Riptide. Nick/Cody. Race car.
TITLE: The One That Got Away (2006)
AUTHOR: oddmonster
FANDOM: Riptide
PAIRING: Nick/Cody
GENRE: Slash
PROMPT: Race car
RATING: suitable for all audiences
WORD COUNT: 1300
SUMMARY: When the medical bills start piling up, Nick decides what's really important.
WARNINGS: References previous medical event, to wit, Cody Allen having had a heart attack a year previously
NOTES: Set after the events in Code Blue (see above re: heart attack)
DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters, nor am I making any money from them. I merely borrow them from time to time.
Push hadn’t even come close to shoving when Nick made the decision to sell the Vette.
Cody had just had his first -- and if Nick had any say, only -- heart attack, and despite their generous benefit package from Roboztics, Inc, the medical bills were starting to pile up.
For Nick, it was a no-brainer, and even though Cody and Murray both did some hand-wringing and gentle probing, Nick never felt better than when he signed over the deed to a nationally respected auction house down in Monterey Bay that specialized in classic cars.
Okay, that last bit was a lie. Without blinking, Nick could name five times he’d felt better than that morning:
But it was definitely right up there.
Nick had kept all the receipts from working on the Vette. All of them. Sure, some of them had been stuffed in a sock drawer, more than a handful were in a shoebox that somehow found its way to a shelf above the Neutron Particle Bench at the Roboztics Laser Lab (whatever that all meant) and three of them were found in the freezer, which was entirely explainable, if you asked Nick. It was where he kept a spare Glock, after all.
Cody and Murray both, too, tried to talk him out of attending the auction.
But Nick was resolute. He liked old cars and Cody liked auctions. And eight months post-heart attack, Cody’s doctor assured Nick he’d be safe to make the hour-long journey down the peninsula. Especially if he got to do it his way.
The morning dawned brisk and foggy in Marin. They all did, generally, but that rarely stopped Nick and Cody from rising early and taking their coffee in the salon, where they could bicker about the weather for the day. Say what you liked about meteorology, Nick was sure it gave old married couples a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Because if it was up to him, he and Cody would both still be in bed long after the sun had done whatever the sun had decided to do that day.
Cody had been brimming with enthusiasm about this trip for weeks, in the entirely not-subtle way he had about him when he got excited. He’d gotten out the charts. And the fuel calculator. And the other sailing charts he definitely hadn’t ordered off eBay one night when he thought Nick had had one too many beers and was drowsing next to him. As a point of pride, Nick hadn’t done any drowsing since 1974, when he had had one too many beers, wound up drowsing on a cot in a tent in-country and woke up to find out that Cody had managed to get himself shot in the ass high on a ridge in the middle of Vietnam, for fuck’s sake. It was the type of experience that made a man swear off drowsing for life.
Anyway, Cody had these charts. And these other ones that made him frown and suck at his tongue in a way that made Nick sure that whatever Cody’d paid for them, it was totally worth it. He pretended to drowse some more as he enjoyed the view.
“You know, Nick,” Cody said conversationally, if we leave the afternoon before the auction, instead of the day of, we could pick up the Santa Ana currents and shave nearly an hour off our sailing time.”
Nick cracked an eye and looked over at his partner. “Is that so?”
“Yup. And we’d even be in time for dinner at that steakhouse you like.”
“Mm,” Nick growled non-committally.
“What time are they…” Cody trailed off as Nick stretched, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck.
“They’re picking it up the afternoon of the 20th,” Nick answered. “Down at the storage center. I already sent them all the paperwork and a set of keys.”
“Are you sure about this, Nick? I mean, this is a big deal. You’ve been working on the Vette for--”
“Entirely long enough,” Nick answered, scooting to the edge of the banquette. Noting the serious expression on his partner’s face, Nick took both of Cody’s hands in his, smoothing the rough skin with his thumbs. “Seriously, man, I’m fine with this. More than fine. I’m good, okay? So you should be good with it too, okay?”
It was Cody’s turn for non-committal noises.
Nick dropped Cody’s hands and took the opportunity to run his palms up Cody’s thighs, enjoying the resulting tensing of muscle and sinew under denim.
