To say Juliette was upset was a massive understatement. First Uncle Marion, now Brother Nicky-Nick! What the hell was going on around here?! None of this sat with little Wil Scarlet, and she didn't know what to do.
So she just settled for sitting on Nick's couch, looking small and scared, curled into a ball and trying not to cry.
Nick settled down next to her with a ragged sigh and slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "Hey, it's all right, squirt," he assured her, even if... it really probably wasn't. "Just got in a bit of a fight, it's no big deal."
And while it's technically the truth he hopes she'll make the jump to a bar fight or the like--he's not exactly prone to them, but it's certainly not unheard of for him to come home of an evening more bruised than he left. That assumption should hopefully be the logical leap, not that Leo just about backhanded him into the middle of next week, the asshole. Certainly better than outright lying and saying it happened in training. "Hardly even hurts."
His face looked like it'd been hit with a baseball bat. Of course it wasn't all right! She snaked her arms around him and squeezed tight, damned if that hurt! Juliette buried her face in his chest, sniffling.
"'s not good, Nicky," she muttered, muffled. "So many hurts. Everybody--! hurt." Little fingers twisted in his shirt. "So much fighting--"
"Hey, heeeeey." He wrapped her up in a hug and pressed his--unbruised--cheek to the top of her head while smoothing a hand down her back. "It happens, baby girl. You know that. We're not exactly a non-violent bunch, and sometimes we get a little banged up. Who else is hurt?"
"...Uncle Marion," she mumbled again, still clutching at his shirt. There was a difference in getting hurt while on the job and getting hurt otherwise. And Scarlet knew that difference. Very acutely attuned to the "auras" of her "family", she could sense when things "weren't right".
And this was definitely one of those times.
"'s not the same, Nicky," she continued her mumblings. "Bad happens at home now." She couldn't help the shiver. "Scary. Don't like it."
It felt like his heart just about stopped when she mentioned Taylor, and his grip on her went convulsively tighter for just a moment, though not enough, never enough, to hurt.
"I know it does, baby girl. And I know it's scary. But... we're gonna fix that. We're going to make home safe again and-" He stopped, drew a slow breath, and kept his face pressed to her hair when he resumed. "The stuff with Taylor, that... sometimes marks like that aren't really-- Hurts. You know? They aren't bad things, not if the person wants them." And whatever conclusion she draws from that, from seeing the almost matching marks on him... well, he still sort of hopes it's not the right one.
Nick snorts at the question and resists the urge to poke at the purpling bruises on the side of his face from Leo's back hand, though he does probe absently at the split in his lip with his tongue. "Exactly the bulldozer I was trying to piss off," he answers, smirking. Because, yeah, it wasn't like he hadn't been aiming for almost exactly this result at the time.
"It's a gift." He's vibrating with tension, anger and frustration that needs someplace to go, and all the time tinkering in his workshop in the world isn't enough to drain it right now. "And not so much, no." Doesn't even really want to think about it. He's tempted as hell to go into town and find a good excuse to start a bar fight and beat someone unconscious, if he's honest with himself. Unfortunately, he has shit to do and that's not a really good idea.
"You want to go a few rounds?" That... he could make time for, if she's game, and it might be enough to mostly settle his nerves.
Her incredulous look intensified. "You sure?" Dubiously asked, because, "You look like you've been hammered on enough, brother, damn."
Although she never minded providing the service; it was something she was very good at, so. And she understood the nuance, because rage was never something to be held in.
Gryphon shrugged, with a lopsided smile. "Well, if you want me to toss ya another beatin', let's go."
Nick shrugged, not particularly uncomfortable under the scrutiny. "Won't mind if you stay off my face." He was probably lucky Leo hadn't broken his jaw, honestly. Fucker didn't always know his own strength, not when he was pissed. "But otherwise, if you think you can hand me my ass, you're more than welcome to." A few more (New. Different.) bruises would be something to focus on when he gets back to work.
"C'mon, babycakes," she invited, giving what she hoped was an unbruised shoulder a playful poke. "Let Mama Gryphon take care'a ya." Read: beat that tension and stress right out of your pathetic sorry ass, Nick.
It was only a short trot over to the gym and Jessie didn't bother with wrapping her hands; she just kicked off her boots, shed all weapons (which made an impressive pile) and stepped out on the mats, going through some preliminary stretches.
She caught Nick's eye and winked. "Anytime you're ready, Fluffy."
