Blake Thorne can't be undone by (beausang) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-08-01 16:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | ravenna, stephanie brown |
Who: Oliver and Nick
What: A run in at a coffee shop.
Where: Local coffee place.
When: Recently.
Sleep eluded Nicholas Pierce in the most vicious way since Alex’s death. He would get a wink here and twenty minutes there, but he hadn’t had a full night’s rest in days. Every time his eyes drifted close, all he could see was his brother. Bloodied and broken and without a breath of life. He didn’t know what exactly happened to Alexander, of course, and it was all Nick’s vivid imagination that haunted his nightmares and lingered during his waking hours. A consuming lethargy hung over him like a dense fog. It was a weight he couldn’t shake off, a constant buzz in the back of his brain that would not allow him to think of anything but his most likely dead brother. Small projects were distracting, and having Jade around again was distracting, too, but it wasn’t enough.
So he moved through the Las Vegas heat in his fog, barely interacting with the world more than was necessary, and completely not himself. He tried, he really did, to push through it. But then he would see something that reminded him of Alexander, and everything would be for naught. Physically, he looked drained, under the heavy burden of something, and he exuded an air that spoke of troubling times. It was in that state that he strolled into a coffee shop close to one of the city’s police precincts. He had been called in again for questioning (they were the same as before) and any updated information (there wasn’t any) regarding Alexander, and after about an hour of unsubstantial back and forth, the detectives allowed him to leave. He called his mother to check in and tell her there was still no news. The conversation was draining, like most were these days, and when he finally walked into the shop and joined the line, he looked even worse than before. Pressing his palms to his aching eyes, he sighed and hoped no one would recognize him. He didn’t know if he had it in him to pretend to be okay.
Oliver wasn’t looking for anyone. He fully intended to get his coffee and sit with a book in an isolated corner of the coffee shop, enjoying his afternoon off after a long night of two full autopsies and preparing samples for testing. He stood by the end of the counter, waiting for his iced latte to arrive, and settled the strap of his messenger bag firmly on his shoulder. He wore a plaid button down over tight jeans, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and exposing his ink - carefully worked designs, geometric and otherwise, in a bright litany of color against stark blacks. It wasn’t cheap work, saved up for over years, and as such there wasn’t as much of it as he would have liked, not a full sleeve. But on the left hand, a scroll of black extended as far down as his middle knuckle, a curling hint of something more when he had his sleeves rolled down.
He picked up his coffee, and he was halfway through turning when he slowed, eyes catching on a vaguely familiar face. It took a long moment before it really clicked - it had, after all been a few years now. Oliver stepped up next to him in line, idling in his personal space, looking up at the menu with him. “The lattes are good,” he said. “I can attest to them. The more espresso shots the better, especially considering that you -” he said, and pointed at him, with a smile. “Look like hell.”
Nick was in a heavy, deep set of reverie as he glanced over the menu of fancy drinks with names he could hardly pronounce. He didn’t even hear the voice at first, just a mere echo in the back of his mind that was filled with questions about Alexander, but it finally register in his mind. Taking a deep breath, he turned around to the source of the comment and blinked a few times in surprise. “Oliver?” he asked, astounded that of all people in all the places, it would be him here in this coffee shop all the way on the other side of the country. He hadn’t seen him since Boston, and although it had been years, he recognized him immediately. “H-h-hi, how are you?” He ignored the pointed remark, an obvious jab at his haggard state. “What are you doing on this side of the country?”
Well, stuttering. Always a good way to start off a fresh encounter. Oliver’s smile widened a touch. “Better than you,” he said, indication he wasn’t going to let him off the hook as far as discussing his mental state went. “I’m doing my residency with the LA Medical Examiner’s office. I have an excellent reason to be here. Your story is the one I’m keen to hear.” He leaned forward, and turned his smile on the barista, a twenty year old with heavy gauges in his ears. “Iced latte for my friend? Extra shot of espresso?” The barista winked and rang the order up without taking a card, and Oliver guided Nick away from the cash register. “It pays to know people in coffee-related places. Seriously, though, you look a mess.”
