Didn’t really wanna say anything but this is actually quite concerning
TW: R18 dubcon mention
There’s a solangelo Anon author in ao3 that wrote a (not tagged) dubcon smut and is being extremely rude to people (+ I think they’re also the ones who’re harassing tumblr users given they’ve been saying similar things or they’re a group idk, i dont really care about them, I just care about solangelo :p)
I criticised their work in ao3 for being unhealthy for the ship assuming that they thought what they wrote was healthy and then seeing them in the comments say that Nico needs to be a bottom because, and I’m quoting here, “being a bottom would make his story a lot sadder” which is a wILD take; I wasn’t able to say that they should have at LEAST tagged it as dubcon but I was blocked before I was able to reply again. For brevity sake, I won’t go into more details but the rundown is:
I comment “this is not it.”
They said it was intentional and insulted me
I said “lmao”
They replied “ I will write a more disgusting fic blahblah“
I got weirded out so I just ignored them
but nooow they just admitted to being a minor and this is where it began being really concerning:
To other minors who are reading this I’m not telling you what not to read or not do. Just please be safe. As a person who consumed a lot of.. questionable media/stuff when I was a kid to cope from the loss of my mother, I know how easy it is to step into a world where you’re clearly not ready for. Just try to step back a little, take your time and just be nice to yourself and to others
Anon author made some harmful takes on queer relationships (and honestly just relationships in general) let’s not have that mindset in 2025 pls and especially when tsats is all about Nico and Will trying to understand each other in order to have a healthy relationship. AND KIDS. If you have the same mindset as anon author pls pls pls we have elders in this community that you can ask!
I should say that this is a top/bottom “discourse” of fictional characters LOL Need I say more on how stupid this is?
To the anon author, you might think being edgy is cool or whatever but when you grow up you’re gonna cringe so bad LMAO
at the end of the day, yeah we’re talking about fictional characters here, but with how the world is going on right now, I - for one- am only coping through reading about my silly blorbos but NOT arguing about who should top or bottom
Just don’t be rude in general, fandom spaces isn't open for rude butts
lowkey I’m finding this a bit entertaining because of how absurd everything is but considering that there are people being harassed I’m like yeah, not entertaining anymore huhu and they're great people too! I'm not gonna tag them because I don't know if they're comfortable getting into this conversation bec. I, for one, will be fed up by all this nonsense. Let's just all give them the love and support they oh so deserve!!! <3 <3
idk anymore, I just got off from work and my brain is fried I don’t think I’m even making sense lmao
so what did you guys had for lunch, I ate porridge! Yum!
"I could be," says Reyna casually, only the ice in her tone is unmistakable and, also, she is exhausted. This is evident, because she is limping.
Reyna does not limp.
Once when she was very little, young enough memory's edges blur, she was up late. Wanting. The kind old woman who lived next door made pastelitos -- Reyna's favorite. Best when fresh. But her father had scowled as soon as he closed the front door, muttering to himself as he placed the pastries delicately on a little cake stand, as Reyna and her sister watched. Salivated, jaws clenched shut. Nodded when he snarled at them about keeping their grubby hands to themselves. Not for them, he made clear. For the people who earned his charming smile when they rang the doorbell, waltzing through the beautiful, dustless house.
She only wanted to have one -- one. She was sure he hadn't counted them. And she was a good climber.
She made it all the way up to the handle of the top cupboard before she ran out of footboards. There was a car horn, in the distance, when she fell; her first thought was relief because it had muffled the sound of her crashing to the floor. And then, when she tried to stand, her fist in her mouth muffled her shout of pain.
She walked on her shattered foot until she could not fit it into her shoe any more. Even then, her sister only knew when she broke and told her.
"Sorry," mutters Nico. He winces as she jostles him, tripping over a rock. He feels another lazy ounce of blood ooze from the tear in his side, and manages to avoid crying out only because he is worried about how slow it has become.
The palm he has pressed to the wound has lost all feeling.
"You sure we're close?"
Reyna's voice is gruff, and her face is ashen. The trail of dragged, bloody footprints behind them stretches several desert miles. Anyone -- anything -- tracking them wouldn't have to bother trying.
It is not empty desert. There are valleys, and small mountains. Shrubs. Rocks, on rocks. Nico trips on one, this time, and the jerk of his leg pulls on his side, tearing the hole in the fleshy part of his side even wider. He cries out, and stumbles, and is in too much blinding pain to stop himself from falling; Reyna's head swims at the movement, vision blurring, stomach swooping, and she goes down, too.
"Get up," Nico croaks, eventually. "We are not dying here."
Reyna does not respond.
"Get up!" Nico shouts. With great effort he wiggles an arm free and decks her, hard, in the shoulder, or as hard as he can manage as weak as he is. "You are not leaving me! Get the fuck up!"
"Quiet," she begs, and it is worse because he can hear the tears in her voice. His own throat wobbles. Reyna doesn't cry much, either. "Please, Nico, don't --"
"Okay," he says, hands shaking. "Okay, I'll be quiet. But you gotta get up, Reyna. Please." The terror bubbles up in his chest and he can't hold it down anymore. His eyes water, cleaning a trail down his cheek. "C'mon, luna. We've got -- half a mile left. I can't leave you behind."
She nods, eventually. Her eyes are still closed. But she gets up on shakey feet, and when the last of their meager breakfast has been expelled from her stomach, offers Nico a hand. He is warm, when he grabs it, too warm, and it scares her, but he is at least conscious enough to smile at her. Even if the blood in his teeth makes him look frightening.
"We don't have fucking insurance," Reyna mumbles, a few dozen agonizing feet later. "They won't -- take us."
Nico takes a moment to answer. His breathing has gotten worse. More ragged.
"They will," he manages, finally. The words are slurred, so it's closer to they'll. "They have to. I think." He huffs a dark laugh. "That or we bleed out in their emergency room, so."
Reyna does not laugh. She does not beg her mother -- she will not -- but she searches for strength within her anyway, for the tiniest burst of steel that will take them the last stretch to the hospital. They can see it, now; a pale, squat building that would be assumed a warehouse were it not for the giant blue H painted on its side, as if reassuring passers-by that it is, indeed, a place of medicine, even though it is smaller than some barns.
By some miracle -- or Fate, although the thought makes both their expressions sour -- they make it to the front doors. There is no further signage, but there are no other doors, either. They take a moment to catch breath, panting in syncopated dissonance, before shuffling inside.
"Take a number," drawls a voice. The person attached to the voice continues to work on a sudoku puzzle and does not look up when Nico and Reyna stare, not answering. "Today, please. Wait times are only getting worse."
Nico rips a number out of the plastic little holder. It falls to the ground. They step over it, struggling onto a plastic set of seats.
"I hope I don't actually die in an emergency room waiting area," Reyna mumbles, slouching into Nico's side. Her eyes close, and Nico's heart pounds, tapping frantically at her cheeks every time he loses sight of her black eyes. "I don't want to die in this outfit."
Nico glances down at the ripped, dirtied, bloodied mass of fabric covering her and laughs out loud. It hurts, and the tiny crowd of people huddled as far away from them as possible in the opposite end of the room jump. One even whimpers. He doesn't notice, or care.
"Not very you," he agrees, motioning to the t-shirt they picked up on their last stop, which is four sizes too big and reads, under the grime: ANNUAL TURKEY DOG GUZZLER CHAMPION 1994. Her shirt had been destroyed by Hydra acid in Arizona, and it was the first shirt they managed to grab from a Salvation Army before they'd been chased out by an angry woman with a broom. "You prefer beef dogs, if I remember correctly."
Reyna's eyes slide shut again, but she smiles. Nico finds her hand and squeezes it.
The wait takes hours. It is better, slightly, outside of the relentless sun, but there is no air conditioning, and it becomes clear quickly that both of them reek. And Nico is bleeding, still. And Reyna keeps dipping in and out of consciousness. And they are seasoned warriors, at this point. They have been questing for years, in and out of their respective camps, chasing monsters within the country and outside of it, for more than most demigods can claim. They can handle themselves and have been able to since they were teens. They're professionals, now.
But sometimes the gods like to remind them they're not infallible. Or, at least, this is Nico's theory, and Reyna says nothing when he mentions it, bitter over an open fire; but as much as her and her kin are no antagonists to the gods, not like the Greek are, she secretly agrees. Nothing makes sense, when you are a demigod, but stepping into a random abandoned warehouse in rural New Mexico, where a list of monsters in alphabetical order lay in genuine wait for them to appear -- they have enemies, yes.
But none were claimed, when they were attacked. The monsters were only smug, and they barely lived. They had been on a quiet quest, unadvertised, sanctioned only by Olympus.
"--heading out," calls a warm voice, muffled in distance from the stuffy waiting room. Nico is relieved to see Reyna blink, to adjust herself to mostly-upright against his shoulder. "See y'all tomorrow!"
A man follows this bright voice -- he is tall, and as warm as his drawling voice, despite the bags under his eyes. He stands with a looseness to his posture and his white coat makes his bronzed skin look darker, makes the thick blond curled frizzing around his head appear golden, even under the awful fluorescent lights. It is hard to look good in mint-green scrubs, but he manages; fills out the shirt nicely and is on just the right side of gangly, soft jaw making his squinted blue eyes look gentle. Smile-heavy. The worn white coat shifts as he lifts a hand to wave at whomever he was speaking to, and turns to the emergency room, smile still small and genuine on his face.
"Is that --" Reyna whispers.
"No way that is --" Nico says at the same time, because it's not, and it can't be; the sun is down, for one, and Apollo spends his nights either in clubs or in someone's bed and most certainly not working, even if he has come to help. And he is more angular, anyway, never having quite dropped the Spartan look to his features, and his hair is not quite so messy. He is not covered with a spattering of freckles, either, and his eyes are blue, yes, but not quite so dark; this man's are almost navy.
"Uncanny," Reyna mumbles. Nico huffs in agreement.
The handsome doctor waves at a young boy who picks at the peeling paint on the wall. The boy grins back, mangled arm pressed to his chest.
"You pinky swore to stay out of trees for a solid month, Alberto," the doctor chides. "I have your mama as witness and everything."
The woman next to the boy sighs. The boy grins, showing several missing teeth.
"I did!" he insists. "This time I fell off a playground! You shoulda seen the landing, Doctor Will. If I managed to stick it I woulda been recruited for the Avengers!"
The doctor laughs. It is low and snorting and -- ridiculous, honestly, the man covers his mouth only the voice cracks and snickers break through anyway. Nico's heart pounds. Reyna, close enough to hear it, snickers.
"Bet you wish you were in a better outfit too," she mumbles, snickering louder when Nico flushes, knowing he can't hit back.
"Shut up," he hisses, instead. "Go be concussed somewhere else."
But he keeps a firm hand on her elbow. And she doesn't go anywhere.
"Alright," finishes the doctor, ruffling the boy's hair. "I'm heading out, kiddo, Nurse Gianna will help you out. I hope I don't see you in here for a hot minute."
"Me and my bank account hope this also," mumbles the boy's mother. "And, yet."
The doctor snorts and sympathy and turns with a wave. His gaze sweep the waiting room and pause when they land on Nico and Reyna, tucked into each other in the far corner, having managed, for the most part, to keep the blood off the floor. Considerate of them, Nico thinks, honestly.
Those dark eyes widen, and his whole face erupts in a myriad of easily trackable emotions: shock, and then a little bit more shock, concern, fear, determination. And, chief among them, making Nico and Reyna straighten, look at each other warily: recognition.
"Mark," he hisses, warmth dropped from his tone. He whirls to face the impassive receptionist, who startles. "There's a fuc -- why didn't you call me? Immediately?"
Mark-the-receptionist glances for the first time over at the pair of them. His expression floods with guilt. "I didn't -- notice!"
"Dude!" says the doctor emphatically. "I'm gonna --" He stops and breathes deeply. He drags a hand down his face. Nico notices they are quite large hands and then forces himself not to notice. Reyna also notices, and laughs and laughs.
The doctor sighs, heavy, and takes his stethoscope back out of his pocket. He hangs it back over his neck, turns to Nico and Reyna, expressive face gone serious. The two of them sober immediately.
"Clock me out, still," says the doctor wearily. "Don't tell Gianna and I won't tell on you, you fu -- freaking idiot."
The receptionist nods weakly. The doctor sighs again, and walks back through the doors at the other end of the room. After a moment, he appears again, brows furrowed.
"Well?" he says, looking directly at the pair. "C'mon, you two. Can you walk?"
Nico looks at Reyna, and she scowls, shoving him. "Of course I can walk," she mutters, to herself more than anything, and gets -- creakily -- to her feet. She veers as she stands, face going green, and Nico is quick to slip himself under her arm, under the guise of needing her support. She is not stupid, but looks at him gratefully. He sags into her touch.
