Original: Lock Manipulation (Slash)
Summary: Nick is a lockpick with a bad attitude and a safe he just can't crack. Fortunately, Erik-his partner in crime and in life-knows how to fix both of these problems.
Warnings: Some swearing
Notes: This is too long by half, but I'm posting it anyway. :)
The movement of the dial was slow and agonizingly smooth beneath Nick's fingers.
Nick had always hated the combination locks that kicked a little bit with each turn-the ones whose wheels clicked and hitched on dummy pins and made him feel contact points that weren't actually there. He had long professed them to be the worst locks to have to pick by hand. It was one of those things he had always known to be absolutely true, a belief held with such cocky conviction that it had drawn him into not a few disastrous wagers and several of what had to be the stupidest barfights in the history of inebriation.
But he had been wrong.
He knew that now, because this lock was worse than any of those. In fact, he felt pretty confident in saying that this lock, with the perfect, fluid motion of its dial, was the worst lock ever.
He was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed beneath him, cold and uncomfortable and still wearing the boxers and tee shirt he'd slept in. He'd come straight to the safe when he'd gotten up, forgoing breakfast and even his morning coffee to get his hands on the dial. To think, he'd actually been excited about trying to get this god-forsaken box open. He regretted it now, of course; he was hungry and bored and really, really did not care about getting the dumb thing unlocked, except for the part where he totally did still care and couldn't walk away and kind of hated himself for it. He was just so hungry.
Unfortunately, by the looks of things, he wasn't going to be getting up to eat any time soon. He was still far from finished, and both of his feet were probably asleep anyway-he wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting with them folded like that. The familiar pins and needles feeling had come and gone ages ago.
Patience is a lockpick's most valuable tool, he reminded himself. That was such a lie. A diamond core drill bit was way more valuable, and more useful, too-or it would be, for any job except the one he was currently prepping for. In one month, he'd be expected to get into this model in less than twenty minutes, sans drills and explosives and everything else that made safe cracking fun. And if he couldn't do it, well, there would be a problem.
Of course, he hadn't done this since he was a kid, back when he hadn't been able to afford any cool toys; it was generous to say that he was out of practice.
He let out a low, even breath as he nudged the dial to the right. The lever hit the contact point, and he felt a click, but just barely-like ice gently shifting in a glass beneath his hand, or a moth landing on the sleeve of his jacket. It was so faint, so perfect, he wasn't even sure it had really happened.
A notebook filled with graph paper sat open beside him. People thought getting a combination lock open was all stethoscopes and quick dial spins, and as he put another mark on one of the two graphs on the open page, he wished they were right. But no, cracking a combination lock by hand meant finding the contact points for every number in both directions and seeing-or, rather, feeling-where they matched up. The numbers whose right and left contact points were closest to each other were the numbers of the combination, so he had spent all day graphing his results like some kind of math nerd so he could see where the lines on his graphs matched up.
He took a deep breath, gave the dial a good spin, and parked it at the next number-33.
Patience, he thought. Patience is the real key to this stupid fucking lock.
Nick realized that someone was standing behind him less than a second before he felt cool fingers in his hair. He jumped at the touch, though he thankfully managed to keep from making one of the high, indignant yelps he usually let loose when someone interrupted his concentration.
Erik was bending over him, now casting a soft shadow on the dial. His large hand palmed the back of Nick's head, fingers just barely curling in Nick's hair. "Come eat. I made lunch."
Nick frowned and shook his head, but Erik's hand remained in place. Nick sighed. "I'm almost done," he said, hunching his shoulders and slouching toward the safe. Erik must have leaned forward with him, because his hand never left Nick's hair.
"It's been four hours," Erik said, his voice characteristically monotone. Nick could just imagine the expression on his stupid face, somehow both blank and knowing.
"I'm almost done," Nick repeated, his tone sharpening. He hadn't realized it had been that long.
"You are done," Erik said, his tone sympathetic. His hand was still soft in Nick's hair, thumb gently stroking the skin behind his ear. "Four hours is too long. We need it to be twenty minutes." He paused, and then with just the smallest hint of amusement, added, "Preferably less than that."
"I know that!" Nick shook his head, finally dislodging Erik's hand, and turned to face him. "This was my first try, okay? I just need more-"
"Practice," Erik finished, his hand returning to his side. His expression was almost as blank as Nick had expected it to be, but something about the corner of his mouth suggested a smile. He had probably been smiling a second ago. He always seemed to smile when Nick wasn't looking. "And you'll get it. But not now. You need to eat."
