fic: Derecho (Push; Nick/Cassie; pg)
Derecho
Push (2009); Nick/Cassie; pg; 1,320 words
Underneath the noise, their fights are all about the same thing: they're terrified and they don't have anyone else to take it out on.
For the 10 in 10 challenge. Inspired by the trope meme.
~*~
Derecho
Nick stayed put in Hong Kong for a couple of years, but it's not like he's forgotten how to live on the road (on the run), though having a thirteen-year-old girl with him is new. But when he tries to set up some ground rules, Cassie laughs.
"We're on the run from a covert government agency, Nick. I don't think being in bed by eleven--"
"Twelve on weekends," he allows. He thinks that's pretty generous, considering how much trouble Cassie can get into, even without Division on their trail.
"--or having one meal with vegetables a day is really that important."
"I'm trying to be the adult here," he snaps, exasperated.
She pats his arm condescendingly. "Don't. You're not good at it."
He laughs, because if he can't laugh, he might as well just give up.
*
"Here's a rule for you," she says early in their partnership, one night after he comes back to the motel room down four hundred dollars from a dice game and they have to take off because they can't pay for the room. "I'm in charge of the money. No more gambling unless I'm with you."
"You're not--You can't--" He cocks his head as he figures it out. "You can see who's going to win."
"Among other things, yeah." She outlines a plan to scam an underground art auction in Shanghai that nets them three grand after all the other players are paid off.
When he gambles now, she makes him leave before they get made by house security, and before he loses everything he's won and more.
He doesn't argue with her again. Not about money, anyway. It turns out there are lots of other things to fight about.
*
He yells at her for drinking too much and wandering off on her own in strange places. She yells at him for spending nights with strange ladies who might be Division spies without calling to check in. It doesn't matter where they are or what they're yelling about on any given night--underneath the noise, the fights are all about the same thing: they're terrified (of Division, of losing each other, of losing each other to Division) and they don't have anyone else to take it out on.
After a while, even the fights take on the comforting tinge of clockwork familiarity. Cassie rarely lets him see her vulnerable, so when she throws a shoe at him and curses him out for staying out all night, he knows she's missed him. He doesn't do it often anymore--he'd rather be with her, making sure she's not drinking herself sick or going off with some guy. He tries not to even think about that, but when she comes home with a dreamy smile on her face and hickeys on her throat, he can't help it. She's not thirteen anymore and for all that they still sometimes pretend to be siblings, she's not his sister, and he knows it.
"I hope you're being careful," he says the next time it happens.
"You're such a hypocrite," she answers, and they're off.
Every petty little slight and annoyance is aired out, from the way he doesn't put the toilet seat down--"Still! I've been asking you for four years!"--to how she leaves her boots in the doorway for him to trip over. He flings out a hand to move them to the side of her bed, where they won't get in his way.
"I know it's hard for you," she says, "but try not to be so stupid, okay?"
"Your face is stupid," he answers, and they both start laughing. They laugh long enough that his face and his belly hurt, and the weird tension they always carry with them dissipates for a little while. He holds out a hand and says, "Truce?"
Cassie curls her fingers around his and nods. "Truce."
*
They're in Paris when the past catches up with them. The past is named Giancarlo Renesi and Nick owes him a lot of money. Renesi and his goons jump Nick while he's walking back to the hotel, steal his wallet, and beat the crap out of him. He stops fighting back when Renesi leans in and says, "I take your money, or I take your girl."
When they're done with him, he lies on the street for a while, whimpering, before he finally shoves slowly to his feet. He limps back to the hotel, hoping Cassie's asleep when he opens the door.
He's not that lucky.
She's in the doorway, her notebook in one hand and his spare gun in the other, which clatters to the floor when he lurches against her.
"What the hell did you do now?" she says, her voice sharp but her hands gentle as she guides him to the bed.
He rests his head on the pillow and closes his eyes. "Back before I moved to Hong Kong, I spent a few weeks here. I owe some guys some money."
"Say no more."
He can hear her rustling around the room but it's all he can do to toe off his sneakers and lie there. Even breathing hurts.
