Without Windows or Doors: Chapter 9
Title: Without Windows Or Doors: Chapter 9
Author: laurelgardner
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Summary: Comfort fic, post Grave Danger. Gil tries his hand at being there for Nicky, with somewhat an unorthodox approach.
Author's Note/Warnings: SPOILERS. And slowness.
Disclaimer: Fanfic is a tribute. Action figures for grown-ups. No attempt at copyright claims are being made.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8
Gil watched Nick carefully once they'd crawled inside the tent, unsure whether the small space might make him uncomfortable. As far as he could tell, it didn't seem to.
For his part, Gil was exhausted. He was fairly used to the occasional 36-hour stretch, but that, with the addition of the hiking and the very fresh air, was causing him to yawn uncontrollably as they spread out the sleeping bags.
"We'll hit the visitor's center first thing in the morning," he told Nick. "Start making plans. There's a lot to do here."
"How long are we staying, anyway?" Nick asked.
Gil shrugged. "As long as we like."
Nick smiled.
As tents went, this one was on the roomy side for two, but it was still somewhat of a feat of manuevering to crawl into a sleeping bag all way. After several seconds of shuffling, they both had managed to settle themselves in. Gil reached between them for the flashlight, about to turn it off, but paused. In the dim light, he saw tension gripping Nick's face and body.
Just this side of panicked, Nick dashed the sleeping bag down off his body. He was breathing hard.
"Nope," he gasped. "Guess I can't do that."
It took Gil a moment to figure it out, and when he did, he was struck by a sudden, overwhelming urge to go into the woods and loosen some tree bark.
The tent hadn't triggered Nick's claustrophobia; the sleeping bag had done it. Why hadn't he thought of that? It had to be close to the same dimensions, the same restraint of motion when Nick tried to move his arms and legs...
Never mind that it was soft and fluffy and easy to escape. All Nick's instincts would know was that he was trapped in a container measuring 2 x 2 x 6, that he couldn't roll over or stretch out. Frowning, Gil sighed deeply.
"Sorry," Nick muttered, apparently misreading Gil's frustration.
"No," said Gil, "I'm sorry. Um...hm." Gil thought for a moment, searching for another option; it was going to be a chilly night - not cold, but cool enough that the light flannel pajamas and t-shirts they were wearing weren't quite going to cut it.
"Here," he said, pulling off his own sleeping bag and reaching for Nick's. Half crouching beneath the low ceiling, he unzipped both and spread them like blankets, one on top of the other.
"Better?" He asked, and Nick nodded sheepishly. Smiling, Gil raised his index finger in mock-warning.
"I can only spoon on my right side," he joked. Nick's laugh was a nervous gasp, but genuine. Still, he looked rather defeated as they crawled under the covers.
The only thing worse than feeling fear, Gil thought, was to feel embarassed about it after.
"Nick," he said firmly, and waited for the younger man's gaze to lock with his. "It's okay."
Nick nodded tightly.
Satisfied for the moment, Gil switched off the light and went to sleep.
* * * *
Gil wasn't sure whether it was the noise or the movement that woke him, but he suspected it was the latter.
Nick was having a nightmare.
Gil propped himself on an elbow and looked at Nick. The moon was high, now, and its light filtered through the tent windows, illuminating his companion. Nick was motionless at the moment, save for the twitching in his face and the rapid movements of his irises, soft bulges pulsating under his closed eyelids. Desperate, high-pitched whimpers issued faintly from his throat, and occasionally his entire body would jerk.
Gil watched silently for a few moments, wondering if he should try to wake Nick. It was impossible to watch this without wanting to end it, but he knew that if Nick slept through it, he might not remember the dream in the morning. Gil remembered Jillian's words about Nick's dreams, what she'd told him about the screaming, and suddenly wondered if Nick had been entirely honest with her about what he could remember.
Hard to scream without waking yourself up, he thought.
The faint noises were starting to sound more like words, now. Gil leaned closer, trying to make them out.
"Here," he croaked, "Please. I'm here."
Gil's ambivalence was neatly decimated; he couldn't stand to hear any more of this, or to sit idly by while Nick was in pain.
"Nick," he said, gently shaking Nick's sleeping form. "Nick, it's okay, wake up."
Nick awoke with a jolt, panting wildly. His eyes were wild and frightened for a moment, then gradually softened as he recognized his surroundings.
"Deep breaths, Nick," Gil soothed. "You're all right." His words had little power to calm Nick, so without thinking, Gil pulled him into a fierce hug. Nick returned the embrace, pressing his face into Gil's shoulder.
"Jesus," Nick gasped, clinging tightly.
It was alarming just how good it felt to hold Nick like this, to feel him, solid and warm and alive. Try as he might, Gil couldn't fight off the sudden realization that he'd been wanting to do just this for weeks now, ever since...
Since he'd had his first glimpse of that live-feed.
Gil swallowed, hugging Nick imperceptibly tighter against him. Nick had calmed down a lot now, and his breathing had almost returned to it's normal rate. After a moment, he separated himself from Gil, sitting up and rubbing his face.
"You okay?" Gil asked.
Nick nodded silently.