Nick gave Erik a long look. Then he looked past Erik, to the table-even from his place on the floor, he could see that it was set for two. Two glasses of crisp, pale wine caught the afternoon sun, and suddenly Nick was no longer merely hungry, but also terribly thirsty. He could feel himself leaning back, readying himself to stand-
But, no, not yet, not now, when he was so close! He turned back to the safe. "Five minutes," he said. "Just-five more minutes. Or ten. Maybe."
Erik let out a loud breath behind him, but said nothing else.
"I really am almost done," Nick said, squaring his shoulders. He leaned toward the safe again, spinning the dial and parking it once again at 33. "You can even start eating, if you're hungry. I bet you I'll be done before you're finished eating."
Then he heard something shifting behind him, and before he could move the dial so much as a millimeter, he found himself boxed in, a bare knee on either side of him and a warm chest pressed against his back. "Don't be ridiculous," Erik said, and his arms found their way around Nick's waist, too. "I'd never bet against you." His breath tickled the side of Nick's neck.
Nick sucked in his breath in shock, then squirmed, pulling at Erik's arms. "Get off!" But Erik was a lot stronger than Nick; he wouldn't budge. "What are you doing? What part of almost done do you not get?"
"You wanted to finish. I'm letting you finish," Erik said, and now he was definitely smiling. It made Nick want to smile, too, but he fought the urge and kept scowling. "You need to be able to crack this safe regardless of any distractions that might arise," Erik continued in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. "I am distracting you."
"Come on," Nick whined. "Just let me finish. Then we can have lunch or whatever."
Erik's lips were pressed against Nick's neck. "Go on and finish, then," he said, his words sounding muffled.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. 33's contact point came easily, and Nick dutifully marked it on his graph.
"Forgive me if I am mistaken," Erik said, after Nick had turned back to the safe. "Safe cracking is not my area of expertise-but I was under the impression that the simplest way to open a safe is to know the combination."
Nick laughed. "Yeah, that does tend to help." He parked the dial at the next number, took a slow breath, then began turning it counter-clockwise. Erik, of course, knew the combination Nick was looking for; he had set it last night so that Nick could practice today. A thought struck him. "If you tell me the combo before I figure it out for myself, I swear to god I will fucking kill you."
Erik breathed a little laugh into Nick's neck, then squeezed his waist. "Again, I hope you will forgive me if I am speaking in ignorance, but I have also been led to believe that elements of psychology and pattern recognition are both key to successfully breaking into a safe." Nick pursed his lips, but when he said nothing, Erik continued. "That is to say-knowing information about your mark can help you to obtain the combination without manipulating the lock."
"That's true," Nick said, spinning the dial. He hadn't found the contact point. He'd have to try again.
"I would like to think that you know me fairly well, Nicholas," Erik said, and he scooted even closer.
Nick sighed. This was how Erik always got him, by combating his childish obstinacy with calm, reasonable kindness-with a few hints of this weird, affectionate humor that Nick didn't really get but somehow found kind of funny anyway. "I don't know where you're going with this, but I'm not going to try to guess the numbers based on what I know about you. This is supposed to be a test. A test I honestly am almost finished with, by the way." His own voice sounded softer and kinder in his ears. Stupid Erik, always getting him to calm down. "Anyway, I'm not supposed to try to guess the combination. I won't be able to guess it when we're on the job."
Still, he couldn't help but glance at his graphs.
10, 19, and 30 all had pretty close contact points; his instincts told him they were golden. That left just one number left, something that came after 30...
Suddenly, Nick wanted to slap his own forehead-and maybe Erik's too, for good measure. "It's my birthday," he said, half furious, half relieved, wholly hungry. "The combination's my birthday, you son of a bitch."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Erik said, but he was already getting up. There was no point in finishing; Nick couldn't just forget the last number. He spun the dial then entered his own date of birth the way Erik would, the European way: 30-10-19-88.
The bolt slid open and the safe door swung outward, revealing empty blackness inside.
Erik was still standing next to Nick, offering him a hand. "Ah, you cracked it. Good job." Nick kind of wanted to punch him. He took the proffered hand instead, pulling himself up, and-yeah, his feet were both definitely numb. He lost his balance and pulled heavily on Erik's hand, and when Erik helped pull him upright, he offered Nick a full, rare smile. "You'll do better tomorrow," he said, the two of them hobbling towards the table. "Let's eat."
