the broken window and the pretty blue sky

[hearnospeakno]

This is a medical emergency. I need alcohol. I will pay you back.

This is what you may find held up to you on Nick Andros' palm, if you seem like the kind of person who might buy a guy a beer on credit. If you're not, or he just hasn't gotten around to you yet, Nick is the skinny guy hassling people in the Smoking Room.

It's been one of those days.

Nick doesn't like this. He's paid his own way for years, and he's been buying his own drinks since he was first able to bluff his way into a bar. But he's not going to steal, and he hasn't carried cash since--he doesn't even remember when he stopped thinking about having money in his pocket. It's been a while.

If this is whatever comes next, Nick has some pointed questions to ask whoever runs the place about why he gets a room free, but not a drink. (Nick's experience with hotels doesn't extend to the kind with minibars, so he didn't think about going up there first. He's honestly not thinking much.)

He's not begging. He's done that before, and it left a sharp, slippery taste in his mouth like sweaty pennies. Whatever is going on, wherever this is, Nick is asking for a loan, not a handout. It might be a stupid thing to be hanging onto, but under the circumstances--

Under the circumstances, Nick just wants a break. Five minutes to sit, drink a beer, and try to reconcile this bustling, beautiful place with what came before.

(He indulges in enough bitterness to think that isn't very fucking likely, but hey. He can dream.)

Comments

[hearnospeakno]

Yes. Good people.

It's a simple thing to know. Simple an And Nick's eyes prick with sudden, unexpected tears anyway, because he's never going to see any of that again, is he? Boulder is--was home like nowhere else has been. He put his whole heart and soul into that place and those good people.

He holds up a hand with a single finger lifted and bows his head, shoulders rising up like useless walls.

[freezedout]

Isaac's brows knit in worry, wondering if he did something. He gives Nick a confused look -- does he think maybe he's trapped? -- and then stumbles along with a tentative reach over. "Um," he starts, because yeah, he's never been great at the whole comforting thing. "You might see them again?" he offers. "There's doors home, all over."

[hearnospeakno]

Nick barely catches a single word out of that, between being turned away and his blurred vision, but it doesn't matter. He can suss out what Isaac's saying by the look on his face, so Nick dredges up a pale smile and reaches up to pat Isaac's hand.

It's OK. Nick shrugs, drying his cheeks on his rucked up sleeve. Homesick, I guess. Thank you.

[freezedout]

Isaac stiffens at the touch, but doesn't flinch, so he guesses he's managed to make a little progress. It's mostly the stranger thing. He's okay with pack and he's even okay with most kids at school, but here? He's a little wary and he blames the Glen Capri. "Is there anything I can do? I mean, what's Boulder known for? Is there any of that here?"

[hearnospeakno]

Nick's smile opens to the point that he flashes teeth, if only for a second--it's his way of laughing, more or less. He doesn't know why it strikes him funny like that, but it does. Maybe it's just how human it is, this awkward comforting. The way this kid is ready to help him, even though he doesn't know Nick from Adam.

It makes him smile because maybe this won't be so bad, after all.

Just keep being. He slides that note to Isaac in the hope he'll keep it. Or can you bake?

[freezedout]

His nod is slightly rushed and clumsy, but Isaac's pretty desperate to latch onto something. Sometimes, he wonders if maybe the Whittemores had done something or said something, his life would be different. So, yeah, he's pretty attuned to how much a small thing can make a difference. "Yeah, my mom taught me before...well, she taught me," is all he really needs to know. "What's your favorite?"

[hearnospeakno]

I like everything. Nick writes, and then, since he knows how it sounds, he adds: Can I help? Maybe something from your mom.

He's not that great of a baker, but he can measure and he can mix, and he takes instruction well. It seems like not all that brilliant of a thing to latch onto, but then again, Nick isn't past the point of just wanting something good to happen. Even if that's just a cake.

[freezedout]

"So, maybe..." Isaac's struggling for a second, here. Then, though, he remembers. "She made a chocolate chip cookie that my brother and I always loved," he says, wishing that he could smile easier to think about them, but the truth is that happy memories are clouded in so many complications that it's easier to let it go.

He nods. "Come on, I could use the stirring hands."

[hearnospeakno]

Nick mimes the OK symbol and slides off his seat, well-aware how strange this is--but he always thinks of Mother Abagail's sweet butter corn, and how a good meal makes everything better. The way working with his hands calms him. So Nick follows wherever Isaac goes, flexing his fingers to be sure they all work right.

[freezedout]

He hasn't done this in a while. For one, he hasn't exactly had a home to live in. With his clothes in his gym locker and a hard, flat floor to sleep on, Derek's loft isn't the place to be baking after school. So it takes him a couple fumbles to remember what to do before it comes back to him. "So uh, what do you like to do, then?" he asks, tapping Nick's shoulder to get attention after he's prepared a tray of cookies.