Gil watched him for a moment, then slowly pulled himself to his hands and knees. He groped in the dark for the flashlight.
"Here," he said, patting Nick's back, "let's go get some air. You shouldn't go back to sleep just yet."
Nick nodded again, then followed Gil out of the tent.
Outside, the air was cool with the slightest hint of breeze. It was just enough to keep the bugs off, which was a useful thing. Gil waited outside the tent while Nick emerged and zipped the flap behind them. Then he led the way down the short, sandy path that lead from their campsite to the river. There they sat on a fallen, dead tree and listened to the quiet rush of the water. Gil wondered if Nick found it as soothing as he did.
The moonlight was brighter here in the open, enough that Gil found he no longer needed the flashlight and switched it off. He looked at Nick, who was looking anywhere but back at him. It didn't keep Gil from seeing the stricken look on his face, though.
Gil looked out at the river, instead.
"So," he said casually, "how often?"
Head bowed, Nick replied, "Almost every night."
Gil nodded slowly. "Is it always the same?"
Nick shook his head. "No. Not always."
"But sometimes?"
"Yeah," Nick said, "they're...similar, I guess. A few different things." He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it thoroughly. "I just wish I could sleep," he added wearily.
"Can't you?"
"No," said Nick, "I just...it's..." He was speaking with a tight throat, Gil could hear it. "It's not worth going back there."
Gil thought it had probably been the coroner, Jenna Williams who'd told him that men, for whatever reason, were incapable of crying gracefully. Perhaps that was why Nick was fighting so hard to control it, to prevent the undignified eruption he was clearly so close to. Everything in Nick's body was tight and trembling, and even his face was screwed up, trying to hold it in.
Hesitantly, Gil touched a hand to Nick's left knee. "Hey.." he said gently.
It is a strange thing, just how easily a moment of tenous emotional control can be so utterly broken by the smallest kindness. Such was the case with Nick; Gil's awkward gesture brought forth the sobs in short, broken gasps. Nick clapped a hand over his eyes, trying uselessly to hide the tears that rolled down his cheeks.
Gil moved his hand from Nick's knee and placed it on the back of his neck, cupping the nape with gentle pressure. With his other hand, he pried Nick's hand from his eyes.
"Nick," he said firmly, "it's all right." He held the younger man's gaze firmly, pre-empting any attempts to apologize. "Okay?" Nick nodded. "You don't have to hide this," Gil added, "I didn't just come here for the scenery, you know."
Nick laughed through his tears, chafing his hands together.
"I'm here for you," Gil said. He removed his hands and lay them in his lap. "Now, why don't you tell me about your dream?"
Author: laurelgardner
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Summary: Comfort fic, post Grave Danger. Gil tries his hand at being there for Nicky, with somewhat an unorthodox approach.
Author's Note/Warnings: SPOILERS. And slowness.
Disclaimer: Fanfic is a tribute. Action figures for grown-ups. No attempt at copyright claims are being made.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8
Gil watched Nick carefully once they'd crawled inside the tent, unsure whether the small space might make him uncomfortable. As far as he could tell, it didn't seem to.
For his part, Gil was exhausted. He was fairly used to the occasional 36-hour stretch, but that, with the addition of the hiking and the very fresh air, was causing him to yawn uncontrollably as they spread out the sleeping bags.
"We'll hit the visitor's center first thing in the morning," he told Nick. "Start making plans. There's a lot to do here."
"How long are we staying, anyway?" Nick asked.
Gil shrugged. "As long as we like."
Nick smiled.
As tents went, this one was on the roomy side for two, but it was still somewhat of a feat of manuevering to crawl into a sleeping bag all way. After several seconds of shuffling, they both had managed to settle themselves in. Gil reached between them for the flashlight, about to turn it off, but paused. In the dim light, he saw tension gripping Nick's face and body.
Just this side of panicked, Nick dashed the sleeping bag down off his body. He was breathing hard.
"Nope," he gasped. "Guess I can't do that."
It took Gil a moment to figure it out, and when he did, he was struck by a sudden, overwhelming urge to go into the woods and loosen some tree bark.
The tent hadn't triggered Nick's claustrophobia; the sleeping bag had done it. Why hadn't he thought of that? It had to be close to the same dimensions, the same restraint of motion when Nick tried to move his arms and legs...
Never mind that it was soft and fluffy and easy to escape. All Nick's instincts would know was that he was trapped in a container measuring 2 x 2 x 6, that he couldn't roll over or stretch out. Frowning, Gil sighed deeply.
"Sorry," Nick muttered, apparently misreading Gil's frustration.
"No," said Gil, "I'm sorry. Um...hm." Gil thought for a moment, searching for another option; it was going to be a chilly night - not cold, but cool enough that the light flannel pajamas and t-shirts they were wearing weren't quite going to cut it.
"Here," he said, pulling off his own sleeping bag and reaching for Nick's. Half crouching beneath the low ceiling, he unzipped both and spread them like blankets, one on top of the other.
"Better?" He asked, and Nick nodded sheepishly. Smiling, Gil raised his index finger in mock-warning.
