Nicolas’ as they kiss, hands exploring every available inch of skin. The feeling is absolutely electric -they’re burning- and David interlaces his right hand with Nicolas’ before leading them towards his bed.
Nicolas slides on first and David straddles him; the sheets are cool and soft against Nicolas’ back while David’s lips and skin are smooth against his chest. It’s like heaven, not that Nicolas has ever seen such a place. Still, he has an idea.
Before this -when France was without war- he found his encounters in midnight clubs that catered to men like himself. Nicolas was often drawn to men more imposing than he (their size made him feel safe), but when it was over, it was over. David's different somehow. He's not necessarily stronger or anything, but he seems to genuinely care for Nicolas.
David’s lips go to Nicolas’ neck, biting softly as his fingers begin fiddling with the other man’s pants fly. He undoes them as quickly as he can, even though his hands tremble, and pulls them off. He then tugs the breeches beneath, leaving Nicolas splayed out and naked. David tosses the clothes onto the ground, his eyes never leaving the body below him. Nicolas’ chest heaves furiously, trying to catch its breath, while his cock lay against his stomach and glistens with pre-cum. It’s clear that he’s shy; he barely meets David’s eyes before looking away and towards the East wall.
David thinks he looks beautiful.
Although terrified, his body commands him to keep going, and Nicolas doesn’t seem afraid, only timid. David’s hands slink down and sweep against the other man’s stomach before hesitantly brushing his penis; Nicolas hisses, arches up, and then says something in French.
“S'il vous plaît.”
David freezes, terrified that he’s done something wrong. Nicolas opens his eyes and searches David’s face, breathily repeating what he said earlier, but David has no clue as to what he’s trying to get across. His heart falls at the thought of stopping, but he prefers that over unknowingly continuing against Nicolas’ wishes.
He quickly rises from his position and climbs to the side of the bed, cursing their inability to properly converse. S'il vous plaît. Did that mean “stop”? Or “no”? Had Nicolas only acted interested out of respect? Or thankfulness? Or fear that he may be kicked out otherwise? David isn’t sure, and doesn’t want to risk losing Nicolas’ company to misunderstanding.
“David?”
The Russian turns to gaze over his right shoulder. Nicolas is sitting up, looking worried.
“S'il vous plaît,” he echoes, his tone earnest. David can only shrug helplessly. Nicolas tilts his head, attempting to understand the problem; David stopped the moment Nicolas had spoken. What did that translate to? He frowned. Maybe…
He touches David’s back, warm skin on warm skin, and then points at David before pointing to himself. “S'il vous plait,” he says. “Please.”
David blinks, allowing his mind to process the new information. Nicolas had been saying “please”? Well, that means… oh. Oh.
Nicolas laughs as David scrambles towards him, desperately pressing their lips together before pushing him down as he continues from his mouth to his neck to his chest. Nicolas begins breathing harder as David progresses downwards, whispering “please” over and over, tinting the word with remnants of Paris. His right arm rests over his eyes as he speaks, thrusting his hips up, dying for friction or suction or something.
“David, please,” he whispers, his voice nearly broken by a sob. David brushes the tip of Nicolas’ cock with his lips, kisses it, letting his tongue swipe off the cum. Nicolas groans and moves restlessly, visibly refraining from thrusting up again. David gives a soft laugh, pleased that the other man seems to be enjoying it, and takes Nicolas in his mouth.
He’s never been with someone so responsive, so he’s surprised when Nicolas cries out and clutches the sheets hard enough that his knuckles fade into white. He’s babbling in French now, but David’s no longer afraid that he doesn’t want it. It’s quite clear that he’s desperate for it, in fact, so David sucks harder as Nicolas writhes beneath him.
His tongue swirls around the head, driving Nicolas insane. It’s the good sort of insanity, though, so David continues without pause, grateful Nicolas even accepted this interlude in the first place. Listening to him speak so uninhibitedly -despite the fact he can’t understand it- is also exciting. He only wants to give Nicolas pleasure, surprising himself when he realizes that whether the other man returns this pleasure is unimportant.