There is not very far to follow the doctor. He leads them down a short hallway, checking on them every three seconds -- Reyna tries very hard not to chafe -- and into the first room on the right.
"I'm going to close the door," he says gently, "because people walking in here or overhearing could be very bad. But it doesn't lock, and I'll try and stay on the far side of the room."
It's an odd disclaimer at first, and Reyna isn't exactly sure why he says it -- but then she notices Nico let out a breath, notices his tiny nod. She realizes the own tension in her jaw, and the doctor's small, sympathetic smile. She watches as it shifts to something a little more teasing.
"Whatever keeps that sword from pointing at my throat," he says drily.
Both Nico and Reyna startle.
"What sword," Nico says carefully. But the doctor only raises his eyebrows and looks pointedly at the giant spike of Stygian Iron at Nico's hip, and the several knives tucked on Reyna's person, as well as her spear.
Nico and Reyna share a weighted look.
"You can see through the Mist, then," pokes Reyna, as the doctor preps something on the counter. They have met a couple mortals like this, in their travels -- most notably the Oracle that lives in the Greek camp, but here and there they've been in trouble as some teenager sees their weapons and screams at the top of their lungs.
"No clue what that is," says the doctor cheerfully. "But you two are not the first…warriors? That's I've had in here."
He turns back to face them. He has ditched his lab coat, and Nico is so distracted by the numerous tattoos obvious on his now-bare arms that he misses whatever he has clenched in his long fingers until the instruments are set gently on a sterile tray, the doctor gesturing to a bench.
"One at a time, okay? I can see blood coming from at least one of you and I want to treat that first, unless one of you is hiding a spine or head injury."
"She has a concussion," Nico says immediately, setting his jaw as Reyna scowls at him. "Her first."
"He is bleeding actively and has been for hours," she hisses, "him first."
"Her first," Nico insists. "Doctor's orders, head injuries take precedent."
"Yeah, cracked skulls. You and your thick head might not realize, but losing blood kills you pretty quick --"
"-- as if brain damage doesn't --"
"-- I'm fine! I can stand! I can see! I can --"
She steps closer, balled fists, or tries to. She falters and gags, nausea turning his stomach to churning lava, and would have thrown up on the scuffed floor if there was anything else for her to lose. Instead, she sways, and Nico tries to catch her, but the sudden movement of his arm makes him cry out.
"Freeze!" barks the doctor. "Both of you, cut it out."
There is no warmth in his tone -- only command. On reflex, or maybe because there is no strength left in their bodies, they stop moving, breathing heavy, hands shaking.
"Okay," says the doctor, gently as he can. "It doesn't help to get tense, yeah? You're stressed enough. I'll treat you both. You gotta trust me." He guides them both, hands light and gentle on either of their shoulders, up on the paper-covered bench. When they are settled he smiles softly, giving them a step of space. "I'm Will, and I'll be your doctor. I can feel that neither of you is at risk of severe brain damage or bleeding out or any kind of spinal injury paralysis, okay? You're hurt, but not desperately. All can be fixed."
Reyna ducks her head, meeting Nico's gaze out of the corner of her own eyes.
Feel?
"On the left," Will says, gesturing to Nico. "I gotta get you closed up before it worsens. The concussion is nasty --" he nods at Reyna -- "but that's a more long-term problem. Hang in there for a little bit, okay?"
She nods, and doesn't smirk smugly at Nico for two reasons. One, because if she moves too hard she'll pass out, and two, because Nico is gray and ashen, and reaches, in the space between them, for her hand. She curls their fingers together and squeezes lightly and does not promise she will be okay, but swears to herself that she will be anyway.
No more lost sisters, she mouths at him.
He hesitates, then nods.
Doctor Will -- he hadn't given them a last name, nor had the child in the waiting room addressed him by it -- is quick working and methodical. He cuts Nico's ruined shirt away from his torso, announcing every time he is about to touch bare skin. Gentle, too, but firm; he makes quick work of wiping the blood off Nico's skin so he can see what he's working with, and manages not to gag at the sight of the torn, inflamed skin, the oozing blood, the corrugated muscle and flecks of dirt and fabric. Reyna is not quite so skilled, and Will hands her a paper bag without looking.
"Damn," Will mumbles to himself, steadying his forceps against the edge of the wound, "somebody got your ass good."
It is probably not meant for Nico to hear.
Reyna laughs, but makes the mistake of looking again, and it turns quickly into a groan.
"You are not the one being operated on," Nico snaps, but it's more incredulous than anything. "Why are you whining."
"You should keep your insides to yourself," she mutters, still a little green. "That shit is disgusting."
Nico huffs -- "Stop that," Will commands, free hand on Nico's chest -- Nico stops breathing -- "Stop that too, preferably, I can't hear your heart right." -- hand still on chest -- Nico prays for death and then takes it back quickly when the first suture makes his vision swim -- and they fall into silence. His side hurts, his body hurts; Reyna's head pounds so hard she can't even feel the swelling bruise of her knee. They haven't slept in a couple days, at least, well before the attack in the warehouse. Nico is weak from his failed shadow-jump. Reyna is weaker from the strength she lent him.
It's a little easier to relax in this office, at least.
It must be Will's -- it's different in every conceivable way from the waiting area. From the hallway, even. The lights are too-bright still but they are offset by walls painted a deep green, not reflecting so harshly. Shades are pulled over the windows and its dark outside anyway, but the mere presence of windows makes it easier to feel like they are not going to die in a timeless prison. Drawn pictures and thank-you cards and grinning photographs are pinned all over the walls, and Doctor Will is hand-painted on a sign on the door in careful child's handwriting. This is not a place of despair, or even fear; the chair next to the bed for supportive family or friends is comfortable and not hospital issue, and there is music playing, almost imperceptively softly. The room -- or Will, Nico guesses -- smells slightly of lavender. This is a room where someone has worked very hard to make comfort a priority.
"Okay," Will says softly, pulling away. There are bones tattooed on his hands, Nico notices. They are covered in blood. Reyna notices that Nico is now breathing out of his dropped mouth and rolls her eyes. "I'm going to dress it now. Did Mark --" he scowls at the name -- "give you guys an intake form?"
Reyna and Nico shake their heads.
Will cusses.
Reyna and Nico try very hard not to laugh, except it's not that hard because it hurts to breathe.
"'Course he didn't," mutters Will darkly, "because he is a blight on this Earth."
Nico bites his lip hard.
"Okay, well, I'm gonna go grab a couple, okay? I need to know about allergies and history and stuff before I treat you. I have an, um --" he falters -- "modified version for folks like yourself, it'll take me a minute to get them from the storage room. Hold tight."
He slips out of the room, closing the door behind him. Reyna waits until she can hear his footsteps fade before turning to face her best friend. He is looking, already.
"So," she says.
"So indeed," Nico agrees. "They're not usually so…competent."
"I'm sure more of them --" Mist-aware mortals, she means -- "are doctors than we would have guessed. When was the last time you went to a mortal hospital?"
"Uh." Nico ponders that for a moment. "I was born in one?"
"A century ago," she snorts. He scowls and flicks her. "That doesn't even count."
"Well, whatever. You most certainly haven't."
"I wasn't even born in one."
"So I have a leg up on you then!"
"You're arguing with me about nothing."
"You started it!"
She grins, and he grins back. There are still no returning footsteps, so she says: "We can't stay here."
"Obviously."
"What are the chances he's gonna give us some nectar and send us on our way?"
"Bad, probably," Nico guesses. His gaze slides over to the swollen goose egg on the back of her skull, and he brushes gentle fingers around the base of it. "Nectar can't fix everything, anyway," he says softly. "I think we're stuck, Rey." His face falls, guilt clouding his dark eyes. "I'm sorry."
She doesn't punch him out of it, but only because she isn't entirely sure if he hurt his shoulder taking that hit for her, when she first went down, so instead she reaches calmly for his wrist, flips it over, and pinches him as hard as she can in the dead center of his palm.
"Fucking ow!" he shouts, dramatically loudly in her opinion. "What the fuck?!"
"Get all sentimental and sad on me like that again and I'll throw up in your hair," she promises. "You were gushing blood and losing ground, you fucking idiot. And canyons always fuck up your jumps. Stop apologizing."
He still looks guilty, but at least he nods. It helps that he keeps rubbing his palm and glaring at her.
"Fine," he concedes. "Whatever, she-demon. Let's just -- fix up, and then we'll figure it out."
"We can't stay in here," she reminds him. "You're a homing beacon and they hate me personally. I won't be bringing a horde of demons to a hospital."
He nods. Just then, the footsteps return -- hurried, Nico's lips quirk up -- and there is a rapping at the door, and it opens a crack.
"All good?" inquires Will, slipping in. "I got the files, moved as fast as I --" his leg brushes Nico's knee as he hustles past, and he pauses. He turns to face them both, eyes narrowed, hands on his hips. Nico freezes and has the sudden and long-buried feeling that he's in a principal's office. "Were you two roughhousing?"
Reyna's jaw drops.
"You are critically injured. In a hospital." Will shakes his head, face creased. "And you were roughhousing." He scoffs. "I have six year old patients who are less inclined to that nonsense, y'all, c'mon. Do I need to treat you separately?"
"No!" they blurt at the same time, meeting each other's eyes to mouth: how did he know??
"No, please, we'll be good," Nico promises, ignoring the flush that burns immediately across his cheekbones. "She just pinched me but I'm fine."
"Snitch," Reyna hisses.
"Enough," Will orders. His lips twitch, but they stop squabbling like schoolchildren. "Jesus. Y'all known each other a long time, huh?"
Reyna nods hesitantly. Will meets her eyes and smiles. "I could tell. Friends'a mine are the same way, been dating since middle school and you can tell. Sweet."
"Oh we're not --" Reyna begins.
"I gagged in my mouth just now --" Nico starts.
"We're not dating," Reyna says, at the same time Nico says, "I'm gay."
"He's an asshole, too," Reyna adds. "I'm a catch."
Will laughs loudly.
"You are!" Nico assures, voice cracking. It has been a long time since Reyna has seen his face so cherry red and she really takes the time to enjoy it. "She is, I'm just -- you know? Like --"
"Stop," Will begs, holding his stomach. "I get it, I get it, oh my God." He busies himself with grabbing a pen and sliding a couple pages on a clipboard. "I'm sorry for assuming, that's on me. You're both kind of equally jaw-dropping, so I just guessed."
Nico shuts down. There is actually a visible shutter in his eyes as his brain reboots itself. Reyna regards the doctor with an eyebrow raise.
"Is flirting very professional?"
"Not strictly," Will says with a grin, "but technically I'm off the clock."
Reyna scoffs and rolls her eyes. For her best friend's sake, she pushes forward. "Alright, Casanova. I guess I'm going first since he's still recovering."
A mask of detachment fits back onto Will's face, and he focuses on the sheet in front of him. Reyna answers his rattling questions -- full name, which he doesn't so much as twitch at, increasing her respect for him, date of birth, allergies, so on and so forth -- and pauses when he flips the page over and gets to a part she can see is hand-written and photocopied.
Not hospital standard.
"Okay," Will says, tapping his pen on the paper. "Do you know how much higher your blood count is than standard?"
Reyna pauses. "I do not."
He twists his face, jotting that down. "Damn. No one ever does, which is a shame because it's always higher in you guys but I can't get anything to a lab before Friday. Not that I would send it there unmanned. I mean I can't charm my way into the lab until Friday because that's when my ex works and he's sweet on me still. I'll just be cautious with dosage, I guess. Anyways."
Nico, who was just recovering, goes back under again. Reyna sighs, and pats him supportively on the shoulder.
"Are you more responsive to medicinal flora from Greece or Rome?" he pauses, tilting his head. "Or a secret third answer? There could be more, I guess, those're just the two I've noticed over the years."
That hikes Reyna's eyebrows up her forehead. It's an interesting enough observation that Nico sits forward, watching the doctor closely -- he is calm, totally, unbothered by their staring, or perhaps ignorant to the magnitude of his question. He knows much more than the average Mist-sensitive mortal, but not explicitly -- he did not ask who their godly parent was, or even which pantheon, even though there is no reason to be secretive about such a question. Just a startlingly accurate observation about what medicines will help them, and evidence of a search for why.
"Roman, for me," says Reyna slowly. "Greek for him."
"Okay," says Will, "excellent." He makes a couple more notes, asks a couple more questions, and then removes the paper with her info on it with a flourish and hands it to her. "Check it over, if you don't mind, while I do your friend."