"I can only spoon on my right side," he joked. Nick's laugh was a nervous gasp, but genuine. Still, he looked rather defeated as they crawled under the covers.
The only thing worse than feeling fear, Gil thought, was to feel embarassed about it after.
"Nick," he said firmly, and waited for the younger man's gaze to lock with his. "It's okay."
Nick nodded tightly.
Satisfied for the moment, Gil switched off the light and went to sleep.
* * * *
Gil wasn't sure whether it was the noise or the movement that woke him, but he suspected it was the latter.
Nick was having a nightmare.
Gil propped himself on an elbow and looked at Nick. The moon was high, now, and its light filtered through the tent windows, illuminating his companion. Nick was motionless at the moment, save for the twitching in his face and the rapid movements of his irises, soft bulges pulsating under his closed eyelids. Desperate, high-pitched whimpers issued faintly from his throat, and occasionally his entire body would jerk.
Gil watched silently for a few moments, wondering if he should try to wake Nick. It was impossible to watch this without wanting to end it, but he knew that if Nick slept through it, he might not remember the dream in the morning. Gil remembered Jillian's words about Nick's dreams, what she'd told him about the screaming, and suddenly wondered if Nick had been entirely honest with her about what he could remember.
Hard to scream without waking yourself up, he thought.
The faint noises were starting to sound more like words, now. Gil leaned closer, trying to make them out.
"Here," he croaked, "Please. I'm here."
Gil's ambivalence was neatly decimated; he couldn't stand to hear any more of this, or to sit idly by while Nick was in pain.
"Nick," he said, gently shaking Nick's sleeping form. "Nick, it's okay, wake up."
Nick awoke with a jolt, panting wildly. His eyes were wild and frightened for a moment, then gradually softened as he recognized his surroundings.
"Deep breaths, Nick," Gil soothed. "You're all right." His words had little power to calm Nick, so without thinking, Gil pulled him into a fierce hug. Nick returned the embrace, pressing his face into Gil's shoulder.
"Jesus," Nick gasped, clinging tightly.
It was alarming just how good it felt to hold Nick like this, to feel him, solid and warm and alive. Try as he might, Gil couldn't fight off the sudden realization that he'd been wanting to do just this for weeks now, ever since...
Since he'd had his first glimpse of that live-feed.
Gil swallowed, hugging Nick imperceptibly tighter against him. Nick had calmed down a lot now, and his breathing had almost returned to it's normal rate. After a moment, he separated himself from Gil, sitting up and rubbing his face.
"You okay?" Gil asked.
Nick nodded silently.
Gil watched him for a moment, then slowly pulled himself to his hands and knees. He groped in the dark for the flashlight.
"Here," he said, patting Nick's back, "let's go get some air. You shouldn't go back to sleep just yet."
Nick nodded again, then followed Gil out of the tent.
Outside, the air was cool with the slightest hint of breeze. It was just enough to keep the bugs off, which was a useful thing. Gil waited outside the tent while Nick emerged and zipped the flap behind them. Then he led the way down the short, sandy path that lead from their campsite to the river. There they sat on a fallen, dead tree and listened to the quiet rush of the water. Gil wondered if Nick found it as soothing as he did.
The moonlight was brighter here in the open, enough that Gil found he no longer needed the flashlight and switched it off. He looked at Nick, who was looking anywhere but back at him. It didn't keep Gil from seeing the stricken look on his face, though.
Gil looked out at the river, instead.
"So," he said casually, "how often?"
Head bowed, Nick replied, "Almost every night."
Gil nodded slowly. "Is it always the same?"
Nick shook his head. "No. Not always."
"But sometimes?"
"Yeah," Nick said, "they're...similar, I guess. A few different things." He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it thoroughly. "I just wish I could sleep," he added wearily.
"Can't you?"
"No," said Nick, "I just...it's..." He was speaking with a tight throat, Gil could hear it. "It's not worth going back there."
Gil thought it had probably been the coroner, Jenna Williams who'd told him that men, for whatever reason, were incapable of crying gracefully. Perhaps that was why Nick was fighting so hard to control it, to prevent the undignified eruption he was clearly so close to. Everything in Nick's body was tight and trembling, and even his face was screwed up, trying to hold it in.
Hesitantly, Gil touched a hand to Nick's left knee. "Hey.." he said gently.
It is a strange thing, just how easily a moment of tenous emotional control can be so utterly broken by the smallest kindness. Such was the case with Nick; Gil's awkward gesture brought forth the sobs in short, broken gasps. Nick clapped a hand over his eyes, trying uselessly to hide the tears that rolled down his cheeks.
Gil moved his hand from Nick's knee and placed it on the back of his neck, cupping the nape with gentle pressure. With his other hand, he pried Nick's hand from his eyes.
"Nick," he said firmly, "it's all right." He held the younger man's gaze firmly, pre-empting any attempts to apologize. "Okay?" Nick nodded. "You don't have to hide this," Gil added, "I didn't just come here for the scenery, you know."
Nick laughed through his tears, chafing his hands together.
"I'm here for you," Gil said. He removed his hands and lay them in his lap. "Now, why don't you tell me about your dream?"