Warnings: Some swearing
Notes: This is too long by half, but I'm posting it anyway. :)
The movement of the dial was slow and agonizingly smooth beneath Nick's fingers.
Nick had always hated the combination locks that kicked a little bit with each turn-the ones whose wheels clicked and hitched on dummy pins and made him feel contact points that weren't actually there. He had long professed them to be the worst locks to have to pick by hand. It was one of those things he had always known to be absolutely true, a belief held with such cocky conviction that it had drawn him into not a few disastrous wagers and several of what had to be the stupidest barfights in the history of inebriation.
But he had been wrong.
He knew that now, because this lock was worse than any of those. In fact, he felt pretty confident in saying that this lock, with the perfect, fluid motion of its dial, was the worst lock ever.
He was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed beneath him, cold and uncomfortable and still wearing the boxers and tee shirt he'd slept in. He'd come straight to the safe when he'd gotten up, forgoing breakfast and even his morning coffee to get his hands on the dial. To think, he'd actually been excited about trying to get this god-forsaken box open. He regretted it now, of course; he was hungry and bored and really, really did not care about getting the dumb thing unlocked, except for the part where he totally did still care and couldn't walk away and kind of hated himself for it. He was just so hungry.
Unfortunately, by the looks of things, he wasn't going to be getting up to eat any time soon. He was still far from finished, and both of his feet were probably asleep anyway-he wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting with them folded like that. The familiar pins and needles feeling had come and gone ages ago.
Patience is a lockpick's most valuable tool, he reminded himself. That was such a lie. A diamond core drill bit was way more valuable, and more useful, too-or it would be, for any job except the one he was currently prepping for. In one month, he'd be expected to get into this model in less than twenty minutes, sans drills and explosives and everything else that made safe cracking fun. And if he couldn't do it, well, there would be a problem.
Of course, he hadn't done this since he was a kid, back when he hadn't been able to afford any cool toys; it was generous to say that he was out of practice.
He let out a low, even breath as he nudged the dial to the right. The lever hit the contact point, and he felt a click, but just barely-like ice gently shifting in a glass beneath his hand, or a moth landing on the sleeve of his jacket. It was so faint, so perfect, he wasn't even sure it had really happened.
A notebook filled with graph paper sat open beside him. People thought getting a combination lock open was all stethoscopes and quick dial spins, and as he put another mark on one of the two graphs on the open page, he wished they were right. But no, cracking a combination lock by hand meant finding the contact points for every number in both directions and seeing-or, rather, feeling-where they matched up. The numbers whose right and left contact points were closest to each other were the numbers of the combination, so he had spent all day graphing his results like some kind of math nerd so he could see where the lines on his graphs matched up.
He took a deep breath, gave the dial a good spin, and parked it at the next number-33.
Patience, he thought. Patience is the real key to this stupid fucking lock.
Nick realized that someone was standing behind him less than a second before he felt cool fingers in his hair. He jumped at the touch, though he thankfully managed to keep from making one of the high, indignant yelps he usually let loose when someone interrupted his concentration.
Erik was bending over him, now casting a soft shadow on the dial. His large hand palmed the back of Nick's head, fingers just barely curling in Nick's hair. "Come eat. I made lunch."
Nick frowned and shook his head, but Erik's hand remained in place. Nick sighed. "I'm almost done," he said, hunching his shoulders and slouching toward the safe. Erik must have leaned forward with him, because his hand never left Nick's hair.
"It's been four hours," Erik said, his voice characteristically monotone. Nick could just imagine the expression on his stupid face, somehow both blank and knowing.
"I'm almost done," Nick repeated, his tone sharpening. He hadn't realized it had been that long.
"You are done," Erik said, his tone sympathetic. His hand was still soft in Nick's hair, thumb gently stroking the skin behind his ear. "Four hours is too long. We need it to be twenty minutes." He paused, and then with just the smallest hint of amusement, added, "Preferably less than that."
"I know that!" Nick shook his head, finally dislodging Erik's hand, and turned to face him. "This was my first try, okay? I just need more-"
"Practice," Erik finished, his hand returning to his side. His expression was almost as blank as Nick had expected it to be, but something about the corner of his mouth suggested a smile. He had probably been smiling a second ago. He always seemed to smile when Nick wasn't looking. "And you'll get it. But not now. You need to eat."