Cody set the maps down and sat up in that way he had that made Nick realize it was time to head off a lecture. He redoubled his efforts with the denim, digging his thumbs in in the places he knew from long experience made Cody pliable and giddy.
Cody brushed his hands away. “Nick, this isn’t something that can be undone. Once the Vette’s gone, it’s…” he shrugged expansively.
“Gone?” Nick suggested.
“Nick!”
“All right, all right, Cody, calm down.” Nick glared at the place on his partner’s chest that the new and unfamiliar stent occupied.
“I am calm. Look, Nick, I’m just saying, this is a big step for you. You’ve had that car as long as I’ve known you, and you’ve got…” Cody spread his hands wide. “Who knows how many hours invested in it. All I’m saying is, it’d be reasonable to have some doubts at this point, buddy. Okay?”
Nick took a deep breath. “No, Cody, it’s not okay. Because you know what I don’t have any doubts about? Us, okay? Us. That’s what I don’t have any doubts about. Us in the long haul. And if the thing between us and--” It was his turn to do the hand thing. “Then a fucking car doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference to me. You get it? Not the slightest bit.”
Cody started to protest but Nick squeezed his thighs and the protest turned into something between a purr and a yelp.
“You, okay?” Nick continued in a softer voice. “There’s no car that can replace you, so don’t even worry about it. Put it out of your head.”
Cody looked as if he was about to say something, then changed his mind. He rose, and Nick rose with him, unwilling to relinquish contact. Tomorrow was another day. So was the twentieth. All of which had been made possible by the mad bit of plastic-polymer-doodah in Cody’s chest. So to Nick’s way of thinking, a car he’d worked on for the past thirty years was a small price to pay.
Cody nodded, turned off the light in the salon and turned and led the way below.
Nick followed, knowing their way by the weight of Cody’s tread and the number of paces to the stairs.
He’d wait until morning, maybe, to tell Cody that Murray would be tracking them from the highway the entire time.
AUTHOR: oddmonster
FANDOM: Riptide
PAIRING: Nick/Cody
GENRE: Slash
PROMPT: Race car
RATING: suitable for all audiences
WORD COUNT: 1300
SUMMARY: When the medical bills start piling up, Nick decides what's really important.
WARNINGS: References previous medical event, to wit, Cody Allen having had a heart attack a year previously
NOTES: Set after the events in Code Blue (see above re: heart attack)
DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters, nor am I making any money from them. I merely borrow them from time to time.
Push hadn’t even come close to shoving when Nick made the decision to sell the Vette.
Cody had just had his first -- and if Nick had any say, only -- heart attack, and despite their generous benefit package from Roboztics, Inc, the medical bills were starting to pile up.
For Nick, it was a no-brainer, and even though Cody and Murray both did some hand-wringing and gentle probing, Nick never felt better than when he signed over the deed to a nationally respected auction house down in Monterey Bay that specialized in classic cars.
Okay, that last bit was a lie. Without blinking, Nick could name five times he’d felt better than that morning:
That one time he found Cody after that asshole Mike Santana decided to play scavenger hunt;
When he heard Pitbull whoop over the radio that he’d managed to pull a somewhat bloodied but decidedly not-dead Cody Allen off a ridge near Ke Mai;
The time Max had casually left Janet’s wedding invitation on the bar at Straightaways and Nick saw, at a glance, that whoever the poor sap was he wasn’t Cody Allen;
Basically every time Cody surfaced after strapping iron weights to his body and throwing himself in the ocean;
One late night aboard the Riptide when Nick discovered he was a way better poker player than Tammy was, even if Cody had them both beat by a long shot.
But it was definitely right up there.
Nick had kept all the receipts from working on the Vette. All of them. Sure, some of them had been stuffed in a sock drawer, more than a handful were in a shoebox that somehow found its way to a shelf above the Neutron Particle Bench at the Roboztics Laser Lab (whatever that all meant) and three of them were found in the freezer, which was entirely explainable, if you asked Nick. It was where he kept a spare Glock, after all.
Cody and Murray both, too, tried to talk him out of attending the auction.
But Nick was resolute. He liked old cars and Cody liked auctions. And eight months post-heart attack, Cody’s doctor assured Nick he’d be safe to make the hour-long journey down the peninsula. Especially if he got to do it his way.