He's not going to get it from Jamie. Unlike the bruises on his desk leader, Jamie considers injuries like this on Nick to be something that happens. He rolls his eyes and takes his brother's wrist. "Come on, I'll patch you up."
Nick huffs and half-scowls at Jamie, but the fight drains out of him. He can't imagine ever actually fighting him... even sparring with him is high on his list of things he'd rather not do. "It's fine, Jamie. Just some bruises." And a split lip. At least his nose isn't broken this time.
"Yeah, and I'm going to tell you the same thing I told the twins before they left," Jamie says, pulling Nick toward his office and the first-aid kit there anyway. "You're in a place with the best doctors we can get, and some the rest of the world wishes they could get. There's no point to pain, even from a few bruises."
Nick bites back a sigh and lets Jamie drag him along in his wake. There's no way in hell he's going to admit to him that he wants the damn pain. "All I need is some ice and some aspirin." Not that he's had either, or intending to, but sometimes deflection is a good thing.
Yeah, don't admit that to Jamie. He wouldn't hit Nick, but he might yell. And possibly ask Nick to think about what it would do to him Juliette if Nick got seriously hurt.
"Fortunately, that's what I've got." Jamie pushes open the door to his office and points to one of the chairs. "Sit."
"Yes, nurse," Nick answers, only slightly grumbly, though anyone other than Jamie (or Juliette... or maybe Nuka) would have been told to fuck off for their concern. "It really isn't a big deal," he adds, but he drops into the seat as directed.
It's late. That doesn't really mean anything to Marion, still in his office, still buried in his project, but he knows what time it is by the silence outside his door. Even Tuck's finally left, guitar in hand as he tried one more time to get Marion to come out with the group. He might have even thought about saying yes, if it wasn't for the folder Alice had brought him the day before. The threads in there were just too tempting to ignore.
Which is why he's still there, sometime after ten, piles of paper in front of him and eyes fixed intently on his screen. He's so focused on what he's doing, he doesn't even hear Nick coming down the hall.
He hadn't even really intended to end up here, but somewhere along the line he'd found his steps straying this way, and when he started to turn back he remembered Taylor's 'later' and the look in his eyes... the bruises on his skin. So here he is, standing in Taylor's open door, watching him, bent intently over his desk so that, at this angle, the bruising at the nape of his neck stands out in stark relief against his fair skin. It's not exactly a fight, but he thinks it might help scratch the maddening itch under his skin to get his hands on Taylor again.
"... this later enough?" he asks, leaning in the doorway scowling, eyes gone dark. Damn, those marks probably shouldn't turn him on nearly as much as they do.
Any voice at this hour would be unexpected, this one even moreso. Even as he glances up right away to see that face, it takes his brain a few minutes to come all the way back from its tangle of numbers, dates, and names. A few minutes that give his eyes more than enough time to take in his own marks still etched on the other man's neck, enough time to wander upwards and see the bruised cheek from a hit that must have hurt like anything. And then he's back, and Nick's words are finally clicking, and damnit all he's blushing again. Alice's advice the day before had worked wonders, but there was only so much improvement one could get from marks that dark, and every single one of them stood out in stark relief above the collar of the button-down he'd gome back to wearing.
He doesn't really realize how or when it's happened, but he's on his feet and moving around the desk, stopping a few feet from Nick, hands in his pockets. He doesn't know how he's supposed to answer that, doesn't know what he's supposed to do. He was drunk for all this before, and while that overwhelming need to touch Nick is still there, he's not sure how to start. And here he is, yet again, wondering inanely what to do with his hands. Luckily, his mouth seems to be going on autopilot while his brain's checked out, words dry and vaguely ironic.
Nick just stands silently, watching, more than familiar with the blank look of a man still lost in the details of what he'd been engrossed in. It's time he uses to examine Taylor in minute detail, to imagine what the marking must look like where it disappears beneath his collar... to think about tracing every one of them with his mouth.
When the man finally moves Nick doesn't so much as twitch, just stands exactly where he'd been and watches, expression almost predatory. "Just a few minutes?" His voice has dropped into a rough growl and now he moves, two quick steps forward before his hand lifts to press his fingers--almost gently--into the same mark he'd homed in on yesterday, the dark bruise just to the side of Taylor's Adam's apple. "Think we need to work on raising your standards, Taylor."
