(no subject)
Title: There is no title
Rating: G-ish
Pairing: In this bit? None
Summary: Nicholas doesn't get the homecoming he expected
Notes: I write stories in a really dumb way - little chunks that I then string together. Some unfinished stuff literally has [porn goes here] or [+1 plot] sticking between paragraphs. So this? This is technically a first chapter. However, there are two stories that go before it. Both of those also have their first chapters written. And the story that comes after this also has it's first chapter written. I'm good at first chapters.
What you need to know for this part: Danny and Nicholas went to Edinburgh together, for some kind of police related summit.
Nicholas lay on his back, the starry summer night sky spread above him like broken glass on blue velvet. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d missed the stars until now. Edinburgh wasn’t exactly a prime location for star gazing and he’d been too busy to attempt it anyway, what with Danny and the rest constantly dragging him from one place to another. Edinburgh had been… it had been nice.
And then he’d spent the previous night in London, before waking Danny at “some god-stupid time of the night” to catch a train, and then a bus, and then a lift back to Sandford. London wasn’t great for stars either, not the centre of it anyway. Out towards the edge, where Nicholas had grown up… but Janine had taken them out for Chinese, and Danny had gotten to be the centre of attention for those few hours awake at Peel house, while Nicholas was thankfully left alone. And so London had been nice too.
So there Nicholas was, after a nice trip and a nice stop over, back in a nice town that was nicely rebuilding itself, with the beautiful stars that he’d never really noticed he’d been ignoring spread above him. There were only a few small things plaguing his mind at that moment, although some of them were demanding that they be recognised as bigger things, at that Nicholas stop being so enraptured by the stars.
The first thing was what exactly Nicholas was doing on his back in the first place. Information from the corners of his eyes let him know that he was lying halfway down Spangle lane, just a few houses away from his own back fence, which he’d been planning to jump in order to get home.
Nicholas rather liked strolling down Spangle lane. There was lots of ivy and creepers and in the warm summer weather there was always the heavy smell of pollen, and loose petals on the ground making everything sound soft and still. It had a nice way of capturing the heat of the day, and making it cosy for night time. Like the way the bricks beneath his shoulder blades were still radiating a gentle, sticky warmth. It was a shame that his feet and hands were so cold, otherwise he’d be comfortable enough to go to sleep.
Ahh, now that was another issue. Or two. The kind of numb fuzzy feeling in his fingertips and below his ankles. It was kind of like the feeling you get in your head when you’re drunk, except not in your head at all. Nicholas’ right hand was resting against the front of his neck, and the sticky heat there was keeping that hand warm. It was a shame he couldn’t put his left hand there as well, but it was being rather stubborn for some reason, and his limbs felt so very stiff and cold and heavy… heavy in a similar way to when Danny had fallen asleep on him, and Nicholas had been stuck there for half the night. But not the same. Why was it sticky?
Why were the stars so twinkly? He’d done physics in high school, half a lifetime ago, light being all waves-but-particles and he should know this. The stars were so nice, and that was the only thing that he seemed to be able to keep stuck in his mind, stick to it - stick in it - sticky stickysticky.
There was a beep, and then a buzz from his pocket. His mobile. He must have been lying in a hot spot for mobile reception. He couldn’t get reception anywhere inside except for the eastern corner of the bathroom, but lying in the middle of a lane… well, it was something to take note of. He went to fish it out of his right pocket, but there was some confusion over which hand to use - the busy one or the useless one? Why were they like that? Why..?
Left won out, and fought against the heaviness and the coldness and the kind of fog that had settled over his limbs. It was funny - some deep part of Nicholas reflected - that the few times he had thought about being in this situation, he’d always imagined it different, that his mind would be fuzzy and his body would feel light, so light.
Wait, what situation is this?
Shut up and answer your phone, Nicholas.
Right. Sorry.