The morning dawned brisk and foggy in Marin. They all did, generally, but that rarely stopped Nick and Cody from rising early and taking their coffee in the salon, where they could bicker about the weather for the day. Say what you liked about meteorology, Nick was sure it gave old married couples a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Because if it was up to him, he and Cody would both still be in bed long after the sun had done whatever the sun had decided to do that day.
Cody had been brimming with enthusiasm about this trip for weeks, in the entirely not-subtle way he had about him when he got excited. He’d gotten out the charts. And the fuel calculator. And the other sailing charts he definitely hadn’t ordered off eBay one night when he thought Nick had had one too many beers and was drowsing next to him. As a point of pride, Nick hadn’t done any drowsing since 1974, when he had had one too many beers, wound up drowsing on a cot in a tent in-country and woke up to find out that Cody had managed to get himself shot in the ass high on a ridge in the middle of Vietnam, for fuck’s sake. It was the type of experience that made a man swear off drowsing for life.
Anyway, Cody had these charts. And these other ones that made him frown and suck at his tongue in a way that made Nick sure that whatever Cody’d paid for them, it was totally worth it. He pretended to drowse some more as he enjoyed the view.
“You know, Nick,” Cody said conversationally, if we leave the afternoon before the auction, instead of the day of, we could pick up the Santa Ana currents and shave nearly an hour off our sailing time.”
Nick cracked an eye and looked over at his partner. “Is that so?”
“Yup. And we’d even be in time for dinner at that steakhouse you like.”
“Mm,” Nick growled non-committally.
“What time are they…” Cody trailed off as Nick stretched, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck.
“They’re picking it up the afternoon of the 20th,” Nick answered. “Down at the storage center. I already sent them all the paperwork and a set of keys.”
“Are you sure about this, Nick? I mean, this is a big deal. You’ve been working on the Vette for--”
“Entirely long enough,” Nick answered, scooting to the edge of the banquette. Noting the serious expression on his partner’s face, Nick took both of Cody’s hands in his, smoothing the rough skin with his thumbs. “Seriously, man, I’m fine with this. More than fine. I’m good, okay? So you should be good with it too, okay?”
It was Cody’s turn for non-committal noises.
Nick dropped Cody’s hands and took the opportunity to run his palms up Cody’s thighs, enjoying the resulting tensing of muscle and sinew under denim.
Cody set the maps down and sat up in that way he had that made Nick realize it was time to head off a lecture. He redoubled his efforts with the denim, digging his thumbs in in the places he knew from long experience made Cody pliable and giddy.
Cody brushed his hands away. “Nick, this isn’t something that can be undone. Once the Vette’s gone, it’s…” he shrugged expansively.
“Gone?” Nick suggested.
“Nick!”
“All right, all right, Cody, calm down.” Nick glared at the place on his partner’s chest that the new and unfamiliar stent occupied.
“I am calm. Look, Nick, I’m just saying, this is a big step for you. You’ve had that car as long as I’ve known you, and you’ve got…” Cody spread his hands wide. “Who knows how many hours invested in it. All I’m saying is, it’d be reasonable to have some doubts at this point, buddy. Okay?”
Nick took a deep breath. “No, Cody, it’s not okay. Because you know what I don’t have any doubts about? Us, okay? Us. That’s what I don’t have any doubts about. Us in the long haul. And if the thing between us and--” It was his turn to do the hand thing. “Then a fucking car doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference to me. You get it? Not the slightest bit.”
Cody started to protest but Nick squeezed his thighs and the protest turned into something between a purr and a yelp.
“You, okay?” Nick continued in a softer voice. “There’s no car that can replace you, so don’t even worry about it. Put it out of your head.”
Cody looked as if he was about to say something, then changed his mind. He rose, and Nick rose with him, unwilling to relinquish contact. Tomorrow was another day. So was the twentieth. All of which had been made possible by the mad bit of plastic-polymer-doodah in Cody’s chest. So to Nick’s way of thinking, a car he’d worked on for the past thirty years was a small price to pay.
Cody nodded, turned off the light in the salon and turned and led the way below.
Nick followed, knowing their way by the weight of Cody’s tread and the number of paces to the stairs.
He’d wait until morning, maybe, to tell Cody that Murray would be tracking them from the highway the entire time.