He can tell Cassie's back when the mattress sinks under her weight, and then she's pressing an ice pack against his black eye and dabbing a cold wash cloth at his split lip. She helps him take his t-shirt off. He moans pitifully and she brushes a quick hand through his hair; the top of his head is about the only place that doesn't hurt. Her hands are small and warm and quick as she checks him for injuries.
"I don't think your ribs are broken, but you look like you've been tenderized by a bunch of guys in Doc Martens."
He huffs a soft laugh that turns into a pained whine. "Sounds about right."
She helps him out of his jeans, disinfects his scrapes and cuts, and does it all with hands that barely shake. He hates that she's so used to this, that this is what her life is like, that they haven't been able to rescue her mother or bring down Division or do any of the things that would let them settle down and be safe.
"You have to stop doing this," she says. There's a quaver in her voice that makes his eyes snap open. "What am I going to do if you go and get yourself killed? Especially over something dumb like a crap game?"
"Cassie, that's not going to happen."
"It could. It could have happened today. I saw it happen." Her voice rises, riding the edge of hysteria.
"But it didn't. Cass, come here." He raises his hand and curls his fingers in invitation, but she ignores him.
"Not this time, but it could have. It could happen any time. And I can't do this without you!"
He sucks in a pained breath. "Yes, you can. Of course you can. You can do anything." He puts as much sincerity as he can into his tone, into his expression. It's not hard, because he believes it. "You're incredible, Cassie. You're awesome."
"No." She makes a dismissive gesture. "You don't understand. I can't lose you. If something happened to you, I can't--" She darts towards the bed, leans in, and kisses him.
It hurts, because his lip is split, but it feels right, too. He brings a hand up and cups the back of her head, fingers tangling in soft hair, and kisses back gently.
"Okay," he says, tugging her down beside him. "I get it."
Her eyes are big and bright and vulnerable. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Me, too." He kisses her again, her lips warm and soft against his, and then presses another kiss to her forehead. "We'll do something about it once I'm a little less banged up."
"Okay," she says, curling up next to him and resting her head on his shoulder. "That's something to look forward to."
end
~*~
Feedback is always welcome.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/600820.html.
people have commented there.
Push (2009); Nick/Cassie; pg; 1,320 words
Underneath the noise, their fights are all about the same thing: they're terrified and they don't have anyone else to take it out on.
For the 10 in 10 challenge. Inspired by the trope meme.
~*~
Derecho
Nick stayed put in Hong Kong for a couple of years, but it's not like he's forgotten how to live on the road (on the run), though having a thirteen-year-old girl with him is new. But when he tries to set up some ground rules, Cassie laughs.
"We're on the run from a covert government agency, Nick. I don't think being in bed by eleven--"
"Twelve on weekends," he allows. He thinks that's pretty generous, considering how much trouble Cassie can get into, even without Division on their trail.
"--or having one meal with vegetables a day is really that important."
"I'm trying to be the adult here," he snaps, exasperated.
She pats his arm condescendingly. "Don't. You're not good at it."
He laughs, because if he can't laugh, he might as well just give up.
*
"Here's a rule for you," she says early in their partnership, one night after he comes back to the motel room down four hundred dollars from a dice game and they have to take off because they can't pay for the room. "I'm in charge of the money. No more gambling unless I'm with you."
"You're not--You can't--" He cocks his head as he figures it out. "You can see who's going to win."
"Among other things, yeah." She outlines a plan to scam an underground art auction in Shanghai that nets them three grand after all the other players are paid off.
When he gambles now, she makes him leave before they get made by house security, and before he loses everything he's won and more.
He doesn't argue with her again. Not about money, anyway. It turns out there are lots of other things to fight about.
*
He yells at her for drinking too much and wandering off on her own in strange places. She yells at him for spending nights with strange ladies who might be Division spies without calling to check in. It doesn't matter where they are or what they're yelling about on any given night--underneath the noise, the fights are all about the same thing: they're terrified (of Division, of losing each other, of losing each other to Division) and they don't have anyone else to take it out on.