Clumsy sticky cold damp hot fingers pulled the object out of a pocket that was far too awkward for its own good, and then mashed keys until by pure luck the ringing stopped, and a voice blasted through.
“Nicholas? You there mate?” Danny. “Listen, I just got home and realised that you left your carry on here, and I was-”
Nicholas tried to raise the tiny plastic tinny noise to his ear, but the clumsy hand/arm complex got it wrong, and the slick sticky phone hit the pavement with a tinky empty thud.
“Nicholas?”
“Glkk,” Nicholas said. Which wasn’t really what he wanted to say at all. “Gl.. kkujkk.”
“Nicholas! Wait, where are you? Nicholas?”
Nicholas sucked in a breath of air to answer, and spluttered on something wet and sticky in his throat. He heard the repeating tone of a disconnection coming from that stupid little clumsy hot spot box that was right by his ear; not close enough. But Danny was coming. And Danny wasn’t half as clumsy as Nicholas’s stupid left-handed fingertips. Danny wasn’t stuck to the pavement by something wet and sticky and important. And Danny was probably keen enough these days to not get distracted by those bright, twinkling….
There were footsteps at the end of Spangle for the second time that evening, but the latest set was coming closer instead of going away. And then Danny was crashing down beside him, saying things like “Nicholas,” and “Oh God,” and “Help, somebody”. Which was strangely reassuring, because it meant that Danny had managed to get his head around what was going on, and that Nicholas could stop trying to worry about it.
There was loud shouting that sounded far away, and his gluey right hand was pulled away from his neck and something else put there. And Nicholas tried for a sigh of relief, but all that came was moist sad rattle, and Danny’s hands were hot and pressing against that long cold point on Nicholas’ left arm and Danny’s voice was saying “I know that sound - don’t you be making that sound Nicholas,” and “Nicholas? Nicholas, hold on,” and “Can you hear me? Nicholas?”
But Nicholas found it harder and hard to hear what Danny was saying - shouting, mumbling, whispering - as above him, the stars began to die out.
Rating: G-ish
Pairing: In this bit? None
Summary: Nicholas doesn't get the homecoming he expected
Notes: I write stories in a really dumb way - little chunks that I then string together. Some unfinished stuff literally has [porn goes here] or [+1 plot] sticking between paragraphs. So this? This is technically a first chapter. However, there are two stories that go before it. Both of those also have their first chapters written. And the story that comes after this also has it's first chapter written. I'm good at first chapters.
What you need to know for this part: Danny and Nicholas went to Edinburgh together, for some kind of police related summit.
Nicholas lay on his back, the starry summer night sky spread above him like broken glass on blue velvet. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d missed the stars until now. Edinburgh wasn’t exactly a prime location for star gazing and he’d been too busy to attempt it anyway, what with Danny and the rest constantly dragging him from one place to another. Edinburgh had been… it had been nice.
And then he’d spent the previous night in London, before waking Danny at “some god-stupid time of the night” to catch a train, and then a bus, and then a lift back to Sandford. London wasn’t great for stars either, not the centre of it anyway. Out towards the edge, where Nicholas had grown up… but Janine had taken them out for Chinese, and Danny had gotten to be the centre of attention for those few hours awake at Peel house, while Nicholas was thankfully left alone. And so London had been nice too.
So there Nicholas was, after a nice trip and a nice stop over, back in a nice town that was nicely rebuilding itself, with the beautiful stars that he’d never really noticed he’d been ignoring spread above him. There were only a few small things plaguing his mind at that moment, although some of them were demanding that they be recognised as bigger things, at that Nicholas stop being so enraptured by the stars.
The first thing was what exactly Nicholas was doing on his back in the first place. Information from the corners of his eyes let him know that he was lying halfway down Spangle lane, just a few houses away from his own back fence, which he’d been planning to jump in order to get home.