Nico starts. He does a very admirable job of not reacting to Will's unfortunately casual sentence, even though Reyna's snickering disagrees with him. He also manages not to punch her which he feels should be worth some kind of award.
"Name?" Will asks, looking up through his eyelashes. They're very long, Nico notices. Very blond.
Nico swallows. "Uh, Nico. di Angelo."
"Pretty," Will says idly, jotting it down. He looks up and smiles. "'Of angels'. Suits you."
"Oh my gods," Reyna comments. Neither notices her, which she feels is upsetting because that was embarrassing for her to witness. "Is my name beautifully suiting me, too?"
"Next question," says Will quickly. He rattles off a list about family history and allergies -- "Aside from latex," he adds, although Nico does not remember mentioning that -- and gets quickly to the back of the paper. "Greek," he notes, remembering. He hums. "You look it, too. Anyway. Have you been stabbed before?"
"Few times," Nico acknowledges. "I, uh, don't respond well to healing, though. Most effective thing for me is something called unicorn draught and it's --"
Will tilts his head. "Silvery looking thing? Kind of oily in texture?"
"I have bandages that are treated in it," Will corrects. "Girl came by here last year with a pot of it. Healed her up nicely, and she let me dunk some of my supplies in it." He smiles sympathetically. "Whatever wack instant shit it can do -- I don't have that. But it should speed up what's normal, hopefully? I don't really understand it and I had nothing to compare it to under microscope, so I have genuinely no idea what it will do to you other than help. So."
Nico doesn't need to meet Reyna's eyes to know what she's thinking -- if the monster attack was on purpose, meeting with Will must be, too. Calling him a 'godsend' would be a little on the nose.
"Okay," Will says, collecting both their sheets and laying them on the counter. "Lemme finish examining y'all both, and I'll give you a verdict."
He's very meticulous, Doctor Will. He doesn't even need to ask where they're hurt, although he always asks for permission to touch, seemingly drawn to every wound and swollen break. In minutes he has every scratch catalogued across Nico's body, and has analyzed the severity of Reyna's concussion, prodded her fucked-up knee.
They should go to mortal doctors more often, maybe. The wait sucks and Nico could do without the scent of hospital, but Will clearly knows what he's doing.
"The good news is that I can help you," Will says, pulling back from Reyna and tugging absentmindedly on his stethoscope. "I have a couple salves I worked up last week that'll help fix up your laceration, Nico, and Reyna -- your knee is broken pretty good but I can get the swelling down fast and I have a tonic that will encourage your bones back in place right. If you were anywhere else, you'd be stuck here for a good three months, the both of you."
"And the bad news?" Reyna asks. No use in dawdling.
"You are still stuck here," Will says apologetically. He holds up a hand at the immediate protest. "I know y'all don't like that kinda thing. Believe me, I have been yelled at enough." He meets both their eyes in turn. "For three weeks, though, you're stuck here. It takes time for medicine to work. And both of you are in pretty precarious spots, with either infection or worsened brain damage as a result of neglect."
They are silent, the both of them. Will frowns -- he must be expecting argument -- and adds:
"Don't like…escape into the night. Okay? I mean it when I say you'll die. Take it from someone who physically cannot lie, you are in danger if you go back to the wilderness. Or wherever y'all were."
Reyna and Nico turn to face each other. They can't actually communicate telepathically with each other but amuse themselves by pretending that they can -- they have been partners for almost longer than they haven't, really, and when you spend that much time on the road with someone, you get good at reading their face.
Reyna twitches her left eyebrow. Nico nods imperceptibly. Reyna clicks the nail on her third finger on her right hand. Nico blinks twice.
It's not a secret code or anything. Reyna's eyebrow is itchy and Nico is getting a little woozy. But the effect is great and they turn back to face the doctor in perfect unison, which is always funny to watch people squirm about.
"I'm not happy about the risk," Reyna admits. "But we refuse to stay here. And we don't have many other options."
"We can't even pay for this, technically," Nico says, and he probably shouldn't but -- Will clocked out to treat them. They are not the first, and Nico is not trusting, but he is not stupid, either. He can tell when someone is being genuine.
Reyna, who is not quite as attracted to Tall and Handsome, is more inclined to believe there is something trustworthy about someone so openly and generously knowledgeable. They owe him now, anyway. Their trust.
"Hm," says Will, rocking back on his heels. He blinks, seemingly realizing something, and almost jumps, beelining for the cupboards along the wall. "Oh, shit, I forgot to give you the -- goddamn medication, that's my bad --"
Reyna huffs a laugh, although strangely it took her a minute to notice, as well -- the pain in her head has already lessened, somewhat, just by Will's examination. Nico frowns thoughtfully, because part of it is his stitches, but the the stinging pain has gone down enough that he can feel the hurt in other places now, too.
But that could be faded adrenaline.
Will is red-faced when he returns, glass bottle in either hand. "Sorry. I don't mean to be so scatterbrained." He pauses for a moment, considering, and upon deciding its safe adds hesitantly, "ADHD works for me usually, actually, makes me more perceptive in surgery -- and helps me focus, honestly, since it's complicated and interesting enough to keep me invested -- but I can get distracted at the smaller stuff." He huffs a laugh. "I do lose my keys every single day, though."
Nico does not need to be telepathic or even close to Reyna to know they are thinking the exact same thing -- her eyes are wide as his, and the alarm practically manifests between them in the form of a giant red exclamation point.
Nico opens his mouth, and Reyna knows what is going to come out of it -- she flicks his shoulder, shaking her head rapidly. He swallows his word back and nods reluctantly. She extends her finger, to ease his frustration, pointing at the labels on the glass bottles.
The writing is godawful, so it takes him a second, but after a moment of squinting he can puzzle it out: netel lor laurel; migraines + symptoms on the jar of bright green liquid, and honey akilea labelling the thicker paste.
Now, Will could just be a bad speller.
But Nico doesn't put much faith in coincidence.
Will doses Reyna's medicine first, and then busies himself with Nico's wound. Nico meets Reyna's eyes, relieved to find her as nervously contemplative as he is -- a lot of things are adding up very very quickly. Both of them feel leagues better than a few hours ago, but Nico can feel his own weakness, his own exhaustion. He is in no place to fight anything. He is in no position to ward off danger.
Danger always comes knocking, with the two of them.
Will complicates things even further.
"Okay," he murmurs, pulling away. "I hope y'all feel better." He shoots the both of them a small, winning smile, and even Reyna melts -- although slightly, she would like to make clear. She does feel better, anyway, and she can feel the relief pouring off Nico in waves. "Next step is rest. And food. And maybe, like, a shower? I won't ask where y'all've been --"
Both Nico and Reyna graciously refrain from commenting on the triple contraction. They do note it. Reyna bites her lip.
"-- but, and no offense meant, I've met pigs in a pen with less mud on 'em. We gotta get you cleaned up."
"Offense taken," Nico grumbles. "We're not that bad."
"Should've seen Albania," Reyna agrees. And then, at Nico's grimace: "…Sorry for bringing it up."
"…Anyways," Will says pushing through the awkward air. "It's after midnight. I know a couple'a nearby motels, but they ain't open this late."
Nico picks at a thread torn loose from his jeans. Fuck. He knows where they are -- mostly -- and knows they are nowhere near any kind of safehouse. They could break into a motel, probably, but it means one of them is on guard at all times -- Nico doesn't have the strength for that, and neither does Reyna. They need sleep and they need sleep yesterday.
Nico straightens, color draining from his face as he remembers: Reyna has a concussion, and a nasty one. She needs constant monitoring, or she could literally fall into a coma and die. And die, fuck, what are they going to do, they're out of money and out of drachmas and Nico can't shadow travel and they're nowhere near --
"That's a myth," Will interrupts gently. He puts a warm hand on Nico's knee, and it is then that he realizes he's hyperventilating. "Breathe, darlin'."
This does not help.
"She actually needs to sleep quite a lot right now." He nods at her. "I've checked her, she's not at great risk for a coma unless she smacks her head against something else. Or makes her way to a roller coaster." He eyes them warily. "Please don't make your way to a roller coaster."
Nico, dazed, murmurs his promise. Reyna reaches over until she has her hand on top of both of his twitching ones, and, smiling wryly, promises to avoid them as well.
"If you're lookin' for someone to keep an eye out, though," Will says. "I can help."
Reyna shakes her head. She's pleased to find she can do so and it only hurts on a level 6, rather than the extreme level ten plus some it was earlier. "Like we said -- we can't stay here, Will. It's not safe for anyone else."
Will inclines his head. "I believe you. I meant -- my apartment is a two-bedroom." He bites his lip. "It's not ideal, and, I mean, it would deeply suck for me if this was some very elaborate serial murder set-up, but I can't just leave y'all out to suffer." He grins. "My mama'd whoop my ass if she heard. Not very hospitable of me, I imagine."
Reyna opens her mouth to protest.
Nico squeezes her hand.
"I don't love it," he says lowly. "But I -- I'm tired, Rey."
It takes a lot for Reyna to remember Nico is younger than her. It hasn't mattered since they were -- well, it hasn't really mattered ever. Nico is nothing if not exceptionally competent, unbelievably powerful; but he's human, too, and he watched her get her head bashed on concrete until she didn't get back up again. He's been twitchy, braver than he can afford, since then, dark eyes bloodshot and blown-wide and tracing rapidly over every new space, scanning every potential threat. He's been on for too long. For a moment he looks at her and he is scared, and she sees the face of the fourteen year old who was still trapped in that bronze jar, in his mind, and who sometimes didn't know where he was.
"Alright," she relents. She turns her gaze squarely to Will. "I've killed people," she says shortly. "Dying and maimed. It doesn't matter how concussed I am. Don't assume I've let my guard down."
Will steps ever so slightly away, but there is a smile on his face, still.
"I'd expect nothing less," he says lightly. "Let me help."
Reyna swallows, and Nico sighs. Together, hands clenched, they agree.
Will was very young the first time he dreamt of his dad.
"So," said a blond man in a white dress that was Too Short and teeth so straight they were off-putting. "How goes it, kiddo?"
Will was aware he was dreaming. He always was. But he had never quite been capable of pushing his way out of these dreams, so he was as good as stuck. He looked the man up and down.
"Are you a MLM salesman?" he asked, which he at the time felt was a reasonable question.
The MLM salesman looked affronted.
"I am living sunlight," said the man, perfectly straight nose wrinkled in offense.
"Living Sunlight," Will had mused, itching a mosquito bite on his ankle. He straightened and rocked back on the worn heels of his favorite sneakers. Only one side still lit up, but that worked for him. "I've never heard of that one. Is it Vitamin D supplements?"
The salesman sputtered. "Will, I -- I'm your father?"
Will froze in quiet awe, perking up like a watered flower.
"My time has come," he whispered.
No sooner were the words out of his mouth that the salesman stomped one sandaled foot, squeezed his fists, and hollered, at the top of his lungs, "Do not compare me to any character in that no-good loser's movies!" He spit on the ground beside them. Or, well, not really. Metaphysically. "George Lucas is a disgrace to the name of linguistic arts! He has written the worst dialogue known to man! He made Natalie Portman look robotic!"
Will disagreed on principle.
But he inclined his head, because, well. Fair. He did indeed do that.
"The art of the whole thing is the implications," Will said haughtily. He waved a hand the way he'd seen some of his Mama's critics do at shows. "The grander themes and nuances of Star Wars are deliberately left to viewer's thoughtful interpretations." He nodded, once. For emphasis.
The man -- his father, allegedly, but Will had his doubts -- Mama would crush this guy like a bug -- and Will has issue being related to someone so annoying, already -- sighed, and then shook his head.
"Maybe I mixed you up," he mused. He glanced down and frowned. "Are you actually one of Athena's ilk? Mine aren't usually…like this. More cool than straight geek, generally, which the exception of band dorks."
He leaned down -- far down, Will scowled, not fair; if this man is his father this better mean he will be tall -- and squinted.
"You don't look much like me yet," he observed. "I'm not quite so spotty."
"You're an asshole," Will informed him hotly. To his frustration, however, the stupid spots in question were not quite on board with his attempted nonchalance, and begun, as they always do when he's mad, to glow. Like little pinpricks in a window shade. "How do you sell scammy supplements if you're an asshole?"
"Hm," continued the asshole. He had nice hair, which was a third thing about him Will hated on principle. Thick and wavy and fell to his shoulders in nice ringlets. Held off his forehead by some kind of leather headband. What a douche. "Your mother is Naomi Solace, yes?"
"What are you, a cop?" Will said, which is what his mother had trained him to say in response to that question. But if this guy is a cop then Will is an elephant, so he gave up and answered: "Yes, but that's none of your business."
"…She bisexual? Coulda been a double night for her, I suppose. Can't blame her."