It's good that Nick moves first. He doesn't flinch away from that touch either, instead tilting his head to allow him access. There's a dull ache when he presses, not enough to really be considered pain--in fact, he's not sure if it's the ache or the electric feeling of Nick's fingers on his throat that makes his breath catch and his heart race. Just one touch, and already his body had ideas of its own. "Might be game for more than a few minutes," he concedes, voice gone rough around the edges. "Depending on what you've got in mind."
Hands clench in his pockets. He wants to lay a hand across the bruise on his cheek, wants to pull Nick's shirt off to see the rest of the marks he remembers putting there,wants to...well. A thousand other things he isn't quite sure he has words for. No doubt Nick would be happy to educate him on it, though.
Comments
So she just settled for sitting on Nick's couch, looking small and scared, curled into a ball and trying not to cry.
And while it's technically the truth he hopes she'll make the jump to a bar fight or the like--he's not exactly prone to them, but it's certainly not unheard of for him to come home of an evening more bruised than he left. That assumption should hopefully be the logical leap, not that Leo just about backhanded him into the middle of next week, the asshole. Certainly better than outright lying and saying it happened in training. "Hardly even hurts."
Edited at 2013-02-02 07:02 pm (UTC)
"'s not good, Nicky," she muttered, muffled. "So many hurts. Everybody--! hurt." Little fingers twisted in his shirt. "So much fighting--"
And this was definitely one of those times.
"'s not the same, Nicky," she continued her mumblings. "Bad happens at home now." She couldn't help the shiver. "Scary. Don't like it."
"I know it does, baby girl. And I know it's scary. But... we're gonna fix that. We're going to make home safe again and-" He stopped, drew a slow breath, and kept his face pressed to her hair when he resumed. "The stuff with Taylor, that... sometimes marks like that aren't really-- Hurts. You know? They aren't bad things, not if the person wants them." And whatever conclusion she draws from that, from seeing the almost matching marks on him... well, he still sort of hopes it's not the right one.
Edited at 2013-02-03 03:29 am (UTC)
"You want to go a few rounds?" That... he could make time for, if she's game, and it might be enough to mostly settle his nerves.
Edited at 2013-02-02 09:11 pm (UTC)
Although she never minded providing the service; it was something she was very good at, so. And she understood the nuance, because rage was never something to be held in.
Gryphon shrugged, with a lopsided smile. "Well, if you want me to toss ya another beatin', let's go."
It was only a short trot over to the gym and Jessie didn't bother with wrapping her hands; she just kicked off her boots, shed all weapons (which made an impressive pile) and stepped out on the mats, going through some preliminary stretches.
She caught Nick's eye and winked. "Anytime you're ready, Fluffy."
Edited at 2013-02-02 09:11 pm (UTC)
Edited at 2013-02-02 09:23 pm (UTC)
himJuliette if Nick got seriously hurt."Fortunately, that's what I've got." Jamie pushes open the door to his office and points to one of the chairs. "Sit."
Edited at 2013-02-02 11:56 pm (UTC)
Which is why he's still there, sometime after ten, piles of paper in front of him and eyes fixed intently on his screen. He's so focused on what he's doing, he doesn't even hear Nick coming down the hall.
"... this later enough?" he asks, leaning in the doorway scowling, eyes gone dark. Damn, those marks probably shouldn't turn him on nearly as much as they do.
Edited at 2013-02-03 02:42 am (UTC)
He doesn't really realize how or when it's happened, but he's on his feet and moving around the desk, stopping a few feet from Nick, hands in his pockets. He doesn't know how he's supposed to answer that, doesn't know what he's supposed to do. He was drunk for all this before, and while that overwhelming need to touch Nick is still there, he's not sure how to start. And here he is, yet again, wondering inanely what to do with his hands. Luckily, his mouth seems to be going on autopilot while his brain's checked out, words dry and vaguely ironic.
"Think I can spare a few minutes."
When the man finally moves Nick doesn't so much as twitch, just stands exactly where he'd been and watches, expression almost predatory. "Just a few minutes?" His voice has dropped into a rough growl and now he moves, two quick steps forward before his hand lifts to press his fingers--almost gently--into the same mark he'd homed in on yesterday, the dark bruise just to the side of Taylor's Adam's apple. "Think we need to work on raising your standards, Taylor."
Edited at 2013-02-03 04:14 am (UTC)
Hands clench in his pockets. He wants to lay a hand across the bruise on his cheek, wants to pull Nick's shirt off to see the rest of the marks he remembers putting there,wants to...well. A thousand other things he isn't quite sure he has words for. No doubt Nick would be happy to educate him on it, though.