Nicholas rather liked strolling down Spangle lane. There was lots of ivy and creepers and in the warm summer weather there was always the heavy smell of pollen, and loose petals on the ground making everything sound soft and still. It had a nice way of capturing the heat of the day, and making it cosy for night time. Like the way the bricks beneath his shoulder blades were still radiating a gentle, sticky warmth. It was a shame that his feet and hands were so cold, otherwise he’d be comfortable enough to go to sleep.
Ahh, now that was another issue. Or two. The kind of numb fuzzy feeling in his fingertips and below his ankles. It was kind of like the feeling you get in your head when you’re drunk, except not in your head at all. Nicholas’ right hand was resting against the front of his neck, and the sticky heat there was keeping that hand warm. It was a shame he couldn’t put his left hand there as well, but it was being rather stubborn for some reason, and his limbs felt so very stiff and cold and heavy… heavy in a similar way to when Danny had fallen asleep on him, and Nicholas had been stuck there for half the night. But not the same. Why was it sticky?
Why were the stars so twinkly? He’d done physics in high school, half a lifetime ago, light being all waves-but-particles and he should know this. The stars were so nice, and that was the only thing that he seemed to be able to keep stuck in his mind, stick to it - stick in it - sticky stickysticky.
There was a beep, and then a buzz from his pocket. His mobile. He must have been lying in a hot spot for mobile reception. He couldn’t get reception anywhere inside except for the eastern corner of the bathroom, but lying in the middle of a lane… well, it was something to take note of. He went to fish it out of his right pocket, but there was some confusion over which hand to use - the busy one or the useless one? Why were they like that? Why..?
Left won out, and fought against the heaviness and the coldness and the kind of fog that had settled over his limbs. It was funny - some deep part of Nicholas reflected - that the few times he had thought about being in this situation, he’d always imagined it different, that his mind would be fuzzy and his body would feel light, so light.
Wait, what situation is this?
Shut up and answer your phone, Nicholas.
Right. Sorry.
Clumsy sticky cold damp hot fingers pulled the object out of a pocket that was far too awkward for its own good, and then mashed keys until by pure luck the ringing stopped, and a voice blasted through.
“Nicholas? You there mate?” Danny. “Listen, I just got home and realised that you left your carry on here, and I was-”
Nicholas tried to raise the tiny plastic tinny noise to his ear, but the clumsy hand/arm complex got it wrong, and the slick sticky phone hit the pavement with a tinky empty thud.
“Nicholas?”
“Glkk,” Nicholas said. Which wasn’t really what he wanted to say at all. “Gl.. kkujkk.”
“Nicholas! Wait, where are you? Nicholas?”
Nicholas sucked in a breath of air to answer, and spluttered on something wet and sticky in his throat. He heard the repeating tone of a disconnection coming from that stupid little clumsy hot spot box that was right by his ear; not close enough. But Danny was coming. And Danny wasn’t half as clumsy as Nicholas’s stupid left-handed fingertips. Danny wasn’t stuck to the pavement by something wet and sticky and important. And Danny was probably keen enough these days to not get distracted by those bright, twinkling….
There were footsteps at the end of Spangle for the second time that evening, but the latest set was coming closer instead of going away. And then Danny was crashing down beside him, saying things like “Nicholas,” and “Oh God,” and “Help, somebody”. Which was strangely reassuring, because it meant that Danny had managed to get his head around what was going on, and that Nicholas could stop trying to worry about it.
There was loud shouting that sounded far away, and his gluey right hand was pulled away from his neck and something else put there. And Nicholas tried for a sigh of relief, but all that came was moist sad rattle, and Danny’s hands were hot and pressing against that long cold point on Nicholas’ left arm and Danny’s voice was saying “I know that sound - don’t you be making that sound Nicholas,” and “Nicholas? Nicholas, hold on,” and “Can you hear me? Nicholas?”
But Nicholas found it harder and hard to hear what Danny was saying - shouting, mumbling, whispering - as above him, the stars began to die out.