Will blinked. "What's that?"
Salesman Loser Dad blinked. "Uh," he said, and continued to flounder. It was a foreign look on him, so Will found it amusing. He counted three entire minutes of stuttered non-explanations and hand gestures.
"Dudes," Salesman Loser Dad managed, eventually, waving a manicured hand. "And women. You know?"
Will squinted at him in much the same way he squinted at raccoons during mating season attempting to seduce a fencepost.
"Both," finished the man eventually. "Both is good."
"Well, duh," said Will, continuing to look at him oddly. "How are you ever meant to choose?"
Salesman Loser Dad barked out a delighted laugh.
"Alright!" he crowed, throwing a hand over Will's shoulders and recovering quite gracefully when Will picked it up by the middle finger and removed it not unlike one would a dead snake. "You are mine!"
"I have met you one sum total times," Will noted. "Any attempt to claim custody on your end is laughable by any reasonable court of law."
"Two," dismissed his alleged father. "I said hello to you at a bar that one time. Remember?"
Will did not remember. Will also knew that telling people who frequent bars that you do not remember seeing them in one is generally a Bad Plan -- another lesson from his mother -- so he said nothing at all. Alleged Absenteer was too wrapped up in his own rambling story to notice.
"Anyways," he continued. Will avoided correcting him on the correct use of the term 'anyway' because he is taking these special classes at school called Fitting In With Your Peers -- What You Should Know and has been advised that constantly correcting people may come off as 'combative' or perhaps even 'bitchy'. "Just came to drop by and introduce myself. Figured you should know your old man so you know who to pray to when you make it to camp!"
Adults do this thing where they say a sentence that is entirely incomprehensible without decades of general life experience and then get mad when you don't get half of it. Will, well used to adult bullshit -- his mother is excellent at pointing it out to him -- did not bother worsening this issue. He just nodded , and filed it away in the mental compartment in his brain labelled 'Problems for Future Will (Sorry)'.
He also refrained from mentioning that his father in question did not introduce himself, and Will remained, still, after suffering all this, ignorant of his name.
Another folder in the compartment. Fun times for Future Him.
"I'll be seeing you around," said his dad with a wink, spinning away from his personal space. He skipped off to the distance with a backwards wave and an honest-to-Jesus "Toodleloo!" which would be funny if Will were not stuck watching him prance away.
"There's no way," he said to himself, after a good twenty minutes, hands crossed over his chest. He shook his head, and then again for good measure. His mom's a deeply cool person. She has a cool butterfly tattoo and two ear piercings and everything. She wouldn't do that to herself. "Nah. This is my brain making things up for the drama of it all."
He turned in the opposite direction of the figment of his imagination and walked until he woke up again. He didn't bother mentioning his dream to his mother. In fact, he forgot about it entirely.
Until two years later, when he sat awake on a cot in the Hermes cabin, staring at a half-faded mural of the gods on the poster-cluttered wall. He glared at a salesman-looking guy who's horribly good hair peeked between a poster of Al Capone and a framed Cease and Desist.
"Fucker," he muttered to himself, and ignored it when someone sighed and muttered about the mutiny rehabilitation package again.
In previous posts, you've expressed frustration with fans allegedly "heteronormatizing" Solangelo. However, within their relationship, it's clear that Nico is portrayed as more feminine and shorter than Will—traits which reasonably lead some fans to interpret him as the bottom in the relationship. It's frustrating to see you dismiss these interpretations as inherently problematic, especially when it seems you haven't fully engaged with the actual content of the books. Instead, you impose headcanons that often have little to no basis in the source material.
Omg.
Those were my thoughts, if I made you this mad please fuck off 😭
This is actually so funny. Aside from agreeing with the other commenters that this is definitely AI I also feel like this is becoming some sort of a pattern?? Like its scripted??
Recently, I called out an anon author in the solangelo tag in ao3 for being a hypocrite (they deleted my comment btw). They're saying such rude things toward people who have different preference from theirs. Talking how they find "bottom Will" as fetish-y and disgusting while having Nico essentially be as*aulted in said fic 😭 and saying he (Nico) "being a bottom would make his story a lot sadder". LMAO I'm legit not kidding.
And guess what, they kept saying that I need to "read Tsats" because cLeARly I didn't read the book lmao. I find that interaction so funny but it is concerning when I've been seeing great solangelo creators in tumblr get harassed by these anons
ANYWHOO if anyone is being harassed by these people just ignore them ╰(*°▽°*)╯ Don't stoop to their level and just take their comments as entertainment haha
Will was very young the first time he dreamt of his dad.
"So," said a blond man in a white dress that was Too Short and teeth so straight they were off-putting. "How goes it, kiddo?"
Will was aware he was dreaming. He always was. But he had never quite been capable of pushing his way out of these dreams, so he was as good as stuck. He looked the man up and down.
"Are you a MLM salesman?" he asked, which he at the time felt was a reasonable question.
The MLM salesman looked affronted.
"I am living sunlight," said the man, perfectly straight nose wrinkled in offense.
"Living Sunlight," Will had mused, itching a mosquito bite on his ankle. He straightened and rocked back on the worn heels of his favorite sneakers. Only one side still lit up, but that worked for him. "I've never heard of that one. Is it Vitamin D supplements?"
The salesman sputtered. "Will, I -- I'm your father?"
Will froze in quiet awe, perking up like a watered flower.
"My time has come," he whispered.
No sooner were the words out of his mouth that the salesman stomped one sandaled foot, squeezed his fists, and hollered, at the top of his lungs, "Do not compare me to any character in that no-good loser's movies!" He spit on the ground beside them. Or, well, not really. Metaphysically. "George Lucas is a disgrace to the name of linguistic arts! He has written the worst dialogue known to man! He made Natalie Portman look robotic!"
Will disagreed on principle.
But he inclined his head, because, well. Fair. He did indeed do that.
"The art of the whole thing is the implications," Will said haughtily. He waved a hand the way he'd seen some of his Mama's critics do at shows. "The grander themes and nuances of Star Wars are deliberately left to viewer's thoughtful interpretations." He nodded, once. For emphasis.
The man -- his father, allegedly, but Will had his doubts -- Mama would crush this guy like a bug -- and Will has issue being related to someone so annoying, already -- sighed, and then shook his head.
"Maybe I mixed you up," he mused. He glanced down and frowned. "Are you actually one of Athena's ilk? Mine aren't usually…like this. More cool than straight geek, generally, which the exception of band dorks."
He leaned down -- far down, Will scowled, not fair; if this man is his father this better mean he will be tall -- and squinted.
"You don't look much like me yet," he observed. "I'm not quite so spotty."
"You're an asshole," Will informed him hotly. To his frustration, however, the stupid spots in question were not quite on board with his attempted nonchalance, and begun, as they always do when he's mad, to glow. Like little pinpricks in a window shade. "How do you sell scammy supplements if you're an asshole?"
"Hm," continued the asshole. He had nice hair, which was a third thing about him Will hated on principle. Thick and wavy and fell to his shoulders in nice ringlets. Held off his forehead by some kind of leather headband. What a douche. "Your mother is Naomi Solace, yes?"
"What are you, a cop?" Will said, which is what his mother had trained him to say in response to that question. But if this guy is a cop then Will is an elephant, so he gave up and answered: "Yes, but that's none of your business."
"…She bisexual? Coulda been a double night for her, I suppose. Can't blame her."
Will blinked. "What's that?"
Salesman Loser Dad blinked. "Uh," he said, and continued to flounder. It was a foreign look on him, so Will found it amusing. He counted three entire minutes of stuttered non-explanations and hand gestures.
"Dudes," Salesman Loser Dad managed, eventually, waving a manicured hand. "And women. You know?"
Will squinted at him in much the same way he squinted at raccoons during mating season attempting to seduce a fencepost.
"Both," finished the man eventually. "Both is good."
"Well, duh," said Will, continuing to look at him oddly. "How are you ever meant to choose?"
Salesman Loser Dad barked out a delighted laugh.
"Alright!" he crowed, throwing a hand over Will's shoulders and recovering quite gracefully when Will picked it up by the middle finger and removed it not unlike one would a dead snake. "You are mine!"
"I have met you one sum total times," Will noted. "Any attempt to claim custody on your end is laughable by any reasonable court of law."
"Two," dismissed his alleged father. "I said hello to you at a bar that one time. Remember?"
Will did not remember. Will also knew that telling people who frequent bars that you do not remember seeing them in one is generally a Bad Plan -- another lesson from his mother -- so he said nothing at all. Alleged Absenteer was too wrapped up in his own rambling story to notice.
"Anyways," he continued. Will avoided correcting him on the correct use of the term 'anyway' because he is taking these special classes at school called Fitting In With Your Peers -- What You Should Know and has been advised that constantly correcting people may come off as 'combative' or perhaps even 'bitchy'. "Just came to drop by and introduce myself. Figured you should know your old man so you know who to pray to when you make it to camp!"
Adults do this thing where they say a sentence that is entirely incomprehensible without decades of general life experience and then get mad when you don't get half of it. Will, well used to adult bullshit -- his mother is excellent at pointing it out to him -- did not bother worsening this issue. He just nodded , and filed it away in the mental compartment in his brain labelled 'Problems for Future Will (Sorry)'.
He also refrained from mentioning that his father in question did not introduce himself, and Will remained, still, after suffering all this, ignorant of his name.
Another folder in the compartment. Fun times for Future Him.
"I'll be seeing you around," said his dad with a wink, spinning away from his personal space. He skipped off to the distance with a backwards wave and an honest-to-Jesus "Toodleloo!" which would be funny if Will were not stuck watching him prance away.
"There's no way," he said to himself, after a good twenty minutes, hands crossed over his chest. He shook his head, and then again for good measure. His mom's a deeply cool person. She has a cool butterfly tattoo and two ear piercings and everything. She wouldn't do that to herself. "Nah. This is my brain making things up for the drama of it all."
He turned in the opposite direction of the figment of his imagination and walked until he woke up again. He didn't bother mentioning his dream to his mother. In fact, he forgot about it entirely.
Until two years later, when he sat awake on a cot in the Hermes cabin, staring at a half-faded mural of the gods on the poster-cluttered wall. He glared at a salesman-looking guy who's horribly good hair peeked between a poster of Al Capone and a framed Cease and Desist.
"Fucker," he muttered to himself, and ignored it when someone sighed and muttered about the mutiny rehabilitation package again.
And you know what. Imma post this one as well! This was supposed to be an entry for a solangelo event but I wasn’t able to post it that time, I wanted to improve it bUT the solangelo announcement filled me with so much happiness so HERE. IM JUST SO AAAAAAAAAAAAH
SONG: So Close from Enchanted
The pink on Nico’s cheeks is pretty. It pushes softly against his skin, like small waves against the edge of the sand, hiding behind his curtain of hair, his ducked head. His agile hands twitch, arrhythmically, against the gritstone, against his sword, against his leg. He looks up, once. Watches Will’s eyes on him. Swallows.
“Okay.”
He flexes his short fingers and goes back, twists his body. Returns to the slow drag of the stone against his blade, the king exhales as his lean muscles flex, relax, flex. The worry of his lower lip, the sheen in his dark eyes.
Will rests his chin in his hand.
“What are you thinking about?”
There is no falter this time. But his shoulder hike up to his ears, and his mouth twitches, twitches, and he says: “Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Yeah.”
“Hm.”
Will smiles. He smiles wider when Nico looks up at him, when he taps a bitten fingernail on the hilt of his sword and sighs. Sighs, long and heavy, exasperated. Sighs, swinging his leg over the bench, shaking his head. Looking over. Smiling.
“You’re distracting.”
“Yeah?”
Nico huffs. “Yeah. You — yeah.”
“I’m sorry,” Will says. He tries to stop smiling. He can’t. “I don’t mean to be.”
“Well, you — are.”
“How am I distracting?”
Tap. Tap. Tap. His bitten nails scratch, ever slow, on the ridges of his worn jeans. He scratches the side of his face.
“You.” Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. “ You Look at me.”
“I do.”
“And you — smell nice.”
Will grins. “I do?”
Nico flushes, again. He scratches his nose. “Well I’m! I’m not saying. It’s just. It’s just that everyone notices, you know.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Lilac and — something.”
“And something.”
“Stop copying me.”
He exhales, gaze softening. He reaches for Nico’s hand, stops. “Sorry.” A beat. “I can leave.”
Nico looks up, frowning. “Why would you leave?”
“If I’m — distracting.”
He frowns again. “I didn’t mean — I don’t mean that.”
“Okay.” Inhale. Exhale. “What do you mean?”