After a while, even the fights take on the comforting tinge of clockwork familiarity. Cassie rarely lets him see her vulnerable, so when she throws a shoe at him and curses him out for staying out all night, he knows she's missed him. He doesn't do it often anymore--he'd rather be with her, making sure she's not drinking herself sick or going off with some guy. He tries not to even think about that, but when she comes home with a dreamy smile on her face and hickeys on her throat, he can't help it. She's not thirteen anymore and for all that they still sometimes pretend to be siblings, she's not his sister, and he knows it.
"I hope you're being careful," he says the next time it happens.
"You're such a hypocrite," she answers, and they're off.
Every petty little slight and annoyance is aired out, from the way he doesn't put the toilet seat down--"Still! I've been asking you for four years!"--to how she leaves her boots in the doorway for him to trip over. He flings out a hand to move them to the side of her bed, where they won't get in his way.
"I know it's hard for you," she says, "but try not to be so stupid, okay?"
"Your face is stupid," he answers, and they both start laughing. They laugh long enough that his face and his belly hurt, and the weird tension they always carry with them dissipates for a little while. He holds out a hand and says, "Truce?"
Cassie curls her fingers around his and nods. "Truce."
*
They're in Paris when the past catches up with them. The past is named Giancarlo Renesi and Nick owes him a lot of money. Renesi and his goons jump Nick while he's walking back to the hotel, steal his wallet, and beat the crap out of him. He stops fighting back when Renesi leans in and says, "I take your money, or I take your girl."
When they're done with him, he lies on the street for a while, whimpering, before he finally shoves slowly to his feet. He limps back to the hotel, hoping Cassie's asleep when he opens the door.
He's not that lucky.
She's in the doorway, her notebook in one hand and his spare gun in the other, which clatters to the floor when he lurches against her.
"What the hell did you do now?" she says, her voice sharp but her hands gentle as she guides him to the bed.
He rests his head on the pillow and closes his eyes. "Back before I moved to Hong Kong, I spent a few weeks here. I owe some guys some money."
"Say no more."
He can hear her rustling around the room but it's all he can do to toe off his sneakers and lie there. Even breathing hurts.
He can tell Cassie's back when the mattress sinks under her weight, and then she's pressing an ice pack against his black eye and dabbing a cold wash cloth at his split lip. She helps him take his t-shirt off. He moans pitifully and she brushes a quick hand through his hair; the top of his head is about the only place that doesn't hurt. Her hands are small and warm and quick as she checks him for injuries.
"I don't think your ribs are broken, but you look like you've been tenderized by a bunch of guys in Doc Martens."
He huffs a soft laugh that turns into a pained whine. "Sounds about right."
She helps him out of his jeans, disinfects his scrapes and cuts, and does it all with hands that barely shake. He hates that she's so used to this, that this is what her life is like, that they haven't been able to rescue her mother or bring down Division or do any of the things that would let them settle down and be safe.
"You have to stop doing this," she says. There's a quaver in her voice that makes his eyes snap open. "What am I going to do if you go and get yourself killed? Especially over something dumb like a crap game?"
"Cassie, that's not going to happen."
"It could. It could have happened today. I saw it happen." Her voice rises, riding the edge of hysteria.
"But it didn't. Cass, come here." He raises his hand and curls his fingers in invitation, but she ignores him.
"Not this time, but it could have. It could happen any time. And I can't do this without you!"
He sucks in a pained breath. "Yes, you can. Of course you can. You can do anything." He puts as much sincerity as he can into his tone, into his expression. It's not hard, because he believes it. "You're incredible, Cassie. You're awesome."
"No." She makes a dismissive gesture. "You don't understand. I can't lose you. If something happened to you, I can't--" She darts towards the bed, leans in, and kisses him.
It hurts, because his lip is split, but it feels right, too. He brings a hand up and cups the back of her head, fingers tangling in soft hair, and kisses back gently.
"Okay," he says, tugging her down beside him. "I get it."
Her eyes are big and bright and vulnerable. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Me, too." He kisses her again, her lips warm and soft against his, and then presses another kiss to her forehead. "We'll do something about it once I'm a little less banged up."
"Okay," she says, curling up next to him and resting her head on his shoulder. "That's something to look forward to."
end
~*~
Feedback is always welcome.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/600820.html.
people have commented there.