Nick gave Erik a long look. Then he looked past Erik, to the table-even from his place on the floor, he could see that it was set for two. Two glasses of crisp, pale wine caught the afternoon sun, and suddenly Nick was no longer merely hungry, but also terribly thirsty. He could feel himself leaning back, readying himself to stand-
But, no, not yet, not now, when he was so close! He turned back to the safe. "Five minutes," he said. "Just-five more minutes. Or ten. Maybe."
Erik let out a loud breath behind him, but said nothing else.
"I really am almost done," Nick said, squaring his shoulders. He leaned toward the safe again, spinning the dial and parking it once again at 33. "You can even start eating, if you're hungry. I bet you I'll be done before you're finished eating."
Then he heard something shifting behind him, and before he could move the dial so much as a millimeter, he found himself boxed in, a bare knee on either side of him and a warm chest pressed against his back. "Don't be ridiculous," Erik said, and his arms found their way around Nick's waist, too. "I'd never bet against you." His breath tickled the side of Nick's neck.
Nick sucked in his breath in shock, then squirmed, pulling at Erik's arms. "Get off!" But Erik was a lot stronger than Nick; he wouldn't budge. "What are you doing? What part of almost done do you not get?"
"You wanted to finish. I'm letting you finish," Erik said, and now he was definitely smiling. It made Nick want to smile, too, but he fought the urge and kept scowling. "You need to be able to crack this safe regardless of any distractions that might arise," Erik continued in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. "I am distracting you."
"Come on," Nick whined. "Just let me finish. Then we can have lunch or whatever."
Erik's lips were pressed against Nick's neck. "Go on and finish, then," he said, his words sounding muffled.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. 33's contact point came easily, and Nick dutifully marked it on his graph.
"Forgive me if I am mistaken," Erik said, after Nick had turned back to the safe. "Safe cracking is not my area of expertise-but I was under the impression that the simplest way to open a safe is to know the combination."
Nick laughed. "Yeah, that does tend to help." He parked the dial at the next number, took a slow breath, then began turning it counter-clockwise. Erik, of course, knew the combination Nick was looking for; he had set it last night so that Nick could practice today. A thought struck him. "If you tell me the combo before I figure it out for myself, I swear to god I will fucking kill you."
Erik breathed a little laugh into Nick's neck, then squeezed his waist. "Again, I hope you will forgive me if I am speaking in ignorance, but I have also been led to believe that elements of psychology and pattern recognition are both key to successfully breaking into a safe." Nick pursed his lips, but when he said nothing, Erik continued. "That is to say-knowing information about your mark can help you to obtain the combination without manipulating the lock."
"That's true," Nick said, spinning the dial. He hadn't found the contact point. He'd have to try again.
"I would like to think that you know me fairly well, Nicholas," Erik said, and he scooted even closer.
Nick sighed. This was how Erik always got him, by combating his childish obstinacy with calm, reasonable kindness-with a few hints of this weird, affectionate humor that Nick didn't really get but somehow found kind of funny anyway. "I don't know where you're going with this, but I'm not going to try to guess the numbers based on what I know about you. This is supposed to be a test. A test I honestly am almost finished with, by the way." His own voice sounded softer and kinder in his ears. Stupid Erik, always getting him to calm down. "Anyway, I'm not supposed to try to guess the combination. I won't be able to guess it when we're on the job."
Still, he couldn't help but glance at his graphs.
10, 19, and 30 all had pretty close contact points; his instincts told him they were golden. That left just one number left, something that came after 30...
Suddenly, Nick wanted to slap his own forehead-and maybe Erik's too, for good measure. "It's my birthday," he said, half furious, half relieved, wholly hungry. "The combination's my birthday, you son of a bitch."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Erik said, but he was already getting up. There was no point in finishing; Nick couldn't just forget the last number. He spun the dial then entered his own date of birth the way Erik would, the European way: 30-10-19-88.
The bolt slid open and the safe door swung outward, revealing empty blackness inside.
Erik was still standing next to Nick, offering him a hand. "Ah, you cracked it. Good job." Nick kind of wanted to punch him. He took the proffered hand instead, pulling himself up, and-yeah, his feet were both definitely numb. He lost his balance and pulled heavily on Erik's hand, and when Erik helped pull him upright, he offered Nick a full, rare smile. "You'll do better tomorrow," he said, the two of them hobbling towards the table. "Let's eat."