There is that face again. The thinking. The furrow of his thick eyebrows, the flash of his front teeth as he gnaws on his lip. The scritch, scritch, scritch of his ripped nails. The flutter of his long eyelashes, swish, swish. Will hides his smile in his hand.
“Stay.”
“Okay.”
“Good.”
Will smiles wider. “Good.”
He shifts back towards his sword. The grindstone creaks against the blade, squeeeeaak. Squeak. He exhales. Sinks into the push of his lithe arms.
The Prince and the Prince Consort of the Underworld
Nico knew he was destined for Erebus. It was inevitable. He was, and would always be, the Prince of the Underworld. When his time on the surface was up, when his mortal life was over, he would return to the dark depths of father’s domain to fill the role he was fated for. He didn’t mind the idea of overseeing the ghosts and ghouls, of managing the judgements of mortals and listening to the squabbles of minor gods. The role was a perfect fit, really. It was made for him. In that regard, he was at peace with his fate.
But that didn’t stop him from dreading it.
Because of Will.
Will was destined for Elysium. How could he not be? After all the good he brought to the world, all the people saved, he deserved the afterlife painted with sunlight, full of joy and peace and everything Nico wished he could give Will in his mortal life. Everything except for him.
When the day finally came that they faced their final judgements, Will and Nico would go in separate directions.
Except they didn’t.
As Will faced the judges, watching them review his life and weigh it against that of a hero’s, he spoke up, “I don’t want Elysium.”
Hades’ eyebrows curved in surprise. From where he lay in wait in the wings, anxiously listening for verdict that would define his own immortality, Nico sucked in a breath.
“And what do you suspect is the alternative?” Hades asked.
“I- I don’t know.” Will said. “I just know Elysium won’t be paradise. Not for me. Not without him.”
Nico gripped his chest, covering his mouth as he blinked away tears. He had never gotten used to the ease with which Will always chose him. Even now. Even in the end.
“You would voluntarily decline Elysium for a worse fate?” Hades loomed over the man that was an unrelenting source of light and love. The man turning down the fate that was reflection of himself for some unknown full of shadows and darkness.
“If it means I get to spend eternity with him, I’ll be damned.”
Chapter 3 of my Solangelo Wicked AU is up! A brief summary: Will was like, hmmm I seem to by catching feelings for my roommate who I'm supposed to hate. How do I deal with this? Swords? Is the answer swords?
and I, the author, said yes, the answer is swords
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
There’s a crash somewhere in the distance, and Will startles awake.
Another crash. Will sits up, blinking into the mostly-dark hotel room. It sounds like someone in the hall. There’s murmured conversation and then the ding of the elevator. Very likely nothing worth waking up for. He sinks back down with a groan.
The blackout blinds are drawn tight across the window, but Will’s pretty sure that’s daylight seeping in at the edges, not just the glow of streetlights from the parking lot. His head is lightly throbbing. Not too bad though, considering the beers he had right before bed. He doesn’t actually remember going to bed, come to think of it.
The end of the night is a little blurry. Mostly, Will remembers laughing a lot. More than he has in a while. He remembers feeling light, for the first time in so long. He doesn’t think it was just the alcohol. Now, his memory offers up flashes of Nico’s fond gaze from across the room, eyes crinkled at the corners, half-propped up on the mountain of pillows on his own bed.
Nico.
There’s no sound or movement from the bed across the room. Will squints, then sits up for a better look. It doesn’t look as if Nico’s there at all. Will confirms this as he hauls himself out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom. His mouth feels gross and cottony.
Cups. Weren’t there cups in here last night? Will can’t quite bear to turn on the lights for a better look, instead sticking his head under the tap and gulping down water until he thinks he might be partially rehydrated. Clumsy, he squeezes too much toothpaste onto his toothbrush and then scrubs at his teeth until his mouth feels the way it’s supposed to.
He fumbles in his overnight case for Tylenol. Fuck. The bottle’s empty. Maybe Nico has some? Will reaches across the counter for the little bag. Damn. Nothing in there either.
Wait. Nico’s overnight bag. Will’s pretty sure he heard the rattle of pills when he brought their bags in yesterday.
Will shambles back into the bedroom. He manages to locate Nico’s bag in the mostly-dark room. He hauls it up onto Nico’s bed, fumbling through it one-handed, various items presenting themselves to his fingers. Socks. A paperback. A small, cardboard box. Yes, finally, a small plastic bottle. Will holds it up to his face, squinting. Bingo.
He shakes two pills into his palm, and, spotting a bottle of water on Nico’s nightstand, knocks them back. He flops down onto the bed. God, he’s still so tired. What time is it, anyway? And where the fuck did Nico go? But Will’s eyes fall shut and he drifts towards unconsciousness before he can consider the matter any further.
::
“Hey.”
That’s Nico’s voice, Will registers, as he slowly surfaces. He blinks his eyes open and Nico’s face swims into view, the familiar contrast of dark hair and pale skin. There’s a little more light in the room now, shining from the open bathroom door. Nico looks sweaty, a few damp strands of hair falling over his forehead, a light sheen to his skin. Right. He said he might hit the hotel gym in the morning. That must have been where he was when Will woke the first time.
“Hey,” Will mumbles. He closes his eyes again.
The bed jostles, Nico dropping down beside him, a shove to Will’s shoulder. “Did you get lost on the way back to your own bed?”
Will opens one eye. Nico looks amused, a quirk to his lips. Belatedly, Will realizes that yes, he is in Nico’s bed.
“Oh. Sorry.” Will rolls onto his stomach, yanking at the blanket until Nico snorts, shifting off so Will can pull it over himself. Much better. Will closes his eyes again, snuggling in. The blanket smells like Nico. Will can’t think of anything he’d rather bury his nose in.
“Is there any particular reason you’re in my bed, Solace?”
Will groans. Do they really have to talk about this right now? Will’s so comfortable, and his headache is mostly gone now. He thinks he could probably sleep for another hour at least.
There’s a long pause and Nico grumbles something that sounds like lightweight. A moment later, Will hears the bathroom door close and the shower start up.
Will’s not sure how much time has passed when he wakes again, but now the curtains are open and Nico’s on the bed next to him, digging through his bag. Will scrubs at his eyes. “Morning,” he mumbles.
Nico snorts. “You sure?”
Will rolls to his side, watching Nico with half-lidded eyes. God, he looks good. All clean-haired and freshly-shaven.
“Hey,” Nico says after a moment, “were you… looking in my bag?”
There’s something hesitant in Nico’s voice. Nervous?
“Um. Yeah.” Will pushes himself up. “I was just looking for Tylenol. I ran out and I – sorry,” he says, a little thrown by Nico’s reaction. “For going through your stuff. I didn’t really think about it.”
It’s never been an issue in the past. The boundaries between their things are becoming more and more blurred as the months go by – more than once Nico’s asked Will to grab something out of his luggage for him. On their last overnight, they ended up sharing a tube of toothpaste when Nico ran out. That’s a level of intimacy Will doesn’t even share with his sister.
“No, it’s not a big deal.” Nico turns away. “I um – I noticed a couple of pairs of socks on the bed and I just wondered –”
“Oh, sorry,” Will says again. “I was half asleep – I hadn’t even turned the lights on and I was just feeling around in there for the bottle, and then apparently I passed out in your bed –”
Nico laughs, though he still sounds a little off. “No, it’s fine. I – it’s fine.”
Will watches Nico reorganize his bag, careful about it. Things are better, three months on. Since Tooms. Better than they have been, anyway. April and May felt like a write-off to Will, like he stumbled through those weeks in a daze that he’s still emerging from. There are significant chunks of cases they worked and solved in those months that he can barely remember.
The worst part about that time, though, is that it felt as if he and Nico had suddenly lost all the ease they’d gained with each other. Everything felt stilted, clunky, like trying to feel your way around blindfolded. Things have definitely gotten easier since then, even some of those perfect, heart-settling moments when they’re completely, utterly in sync. But somehow the occasional awkward moments between them feel even more awkward. Less acceptable. Even when it’s something as small as this. Will desperately scans his mind for a neutral topic of conversation.
“How was your workout?” he settles on.
“It was good. No one else was in there, so I got to watch MTV.” Nico turns, shooting Will a grin.
“Nice. Was it arm day?” Will’s gaze drifts to Nico’s biceps, appraising. They’re heading back to DC today, so Nico’s not dressed for work. He’s wearing a band tee Will hasn’t seen before. Placebo, it says. It’s just a little big on him, maybe not shrunk in the wash yet, and that combined with the still-damp hair and the clean-shaven face makes Nico look an awful lot like this cute punk kid Will had a crush on in tenth grade. Absently, he wonders if Nico has a skateboard.
Nico laughs, a little self-conscious. “Maybe.”
“Mmm,” Will grins. He gives Nico’s arms a more lingering, pointed look, making sure Nico notices.
Nico huffs out a laugh. “Stop checking out my arms, Solace. I think that’s workplace harassment.” He looks pleased though, and Will smiles to himself, tearing his gaze away. A little light flirting usually serves to disperse any tension gathering between them, he’s found. And if a side effect of that is he’s getting better and better at flirting with Nico – well, that’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make.
“Hey, you’ve got something –” Will notices, gesturing at Nico’s face. He pushes himself up, rounding the bed. When he cups a hand on Nico’s shoulder, dark eyes go wide and color fills Nico’s cheeks.
Oops.
“Shaving cream,” Will explains quickly, brushing a thumb over Nico’s cheek to wipe it away. Will’s half-sure sparks have ignited across the path his thumb has traveled, and he feels his own face heat.
“Oh,” Nico says, hoarse. “Thanks.”
Their eyes lock and Will’s heart picks up speed. Nico opens his mouth, then closes it again. Will’s hand is still on Nico’s shoulder and he’s sure Nico’s eyes flick to his mouth.
“Do you – do you want a muffin?” Nico asks, turning away abruptly. His shoulder disappears from under Will’s hand, making Will stumble.
“A – muffin?”
“Yeah, I took a quick look at the continental breakfast on my way back from the gym,” Nico’s talking fast, already heading back for the door. He pulls on his shoes, doesn’t lace them. “I’m gonna grab muffins. And coffee. Do you want coffee?” And he’s gone, not bothering to wait for an answer.
Will blinks, standing exactly where Nico left him. He scrubs a hand over his face, then grabs a change of clothes and heads for the shower. He turns on the hot water, dropping his pajamas to the floor and stepping into the steaming spray. Will lets out a soft moan, feeling every muscle in his body relax.
He’s been feeling unsure and wrong-footed ever since April. Twitchy, sometimes. That’s probably normal. Right? Will’s working on it, as best he can. Mostly he’s just trying to carry on, because that seems to be what Nico’s doing. And if nothing else, he’s learned that following Nico’s lead has rarely steered him wrong.
In lower moments, Will’s been feeling the way he did when he started this job last September – worried that he’s too much. Too much trouble. Too soft, too needy. At those times when it feels so untethered between them, he’s sure Nico must be thinking back to when he used to do this all on his own. How much easier it must have been. How much happier he’d be if Will just… went somewhere else. Sure, they almost kissed at the hospital – but why would Nico even want that, when Will’s such a mess? When he can’t tell where he is from day to day, moods and emotions swinging wildly? It’s exhausting. Dispiriting.
Nico tried to bring the subject of the Tooms case up once, near the end of June. He’d sounded tentative, half-terrified. Will had known, even then, that they probably should talk about it, that it would probably even help to get things out in the open. But he’d felt crushed under the weight of it, completely overwhelmed. He’d made a joke, changed the subject so quickly it made his own head spin. Nico hasn’t brought it up again.
They’re still good friends. Will still looks forward to going to work, most of the time. And even when everything else feels hopelessly out of sync, their work together is still strong, a steady scaffold when everything else feels as if it’s been torn away. Maybe all they need is a little more time, Will thinks once again. There must be a path back to those golden moments.
“So, where are these muffins you spoke of?” Will asks when he finally exits the bathroom.
Nico turns from where he’s packing up the last of his things. “Oh – they were actually out.” Quick, Nico’s gaze flicks over Will’s outfit for the day – jeans that have admittedly seen better days, a t-shirt from his mom’s last tour. Nico clears his throat. “There’s that restaurant downstairs, though. If you want breakfast.”
Nico’s still looking a little hesitant, a little unsure. As if Will would ever voluntarily skip breakfast.
“I want breakfast,” Will says, trying to sound as sure as he can.
Nico’s shoulders seem to relax, and his smile is soft and familiar. “Okay,” he says. He proceeds to stuff a couple of files on the top of his overnight bag. Nico takes a tentative step closer, plucks at the sleeve of Will’s shirt. “I’d still love to see your mom play sometime,” he says.
Will’s heart lifts. “Yeah. We should definitely do that.”