Nick resisted the urge to huff. “I have a good reason to be here, too. I have work here, too. I have fam-- I know people here. I have a gr-r-reat reason to be here.” It was a pathetic attempt to brush away Oliver’s look and comments. Nick was never very good with human interaction to begin with. Now, with Alexander weighing on his mind, he was even worse. He shot the barista a bemused look as the young boy bustled around for his drinks. “You always manage to wrap everyone around your finger, don’t you?” he asked with a small smile edged with fatigue. “It’s just...it’s been a stressful few weeks.” Finally, he looked at Oliver with a slightly wider smile. “Do you like it so far? Las Vegas?”
“Sure you do, sweetheart,” Oliver said, fond and dismissive, and he swept his own coffee from off the counter, hunting around for a straw. He pressed it on the pale, lacquered wood, slid it from his casing, and pulled it the rest of the way with his teeth. His gaze flicked over Nick. Since he’d gotten here, he’d wondered at basically everyone he met who was new to town, guessing who might be part of this whole hotel mess, and who was just a normal immigrant to the city. At Nick’s assertion, he smiled faintly, and there was an edge of something else there, disappointment, bitterness. He’d just come off his conversation with Leon, and it was still there at the back of his head, eating at him. “Not everyone,” he said. “But close,” he added, with a half wink. “I like it fine, aside from the heat and the boring, elderly bodies dead of heart failure and alcohol poisoning. You’d think Las Vegas would be a more interesting place for a pathologist to work, but there are almost more average deaths here than anywhere else. I suppose it’s a bit more interesting than, say, Florida, since you also get the elderly gangsters thrown in, and then there’s the crime stuff that pops up every once in a while and brightens my day, but it really is truckloads of crusty women with nicotine stains and emphysema coming through the doors like clockwork.” He picked up Nick’s drink and pressed it into his hand, walking to a nearby table, clearly expecting to be followed. “Now that my callous assessment of the dead is out of the way, tell me about your stressful weeks.”
Even when they were younger, when they were little more than children playing as adults in college, Oliver had an equally fascinating and frustrating way of winding Nick up with his innate friendly, flirty nature. Nick wasn’t out of the closet during those years, not really, but Oliver was always persistent. Always flirty. It made Nick tongue tied back then, and it made him tongue tied as they stood together in that coffee shop. Nick wondered why the world decided to dump the past in his lap at just that moment. “That sounds awful,” he said absentmindedly, before allowing his mind to catch up with him. “Why not stay on the East Coast then? I’m sure there are far more interesting cases there. At least, Law and Order implies that.”
He did follow Oliver after only a moment’s hesitation. He knew he probably shouldn’t be staying, not when he was in this state, but his fatigue made him more of a doormat than ever. More malleable and susceptible to people’s wills. He sat across from Oliver and rubbed a fist on his tired eyes. “Oh, it’s nothing you want to hear about.” He sipped the drink and offered the other man a small, exhausted smile. “You look good.” And Oliver did with his plaid button up shirt and ink creeping down his arms. It was a bold statement for Nick (and he knew Steph had a little bit to do with that), but even when he wasn’t thinking about his own sexuality, or wasn’t facing it, he always though Oliver was handsome.
“The job was here,” Oliver said with a shrug. “You likely know this already, but there’s something of a recession on. I didn’t have the option to be choosy. And you still see some interesting things here, just a bit spaced apart.” He watched Nick, his long stare. He looked worn down by something with that long stare of his, but when he noted that Oliver looked good, he smiled a touch. “Do I?” he asked. “That’s very kind, thank you.” He picked his coffee up again. “I can’t say the same to you, but you’re still just as hot now as you were the last time I saw you. If you’d get some sleep, I might be able to say ‘good’ as well. Still in the closet?” The question was asked like he was inquiring about the weather. “Don’t assume what I want to hear about and what I don’t. I’m a sponge for knowledge. I want to hear about everything.”
Oliver’s quip about the recession earned a quiet laugh from Nick. “Touché,” he said with a small smile. He was lucky enough to find work in Las Vegas because he wanted to, not because he needed to move to the sin city. Oliver’s compliment brought a creeping blush up Nick’s cheek. He was never very good at taking someone hitting on him, especially so blatantly and shamelessly. As he sipped on his coffee while the other man continued, he spluttered a little. Oliver had always been so straightforward, and while Nick admired it greatly, it also made him really uncomfortable at times. “I, uh, no,” he said lamely, eyes darting down to the tabletop. “No, I’m not.” And he ignored the push for more information. What could he tell Oliver? His brother was missing and probably dead, but he couldn’t do a thing about it? That was wonderful conversation with someone you haven’t seen in years.