Nicolas’ barrage of unintelligible words suddenly stops; his back arches, he squeezes his fists even tighter, and then he comes. Hard. David swallows without thought, his mind concentrating on how Nicolas looks right after, and how he can’t seem to catch his breath or focus his gaze on anything but the ceiling. He notices that it didn’t take very long, but it’s been quite awhile for either of them. Personally, David hasn’t been with anyone for almost a year, and he’s sure that if Nicolas were to return the favor, he’d be finished in minutes.
As if reading his thoughts, Nicolas’ eyes flick towards him, and he grins. He sits up, pushes David back, and kisses him like… like maybe he loves him, but David knows that can’t be the case. David had helped him, and offered him a home, but that can’t constitute love like this, and he doesn’t want Nicolas to get confused. He doesn’t want Nicolas to be stuck here after the war. The war will end one day, in a hundred years or so, and he doesn’t want obligation to keep anyone from the remaining world. Freedom is out there in the cities, not a worn out house lost in a maze of fields.
His notions melt when he feels Nicolas’ mouth on him, and his toes curl involuntarily while he wonders where Nicolas learned to do that. He comes shortly after, like he knew he would, and watches as Nicolas dresses. It’s quiet between them. David doesn’t like it. He wonders whether this was a bad idea, and then Nicolas smiles, says “merci”, and walks out to finish his chores.
When the door closes, David starts crying.
…
You look pleased, comes a teasing voice, and Nicolas glances up to see Jacqueline grinning rather knowingly. Care to share or shall I drag it out of you?
Nicolas merely blushes and continues eating breakfast, the memories of last night returning full force. He’s confused but elated. He wonders whether he treated the situation properly; should he have stayed? Or did David want him gone? Was it only for one night or would they be doing it again? He curses his inability to speak David’s language and knows he must learn if he has any hope of staying.
He feels rather than sees Jacqueline take a seat across from him. They’re both up early and know the others will be down soon; this is their only chance to talk. Nicolas wishes that Rick might be early as well so as to stall their conversation, but then again, avoiding Jacqueline and her thirst for knowledge is an impossible task. She’s a reporter, after all, and always gets her story.
What do you mean? he asks as he takes another bite of eggs. He’s tremendously thankful to have a food source; being allowed to eat on a daily basis has done wonders for him.
It takes ten minutes to clean windows and you were in his room for forty. Would you like to talk about it?
God, he wants to tell someone. He needs to get out all his uncertainty, his fears that perhaps he and David couldn’t be friends after what happened, but it feels wrong to speak of it. Jacqueline would never tell a soul, and yet it’s still so private that not even she’s the right person to discuss this with.
I’d rather not.
What? Why? Nothing… bad happened, did it? As far as I know, David has always been a very good person-
No, nothing like that. I just don’t know where we stand now. I don’t know what he wants.
Her voice -so tinged with worry- fades for a moment as she sorts out Nicolas’ insecurities. He takes this moment to admire her dark curly hair and pleasant face, and thinks that she’s the sort of lady he’d fall in love with if only he wanted the company of a lady to begin with. As it is, he much prefers David. He desired nothing more than to stay last night, but he was so shaken and unsure that he left as soon as he could. He hopes he didn’t give David the wrong impression.
I see. Would you like me to talk to him?
What? No! No, this is something I need to find out for myself.
Oh really? And how do you propose to do that? David’s Russian, you’re French, and both of you barely know ten English words. How do you expect to communicate?
We’ll find a way.
She snorts and Nicolas thinks he hears her mutter “foolish romantic” beneath her breath, but thinking and knowing are two very different things. Nicolas finishes breakfast early so that he can complete his chores from last night as well as the ones for today. He works quickly, barely stopping for lunch, and doesn’t see David the entire time.
Part 2!