::
The restaurant isn’t fancy, but it’s functional. The furnishings are shabby, the carpet worn. There are two women deep in conversation by the window, and a couple with a toddler sitting at a booth. Will smiles at the little boy as they pass, and gets an absolute beam in return, the kid opening and closing a syrup-sticky hand in greeting. He turns almost all the way around in his high chair, watching Will until he and Nico are seated at a table in the corner.
“Think you made a new friend,” Nico says, glancing back at the little boy who’s still hanging off his chair, watching.
Will waves back. “So cute,” he agrees, grinning.
“Do you want kids?” Nico asks.
“I dunno,” Will says, thoughtful, “that one looks pretty sticky. Plus I think his parents would notice if we took him.”
Nico snorts. They both look up as the waiter approaches, a muscular-looking young man. His left arm is bandaged and held in a sling, but he still manages to smoothly deposit the menus on the table. Both men murmur their thanks.
“My name is Paolo, and I will be serving you this morning,” the waiter says. His voice is low and melodic. Will’s only half paying attention as he rattles off the specials and promises to return with coffee, the other half of his brain trying to sort out where he’s heard that accent before.
His eyes linger on the waiter as he crosses back through the restaurant. “I wonder where he’s from,” Will says. “That accent – it sounds really familiar…” His gaze flicks back to Nico and he’s surprised to see his partner looking nettled. Will frowns. “What? You didn’t like the breakfast specials?”
Nico huffs. “No, it’s – nothing.” He looks to where the waiter disappeared. “Is it Portuguese, maybe?”
Will brightens. “Yeah, that’s it! One of my favorite profs was from Brazil. Same accent. You’re so smart,” he adds. Nico rolls his eyes.
“Your coffee, gentlemen,” the waiter says just a second later, returning. They flip their cups, Paolo coming in with a steaming pot.
“You’re pretty efficient, even with just one arm,” Will says, leaning away so Paolo can pour.
Paolo grins, pleased, and Will’s startled to register that the waiter seems to be checking him out, really blatantly. Will feels his face heat, automatic. The guy is objectively handsome, after all.
“I aim to please,” Paolo smiles, his voice catching low. Will feels himself go redder still. He’s pretty sure he hears a soft snort next to him.
“I bet he fucking aims to please,” Nico mutters, giving Paolo a dirty look as the waiter returns to the kitchen.
Will laughs. “He’s just trying to get a good tip.”
“He was flirting with you.”
Will can’t quite tell how Nico means this, but his top two guesses are mildly scandalized or honestly jealous. Maybe a bit of both.
“What are you trying to say? You don’t think I’m hot enough to be flirted with?” Will fixes Nico with a hurt look.
Nico goes rattled and pink. “No – it’s not that – I didn’t mean – of course you’re –” Finally he cuts himself off with a sharp shake of his head, turning his attention to his coffee with a grimace.
“Good point.” Will kicks him under the table.
::
An hour later, they cross the hotel parking lot to the fleet car. Will loads the trunk as Nico shuffles through the glove box. Nico’s still getting organized when Will drops into the passenger seat.
“Do you have the receipt from the restaurant?” Nico asks. They’re doing their best to stay in Reyna’s good books lately, and Reyna seems to be going out of her way to aid them in this endeavor, stopping by the office to check on them more often and calling to remind them of deadlines. Nico, unexpectedly, hasn’t objected to this overreach, and he’s been making a solid attempt to keep track of receipts and submit their expense claims on time.
“Yeah, hold on –” Will digs in the pocket of his jeans, then passes the crumpled receipt to Nico.
Nico unfolds it, preparing to stuff it into the envelope with the others. He pauses. “Actually, maybe you want to keep this one.” He passes the receipt back to Will. Will blinks at him, perplexed.
“Why would I –”
Nico quirks an eyebrow, nodding to the receipt.
And yes, now that Will looks more closely, it seems there’s a phone number written on the back of the receipt.
“Oh. Wow,” Will laughs. “No, I definitely won’t be needing that.” He holds out the receipt to Nico, who doesn’t accept it.
“You sure?”
“Very sure.” When Nico still doesn’t take the slip of paper, looking unconvinced, Will rolls his eyes, grabs the envelope from Nico’s hands and shoves the receipt in himself.
“He would’ve been a step up from Luke,” Nico mutters, leaning over Will to shove the envelope into the glove box.
Will blinks, feeling tears spring to his eyes. Though even in the moment, it feels like an overreaction.
Nico draws back slowly. “Shit. I’m – I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” Will shakes his head. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. But everything about the Tooms case still feels so contentious, so raw. Will’s guilt for having any part in getting the two of them involved in the first place. The instant animosity between Luke and Nico, leading at least in part to the rift between Will and Nico and whatever way each of them might feel that it almost led to Will being murdered. No matter that no such cause-and-effect is ever that simple.
Every time any hint of the case comes up, Will despairs that they’ll ever get past it. Now, three months on, he can push it to the back of his mind most of the time, but the ache of it hasn’t eased. Each time it rises to the surface, it sits awkwardly between them, ugly and unwieldy.
Will thinks maybe that what makes it such a sore spot is the fact that Nico is so very rarely unkind, especially to Will. Will almost imagined him incapable of it, right up until their argument in April. It’s silly and childish, but it felt like such a betrayal, to have Nico speak to him that way. To see disgust, even irritation in his eyes. And though there’s so rarely been so much as a hint of it since then, any time there is, Will feels as if he might burst into tears, an eight-year-old being told off by his best friend. He doesn’t even believe Nico meant to be unkind – or, to whatever extent he did in the moment, Will thinks he understands what prompted it.
But it hurt then, and it hurts now.
“It was – I meant it to be a joke. It – it wasn’t a good one,” Nico says. The tension in the car has increased about a hundredfold in the last ten seconds, and Will hates it. He turns his face towards the passenger window, stupidly hurt, completely overreacting.
How will he possibly be able to explain falling apart over such an innocuous remark? Why does he have to be such a child? He grits his teeth, takes a deep breath. He turns to look at Nico, quick, trying his best for a reassuring smile.
Nico looks stricken, which doesn’t help.
“It’s really okay, Nico. Don’t worry about it.” Will’s voice comes out hoarse and he sees Nico’s brow crease in concern as Will reaches for the bag at his feet, a distraction.
“Do you wanna take the city route back to the 475?” Will asks, determinedly shoving everything to the back of his mind. He pulls out the map. “I can navigate if you want.”
There’s a pause. “Yeah,” Nico says, soft. “Could you?”
“Of course.”
Will pulls out his sunglasses, though it’s hazy and overcast. A little extra protection from Nico’s gaze, a little help to hide his stupid watery eyes. Every time it feels like things might be getting back to normal between them, Will has to go and fuck it up by being weird and emotional. He’s just so goddamn fragile these days.
They drive in silence for a while, nothing but the occasional turn right up here and <>take the next exit. Finally, they’re on the freeway, heading back north, and Will shoves the map into his bag, sitting back with a sigh.
“Hey, could you put some music on?” Nico asks. He still sounds a bit more conciliatory than usual, still not quite Nico. Will tries to ignore it.
“Yeah. Sure. Should we try one of the CDs Frank lent you?”
“What, all that Canadian stuff? Yeah, Frank’s got pretty decent taste. Let’s see what we’ve got.”
The Canadian stuff is pretty good, as it turns out, and they pass the next hour in mostly comfortable quiet. Things feel almost normal, like they do sometimes these days.
God, Will is just so tired. He wonders if it was almost better when he was just dull, flat. Rather than lately, ping-ponging back and forth between being flirty and then suddenly tearful.
A few times, in darker moments, Will’s asked himself if he’s really cut out for this work. He loves his job, almost all the time. But can he keep doing this work with Nico? How long will Nico even want to tolerate him if every difficult case results in Will barely functioning for months at a time? He’d barely managed to pull himself together after nearly losing Nico in St. Ambrose, and then Tooms had happened. What comes next? How many more of these cases can they work together before Nico decides Will’s not worth the effort?
Will swallows against the lump in his throat. “Hey – I’m gonna nap,” he says. Even to his own ears, he sounds exhausted, near-tears.
Nico’s gaze flicks over, quick, as if Will’s said something far more monumental.
“Yeah. Of course.”
Will tilts the seat back, tries to relax. At least it’s still one of his favorite ways to nap, with the knowledge that Nico’s right beside him, solid and safe. He stares at the clouds above the windshield, letting his gaze go unfocused.
Beside him, for a second he’s sure Nico is going to speak – he opens his mouth, takes a breath, then sighs. Nico’s hand lifts from the gearshift, twitching in Will’s direction for a moment before it drops again.
August 1999
The fry container is really fucking hot, and Nico adjusts his grip several times on the way back to the car, the probably-now-flattened burgers in a bag under his arm and two sodas in a tray balanced in a precarious grip in his other hand. Will jumps up when he sees Nico approaching, peeling himself off the hood of the car and rushing to help.
He’s not much help in the end, nearly dropping the fries when he, too, registers the scalding temperature. Will awkwardly catches the container between his chest and Nico’s, grabbing onto Nico’s bicep to steady both of them, pressing them together in an awkward dance and finally managing to extricate the burger bag, giggling all the while.
They finally settle in a sparse bit of shade at the rest stop, Will leaning back against the rough bark of a tree and Nico cross-legged facing him on the parched grass.
“Holy fuck, these are good fries,” Will moans, stuffing several into his mouth. Nico watches, amused. Will catches his eye and smiles. He swallows a little laboriously and then winks, inserting first his thumb and then his index finger between pink lips, sucking off salt and grease, never taking his eyes off Nico.
Nico maintains a pretty good cover, he thinks, rolling his eyes and looking away cooly as heat sparks across his skin.
It’s felt like they’ve been balanced on a razor’s edge this entire case, something electric buzzing between them ever since they left DC. It’s the heat, maybe. It’s been near 100 degrees every day, and the stupid AC in their stupid little fleet car is on its last legs.
Or it could just be them. Will. Will, who’s finally, blessedly, showing signs of being Will again.
He’s been different since the Tooms case. Tired and distracted. Nico has to work harder to get him to laugh. It makes his heart ache and his stomach churn with guilt.
Nico’s had to work harder to keep his own spirits up in the aftermath too, but he wonders if he’s simply more used to the pattern of recovery after a tough case, the knowledge that if he just keeps pushing through, things will eventually get easier. The thing is, he’s never been through it with someone before. He can deal with his own moods. But it’s been unexpectedly uphill-both-ways dealing with Will’s, more soul-crushing than Nico would have expected, waiting on that bright smile, that loud laughter – and then receiving only a shadow of it, a shadow of regret on Will’s face as he turns away again.
Nico had been numb in the first days after the case. He remembers thinking, at the time, that Will was somehow bouncing right back, even more resilient than Nico thought he was.
It hadn’t lasted, though. As April faded into May, Will had faded, too. May had been really hard; Nico just barely holding it together, Will sleep-walking through most of the month, shadows under his eyes, no spark there when Nico mustered the energy to try and tease him. Will had been away sick for a couple of days near the end of the month, and Nico had actually felt himself relax, alone in the office. And then immediately felt wracked with guilt.
Since then it’s been a bit better. Up and down. Will’s sometimes bright and flirty, sometimes dragging. At the beginning of June, Hazel had invited them over for Frank’s birthday. Nico had spent the evening thinking that now, maybe, things were getting back to normal. Will had been chatty, laughing. Friendly with Hazel, Frank and Leo, fond and teasing with Nico. But Hazel had pulled Nico aside near the end of the evening and asked, worried, “is Will okay?” and Nico had begun second-guessing everything.
Hazel couldn’t have known that her words would leave Nico so shaken. He’d cried in his car that evening after dropping Will off at home, tears blurring his vision and splashing onto the front of his shirt as he made his way back through the quiet streets to the freeway. Had he ruined everything permanently? How did he break everything between them so thoroughly, so efficiently, in just 24 hours? When things had been so good for all those months before?
Nico had found himself in tears again a week later, had returned to the office after Will left at lunch for a dentist appointment to find a sandwich in the middle of his desk, a post-it stuck on the wrapper featuring a drawing of two stick figures, one with wild curls, the other wearing a t-shirt reading Ramones. Their stick arms were overlapped, a quick scrawl of a heart at the bottom of the slip of paper. Nico had tucked the note into his pocket and carefully stuck it to the cupboard in his kitchen when he got home.
Nico thought back to that evening at the hospital more than once. The relief when Will woke. Guilt, in retrospect, that despite how badly Nico had fucked up, Will had comforted him. That despite having told Will just weeks earlier that he’d make sure nothing happened to him, Nico had done the exact opposite.