Oliver actually grinned at that. "Really? We need to go drinking, then, celebrate your liberation and all that jazz. Go see a drag show or something. This is momentous." He leaned back. "I can't imagine that's what has you looking so down though, so it must be something else, considering you can chase all the cock in the world without fear." His smile faded, became a little more reserved. "I'm sorry I embarrass you so much. I don't know how to censor myself. Never been inclined to learn." It had only caused him heartache when he had.
Nick cleared his throat quietly before responding. “Uh, yeah, that sounds good,” he said, stammering out and biting his lip. He never really frequented the gay bar scene, content to play at home with his stale beers and World of Warcraft subscription. Oliver, however, probably wouldn’t take no for an answer anyway. Still, he shook his head as a counter to Oliver’s apology. “No, no, no.” Another blush creeped up his cheeks. “It’s not you, you’re fine. Wonderful. You’ve always been, um, wonderful. I’m just still not...good at your type of stuff. Saying what you mean so...openly.”
Oliver shrugged. “When I was growing up, secrets were my stock and trade. I got tired of it as I got older, and I try to avoid them these days." He brushed over the thought of his childhood, of his parents, of his aunt and uncle. Secrets, secrets. No, he’d never liked them. "Anyway, no need to fret, I'm not going to drag you somewhere you don't want to be, I'm not that cruel. But we should get a drink sometime. I have a feeling you could use some time away from whatever it is that's eating you." He was still smiling, but it was a bit more pulled back. He actually was beginning to feel worried about Nick, the way he kept avoiding the subject. "And thanks for calling me wonderful, sweetheart. I did notice." He was beginning to feel as if he was just making Nick's day worse, and that was no good. Maybe that was just the serious side of him, the one Leon kept teasing him about.
A small, easy smile crawled up Nick’s lips. “I can’t imagine you being anything but a loud, rambunctious little thing, Oliver. In the most respectful way, of course.” He’d always known Oliver as someone who said what was on his mind no matter what. To think of him as the complete opposite when he was a child was, well, ridiculous. He drummed his fingers against the plastic cup, watching as the liquid shifted back and forth. Could he really let Oliver know what happened? Nick couldn’t tell him exactly what he expected, of course, but he could give him a small explanation. Just so that his curiosity would be sated. He looked back up at the younger man. “It’s family issues, that’s all. Something with my brother.” Shrugging to feign indifference, he was largely unsuccessful; the sadness creeped into his eyes regardless. “A drink sounds excellent though. Maybe I can convince you to talk about yourself even.”
Oliver smiled, but there was something else in it, something fleeting and brief. “You’d be surprised,” he said. He recovered, shrugging it away. “But I have grown into the loudness, I think, given a little age and a lot of experience.”
Family issues. That could mean anything from crack addicts to mental illness to miniature tiffs blown large. Not very descriptive, but something, and judging from Nick’s look it was about all Oliver was going to get. “I think I’m going to have to enforce it, now. You look like you could use a stiff drink and a really excellent stripper. I know a couple, I’ll hook you up, and I can tell you all about me while you’re much too distracted to pay attention.”
Oliver pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket, a grocery list from the day before, and, searching, found a pen in one of the pockets in the back. He scribbled his number down and slid it across to Nick, standing up. “But I think I’ve overstayed my welcome, darling, and you look like a man who could use some pensive time to yourself.” His fingers settled briefly on Nick’s shoulder, light touch, light as feathers. “Make me an empty promise to call me if you need me?”
The idea of a stripper made Nick splutter and blush in fierce embarrassment. Leave it to Oliver to say something like that. Still red-cheeked, he smiled at his offer. “We’ll have to talk about the stripper when the time comes, but I will definitely go for that drink.” He took the paper with an appreciative, warm look and pocketed it in the same one as his cellphone so he would certainly remember to program it later.
Oliver’s fingers garnered a bit of attention, and Nick had to force himself to drag his eyes away. “I promise I’ll call you if I need you, Oliver,” Nick said quietly, and without the stammering peppering his voice earlier. “And that isn’t an empty promise.” Despite not wanting to discuss his problems, Nick knew that he needed all the friends he could get, and Oliver would be a great friend to have again out in Las Vegas.