And then Will… they’d almost kissed. They’d been close enough for Nico to feel Will’s breath on his face, to count each freckle on Will’s nose, and Will had moved closer…
Nico’s brain doesn’t want to make sense of it now. Why would Will want to kiss him, especially then, when Nico had betrayed his trust and nearly caused his death? It doesn’t make any sense.
So. Things have been rough. The last few days, though – it feels as if Nico’s gotten his Will back. It’s given him a burst of energy and motivation that’s welcome and warming. Will had returned from a beach trip with his friend Cecil with a fading sunburn, a whole new crop of freckles and a spark in his eye that Nico had been sorely missing.
He’d listened to Will enumerate his beach adventures, an uncomfortable knot of jealousy growing a little more difficult to ignore every time Will mentioned Cecil, until Will finally mentioned Cecil’s wife and their twin boys, and Nico was pretty sure he could hear the sound of his own jaw unclenching.
And maybe things still aren’t perfect, but in the last few days, Nico has this undeniable feeling that they’re on the right track. Octavian has been sending them on some absolutely stupid cases since April – certain, Nico thinks, that they’ll fail, fuck up even worse than they did with Tooms.
Instead, though, they’ve been solving every single one. Because despite the fact that they’re both dragging, they’re both hurting – it turns out that they’re still a really fucking good team. This, if anything, has kept Nico going in the last few months. When they’re working a case, he and Will are seamless, finishing each other's sentences, acting on each other’s thoughts before the thoughts are even voiced. Even when Will looks as if he hasn’t slept in a week. Even when Nico realizes, later, that he hasn’t eaten anything in almost 24 hours. And Nico’s really fucking proud of that. It makes him feel like a fucking superhero.
This week’s case has been easy enough – mysterious attic noises that turned out to be a nest of squirrels, and a completely unrelated murder they’d solved easily and then passed off to the local PD. It had been a good morale boost. And if that wasn’t enough to raise Nico’s spirits, he’s still riding the high of watching Will, eyes blazing, tear a strip off the coroner who dared to call him Doogie Howser.
Nico almost wishes the case could have lasted longer. He’s half-afraid of watching Will’s light dim the closer they get back to DC. Regardless, he’s certainly in no rush to return to the hot box of the under-air-conditioned car.
Now, finishing off the last few bites of his burger, Will leans back, closing his eyes and turning his face up to the sunset glow filtering through the leaves above their heads. The sky is streaked with pink and blue and orange, a bright outline of dying light around fluffy clouds at the horizon.
It doesn’t feel as if the temperature has dropped at all, though, and Nico scrubs a hand over his face, shoving sweaty hair off his forehead. Will had dug in his overnight bag for swim trunks and a t-shirt, and he’s looking breezy and sun-kissed, as per usual, a tan starting where his sunburn is starting to fade. Nico, on the other hand, hadn’t managed to do better than an old band t-shirt (black) and jeans (also black). He’s feeling sticky and sweaty and disgusting, and it’s a total mystery as to how Will’s gaze goes soft and fond when he glances over.
Nico raises an eyebrow and Will looks away, pink with blush and sunburn.
The mosquitoes are just beginning their nightly search for blood, and Nico slaps a third one in as many minutes, grimacing.
“Guess we should get back on the road.” Will doesn’t sound any happier about it than Nico is.
“Guess so.”
Nico sometimes feels as if he’s got a whole new mystery to solve, just looking for any hint that things might be returning to normal between them. His gaze flicks over to Will as Will buckles in, then again once they pull out onto the highway. A third time maybe half a mile later when Will shifts in his seat. Nico can’t help it. For the last few days, he feels as if he can’t believe, all over again, that Will’s here. And that he could really be Will again.
Will finally laughs, shoving damp hair off his forehead. “Why do you keep looking at me funny? Do I have something on my face?”
Will’s eyes are sparkling with humor, a sheen of sweat over the bridge of his nose. He’s summery and solid and real. The last rays of the sunset catch on blond curls and the side of Will’s face, painting him in gold and shadow. If Nico didn’t have to keep his eyes on the road, he’d like to look longer – the breadth of Will’s shoulders under the stretch of his faded t-shirt. His stubbled jaw, his nose freckled and peeling. An untidy jumble of long legs in the too-small space in front of the passenger seat. He looks healthy. Happy. A blessed lightness to him that’s been absent for far too many weeks.
“I wasn’t looking at you funny,” Nico says. “I was just… looking.”
Nico fully expects to be teased for this response, but instead Will’s gaze lingers on him just a moment longer before he turns back to the windshield, a smile still tugging at his lips.
Nico swallows, casting around for a change of subject.
“Hey –” he says, mostly to distract himself, “what were you singing in the shower this morning? It sounded like Latin.”
It had been months since Nico had heard Will singing in the shower. He was sure he was imagining it for a second. Then, when it became clear that he wasn’t, he spent far too long standing outside the bathroom door, drinking it in, letting the sound sink right into his bones.
“Oh,” Will laughs, “sorry about that. It was one of Kayla’s choir songs. I was helping her practice the other day.”
“It was nice,” Nico says. There was something sure and soothing about the melody. Melancholy, but hopeful. “I – wait, Kayla sings in a choir? That’s cool.”
“I’m not sure if it’s cool, but yeah. She sings in the Congressional Chorus.” Will shifts, pulling his shirt away from himself and flapping it a bit, an attempt to get some air flowing. “She was the lead singer for a punk band, back in Fort Worth. She missed it when we moved here, and so she ended up joining a choir.”
Nico laughs, surprised. “A punk band? That’s amazing. Kayla’s great. I liked her. When –” he cuts himself off, heart sinking. When I went to tell her you were missing. When we sat together at your bedside. Because that topic’s definitely off-limits and yes, Nico’s just about enough of an idiot to bring it up now, when things finally feel like they’re getting back to normal.
There’s silence for a moment, but then Will says, softer. “Yeah. She – she said she liked you, too. She said it was nice to finally meet you in person, even though…” Will trails off, then shrugs, turning his face to the window.
The weight presses back into Nico’s chest, the one that makes him despair that he’ll ever be able to take a full breath again. But a second later Will clears his throat. “The Latin bit means, The sun warms everything even when I’m far away. Love me faithfully and know that I am faithful..” Will’s voice is rough, but steady, and he gives Nico a half-smile when Nico looks over.
Will turns to the windshield again, raising a hand to wipe at his eyes. There’s no trace of the sun in the sky now, just a dusky glow at the horizon. The headlights flash white on the road ahead of them. “It’s sad, but also kind of reassuring,” Will says. “It’s about how people in your life might come and go, but each of them leaves a bit of them with you. Everyone you’ve ever met, everything that’s happened to you – you collect all those little pieces in your heart.”
“That’s – nice,” Nico manages around the lump in his throat. And when he glances over yet again, a few minutes later, Will just looks settled. Soft. Somehow relaxed in this shoebox of a car. So maybe Nico hasn’t completely fucked everything up after all.
Will does look hot though, literally, sweaty ringlets at his temples and a glow to his skin that’s certainly more than some kind of inner peace.
Nico leans forward, holds a hand over the vent. “I’m not convinced there’s any cool air coming through at all,” he says sadly. “Stupid compact cars.”
“Aww, it’s not Yaris’ fault,” Will says, patting the little car’s dashboard affectionately. “She’s doing her best. Any car would have trouble keeping up with this heat.”
This is patently untrue, but Will thinks the car is adorable – a completely unnecessary and stupid attribute for a car.
“Okay if we open the windows for a while?” Nico asks. It’s not a lot more comfortable than driving down the highway being cooked alive with the windows closed. But variety is the spice of life.
Half an hour later the noise of the wind is worse than the heat, and Nico closes the windows again. It’s fully dark now, but it doesn’t feel as if the temperature’s dropped in the slightest.
Will’s hair is wild and windblown, eyes watering from the dust blowing off the road. He turns the AC up max as the windows rise. Will checks the vent this time, grimacing. “You’re right. No cold air.” He gives Nico a once-over, skeptical. “You don’t have secret mechanical skills you’re not telling me about, do you?”
Nico snorts. “I wish. Do I look like a mechanic?”
There’s a pause, then, “no. You do kinda look like this skater kid I had a crush on in tenth grade.”
Nico barks out a laugh. When he glances over, Will’s smiling, his gaze on his lap. “It’s – the band tee, and the ripped jeans. The greasy hair.” Will waves a hand in Nico’s direction and shoots him a quick grin, bashful.
Nico’s heart throbs in his chest. He shoves his hair off his forehead. “I’m sweaty not greasy,” he says. He tugs at the collar of his shirt. “I was actually pretty good on a skateboard,” he says after a moment. Because okay, yes, he wants to chase that high of Will’s attention.
Will looks intrigued. “Yeah? You should show me sometime.”
“Not sure that’s a good idea. It’s been a few years. I’d probably end up breaking a hip.”
Will laughs. The sound is so easy. So much like before. It makes Nico’s throat constrict. It’s not that he hasn’t heard Will laugh in the last few months, but he’s suddenly hit with the crashing certainty that it hasn’t been that laugh.
Will leans back in his seat, closing his eyes. A moment later he shifts, pulling at the front of his shirt, trying for some airflow. “I’m so hot,” he groans.
“And so modest,” Nico shoots back, earning a grin.
Nico’s eyes flick to the sign at the side of the highway – Willesden, 20 miles.
“What did that say?” Will asks, squinting.
About a month after Tooms, Nico – idiotically, unthinkingly – had asked Will if he wanted to drive as they left on a case. Mostly, he’d been desperate to give Will some momentum, some action. Keep him busy with something other than staring catatonically into the distance for the next two hours. There’d been a loaded pause before Will had replied, “I can’t drive without my glasses. I – haven’t gotten them replaced yet.”
God. Right. The glasses. A tiny bit of proof that Will had been there, in the park, crushed under Nico’s heel. Nico had spent the next two hours in his own dissociative state.
Nico forcefully smashes that memory into a mental safe and locks it. “Willesden, it said. Why, you wanna stop for snacks?”
“No, just curious.” Will glances out the window, miles and miles of dark woodland flashing by outside the windows, no other cars in sight. Nico glances at the clock on the dash. They’d planned to drive back to DC tonight, but he’s not sure how much longer he can bear in this oven of a car. He raises a hand to wipe sweat out of his eyes.
“Hey. They have a swimming hole,” Will says suddenly.
“Huh? Who has a swimming hole?”
“Willesden. I went there once with Kayla and some of her friends. We should go!”
“You want to go swimming? Now? In the dark?”
“God, yes, don’t you?”
Does he? Cool water. And maybe not cool air, but less stuffy. And the thought of getting out of the car for a while is appealing. Not to mention that Will sounds really fucking stoked about it, and Nico always has a hard time denying the appeal of that.
“I’m literally drenched in sweat,” Will says. “Do you really wanna smell me all the way home?”
Nico blinks, caught out. Neither of them smells like a bed of roses right now, but he had kind of been appreciating the heat of Will beside him. The way the temperature in the car had been bringing out that smell that’s just Will. Sure, maybe a little sweat, but sunshine and summer, too. The berry smell of his shampoo.
Will, unfortunately, seems to be a bit too perceptive this evening. “Maybe you do want to smell me all the way back to DC,” Will says, leaning a little closer, grinning.
“Fuck off,” Nico complains. When he shoves at Will’s shoulder, Will is warm, warm, warm. Solid in a way that makes Nico want to press his face into Will’s chest and take a nice, deep inhale right against warm, freckled skin.
Okay. Maybe it really is time to get out of this hot little car.
“Fine,” Nico sighs, doing his best not to sound too enthused. “We can swim.”
Will actually claps his hands. Nico snorts.
“Okay, I’m pretty sure I remember how to get there.” Will leans forward, squinting down the dark road. “There are a few dirt roads that lead off into the woods, just about a mile before the turnoff. I think it’s the second one.”
“You think?”
Will shrugs. “We’ll find it.”
“On a dirt road. In a compact car. In the dark.”
Will grins, fluttering his eyelashes. Sadly, a compelling argument.
They do find it, in fact. Will’s directions are surprisingly good, considering his night vision is crap even with glasses. The Yaris just barely makes it a quarter mile into the woods, Nico gritting his teeth the whole time and Will chattering encouragement next to him, pointing ahead into the darkness where Nico’s 90% sure he can’t see much of anything. The second time the little car almost bottoms out in a pothole, Nico’s entirely ready to turn back, but then they reach what seems to be the end of the road, a solid wall of dark pine ahead of them.
“Are you sure this is it?” Nico asks. He’s feeling increasingly skeptical now, and increasingly concerned with how they’re going to coax the Yaris out of the woods when there’s no discernible space to turn around.
Will’s out of the car and a few steps into the trees already. Nico hurries to follow.
“Yeah – see the arrow?”
Somehow Will picks out the little sign in the dark, though he had trouble spotting Nico across the hotel lobby this morning. And anyway, the arrow could mean anything, couldn’t it? A hiking trail. A steep dropoff. Rabid grizzly bears, straight ahead. But Nico follows Will anyway, following the flash of moonlight catching his curls just before they’re completely under the cover of trees.
Will makes an oof sound a second later.
“Tree?” Nico asks.
“Maybe?” comes Will’s voice in the dark, repressive.
Nico sighs. “Stay right there. No, literally do not move,” he adds, stern, when Will looks as if he has no intention of complying. “Not a step. I’m going to go grab my flashlight. And wait – we don’t even have like – towels,” he calls over his shoulder, to no response.
With growing misgivings, Nico digs through the little hatchback’s trunk for flashlights. He unearths one, at least. Several items fall from his overnight bag onto the dirt at his feet, several more tumbling out when he crouches to retrieve them. Shoving everything back into his bag and smushing the bag back into the trunk, Nico once again curses the perils of compact cars.
What else? Towels? No. Neither of them brought a towel, because they were staying at a fucking hotel. Nico doesn’t even have swim trunks, he realizes belatedly. How is this even going to work? Maybe he can just roll up his jeans and dip his feet in. Should he bring his gun?
Forcing the trunk shut, Nico turns back to the woods, flashlight lit. He immediately stumbles. When he aims the flashlight at the ground, the beam illuminates one of Will’s hoodies, a casualty of the trunk explosion. He stuffs the hoodie under his arm and heads back into the trees.
Will does not particularly know the way, as it turns out, and after nearly losing his partner several times as Will attempts to walk in a completely opposite direction to where the path is leading, Nico grabs Will by the shoulders, forcibly swapping their positions so Will’s behind him.
“It’s up there!” Will exclaims suddenly. “Do you see?”
Nico does indeed, calm water sparkling in the moonlight. The dirt trail under their feet gives way to scrubby, mossy vegetation, water lapping at the borders. It’s a small lake, the opposite side visible, not too far. Easy swimming distance, certainly. It’s pretty. Kind of magical in the moonlight, the water framed by willows and vines. The air is still stuffy, hardly much cooler than it was in the heat of the car, but the water looks cool and fresh. Nico really should have brought swim trunks.
There’s a splash to his left. Will surfaces just a second later, hair plastered to his forehead, a huge grin on his face, addictive and contagious. “It’s cold,” he laughs before disappearing under the water again.
It’s fine for Will, Nico supposes. He’s been in swim trunks all day. Although they’ll be a bit wet on the ride home… Nico glances at the scrubby grass beside him. There’s Will’s t-shirt. And his swim trunks.
Butterflies in his stomach, a whole fucking herd of them. “Solace, are you skinny-dipping?”
Will is treading water, grinning. Nico can’t help a glance downwards, though it’s dark, of course, and Will is completely submerged. He’s grateful, for a second, for Will’s less-than-stellar vision.
“There’s no one here,” Will says.
“I’m here,” Nico protests weakly.
“You sure are.” Will gives him a once-over, obvious about it. More butterflies. “So are you getting in, or what?”
Nico grimaces. His gaze catches on the cool, moonlit water, circles gently radiating out from where Will’s head and shoulders are visible. Nico’s shirt is almost soaked through with sweat, damp under his arms and all the way up his back.
“You can swim, can’t you?” Will says, suddenly worried.
“Yeah, I can fucking swim.” Nico sighs. “Fine. I’ll get in.” He pulls his shirt off. God, that feels better already. There’s no breeze, but it’s really fucking nice to feel less damp. He carefully lays the shirt flat on the ground. Maybe it’ll dry a little while he’s in the water. He pops the button on his jeans.
A wolf whistle echoes across the water, and Nico looks up to see Will’s eyes on him, a stupid smile on his face.
“Don’t watch me,” Nico laughs. The butterflies are kind of ridiculous now. But – it’s just swimming. Right? It’s dark. And like, it’s better than risking heat stroke on the highway. Obviously.
“Fine.” Will rolls his eyes, then disappears under the water again.
Still in disbelief that he’s actually been convinced to do this, Nico sheds his jeans and underwear. And jumps in. He hopes it’s deep enough to jump – Will did, after all.
It is. Nico sinks for a second, feet bumping against the muddy bottom. He pushes back up, surfacing not far from Will. And like Will said, it’s cold. Spring-fed, maybe. The water is bracing, alerting Nico’s entire body very quickly and thoroughly, from his toes to his scalp.
“Hi,” Will beams.
Nico rolls his eyes, then takes off swimming. By the time he reaches the far end, he’s breathing hard, but at least his body’s starting to warm up. He dives back down, swimming just below the surface for as long as he can hold his breath, then surfacing, a smooth front crawl back towards the other side. The water is clear; when Nico opens his eyes underwater, he can see the moonlight filtering through, can just make out the pale silhouette of Will’s body as he swims by in the opposite direction.
For a while, they both just swim, back and forth across the little lake in the moonlight, occasionally exchanging a glance or a grin, but no conversation. It doesn’t feel necessary. And the fact that it doesn’t just feels right. It feels blessedly normal.
Nico swims quickly at first, but then his pace slows. After a while he rolls in the water to float on his back, tiny adjustments to keep himself afloat, his gaze gentle on the endless dome of the velvet sky above, a million glittering stars he can never see in the lights of the city. It’s like a cathedral, he thinks vaguely. There’s something quiet and reverent about being out here. Peaceful, like all’s right with the world, he and Will two little specks of stardust in the vast universe.
Something grabs his ass.
Nico makes a very high-pitched, very embarrassing sound, flailing to achieve some kind of verticality, looking around wildly. The first thing he sees, aside from splashes of water and the tilting of the forest as he rights himself, is his fucking partner. Will surfaces at the same moment that Nico looks in his direction, eyes wide, one hand pressed briefly over his mouth before he needs it to stay afloat again.
“I’m so, so sorry,” Will laughs. Whatever he sees in Nico’s face makes him laugh harder, and he goes under, surfacing a second later, spluttering, water streaming down his face. “I was trying to grab your ankle, to scare you –”
“That was not my ankle,” Nico says weakly, his heart still running marathons in his chest.
“Yeah.” Will’s laughing almost too hard for speech. “It felt a lot… fleshier.”
“Dickhead,” Nico laughs. “First you grab my ass and then you insult my ass?”
Will opens his mouth, maybe to reassure Nico about his ass – Nico interrupts, instead, quite sure he doesn’t want to have that conversation. “I thought it was some kind of fucking – swamp monster, and that I was about to get – eaten, or at least lose my – my –”
Will hasn’t stopped laughing. “Your family jewels? Your undercover brother?”
Nico snorts. “My Washington Monument,” he says, because he remembers Leo saying it recently.
“Really,” Will says, glancing downwards, intrigued.
Nico scoops one hand into the water and does his best to give Will a faceful of pond. Most of it misses. Will laughs, loud, and ducks under again. Nico swims away in a hurry, just in case Will’s getting any ideas about a repeat ass attack. Nico doesn’t think his heart could take it. But when he stops and turns, Will’s still where Nico left him, soaking wet, something warm in his gaze that makes Nico want to swim right back again.
He does. But he tries not to look like he’s rushing, or anything.
“I really am sorry,” Will says as Nico gets closer, still grinning, eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “I promise I wasn’t actually trying to grab your ass.”
Nico rolls his eyes. “It’s fine.”
They watch each other for a moment in the near-dark, Nico suddenly feeling much warmer than the water should allow. Will’s face is gentle. Calm like Nico doesn’t think he’s seen it in months. He can’t decide if he wants to cry or cradle that sweet face in his hands and kiss it, properly, every inch of freckled, sunburnt skin. Neither of them looks away, the expression on Will’s face mirroring his own, Nico thinks. Uncertain. Wondering.
God, it would be so easy to make this so complicated.
Nico, unsurprisingly, breaks first, the butterfly storm in his gut reaching untenable proportions. He drops backward into the water, sculling his hands. “There was one spot where it was shallower,” he says, glancing behind him. “I wouldn’t mind not having to keep myself afloat for a while.” He doesn’t quite want to tear himself away from this little sanctuary yet, but he’s getting a little tired of swimming.
“Yeah, I think it’s near that far shore,” Will says, and they both make their way through the water. “There’s a ledge of rock where it’s actually shallow enough to sit. Just watch out, there are some –”
“Ow, fuck,” Nico groans, catching his ankle against a rock ridge. The flash of pain is sharp enough that he’s pretty sure it drew blood.
Will grimaces. “–some sharp bits, yeah. Are you okay?” He paddles closer, then rights himself. Nico swims a bit further before he’s able to set his feet on the mucky bottom.
“Yeah, it’s fine.” Nico reaches down, carefully brushing fingers over his ankle. “I think I just grazed it.”
“Is it bleeding? Do you want me to take a look?”
“Well, not now,” Nico says, flicking a glance towards the opposite shore where all his clothes are. “I’m not getting out over here and I’m not about to try to lift my ankle over my head. Unless you want me to have a whole new injury.”
Will laughs. “Yeah, okay. Remind me later.”
Will continues a bit further towards the shore, more cautious now. “Over here – careful.” Close to the shore, just under the overhang of willows. Nico can tell Will’s crouching at the water gets shallower. Finally, he sits, the water level just below his armpits.
That’s just as well, right? Nico doesn’t really want to risk seeing… anything. He’s having enough trouble keeping his eyes away from broad freckled shoulders, the lines of Will’s pecs and collarbones, all wet and glistening in reflected moonlight. Who could blame him, really. There’s just so much of Will. So very many miles of sun-kissed skin that are normally swathed in layers of fabric.
Nico carefully picks his way to a spot a couple feet away, the water level settling a bit higher for him, almost to his shoulders.
Will shoots him a quick smile, something shy, before turning his gaze back to the expanse of calm water before them. The moon’s dipping lower now, but its reflection still stretches out across the water, a path of cool light in the darkness. It catches on the treetops, the acres of forest stretching out all around them.
“It’s really pretty,” Nico says, soft. It’s not just pretty – this private little oasis feels almost healing, in some way. Cathartic. But that sounds stupid. So he sticks to the basics.
“Yeah.”
There’s a long stretch of quiet, then. Not awkward, though. Just peaceful, in quiet company with their thoughts.
Nico thinks, for probably the dozenth time this month – maybe this is the time. Maybe now they could actually talk about everything that happened in April. Maybe he could tell Will how fucking scared he was. How in those hours, walking the streets, fully expecting to find Will’s body, Nico thought over and over how he would give absolutely anything to find Will alive. How he’d still give anything to keep Will here with him. How he’s spent these last few months aching for Will, knowing how very not okay he is, wishing desperately he knew the right thing to do or say to make it better.
Will hasn’t said more than a few words about any of it. Will, who’s supposed to be good at talking. At feelings. Will, who opened up about his childhood, his relationship with his father, just a few days after his father’s death. It had seemed easy as breathing, for him. Will, who’d gotten Nico to open up about his own father, without even trying.
Nico’s not sure when he finally accepted that what he feels for Will is more than just a crush, but he thinks it might have been somewhere around the 12-hour mark in the search, back in April. There wasn’t time to think about it then, of course. And at the time, it only made the guilt worse. Now, though, maybe…
Nico takes a breath in, heart pounding, still not sure exactly how brave he’ll be when he speaks.
“Can you still prescribe antibiotics?” is what comes out, when Nico opens his mouth.
Will turns, grinning. “That’s what you were thinking of, gazing out over all this breathtaking beauty?” He extends his arms over the moonlit water.
“Well, my ankle still hurts,” Nico says, defensive. “And these rocks are kind of slimy. I’m just wondering exactly what we’re sitting in.”
Will snorts. “Yeah, I can prescribe antibiotics. Or you might want to go see a real doctor.”
Nico scoffs. “You’re real enough.”
“Do you wanna get out now, if you’re worried that we’re soaking in a vat of bacteria?”
“Nah,” Nico says, doing his best to sound like he doesn’t actually have strong feelings on the subject. “It’s probably good for my immune system.”
Will flicks water at him, just a little splash with his index finger. Nico huffs, leaning away.
“Do you ever think about going back to that? To medicine?” Nico asks. He’s almost positive Will doesn’t. But it’s the easiest and most cowardly way he can think of to ask, “are you going to leave me, now that you know how hard this job can be? Now that you know how hard I can be?”
“No,” Will says immediately. “Medicine wasn’t for me. I don’t ever regret leaving.” Will floats his hand on the water’s surface, slowly skimming back and forth, thoughtful. Nico can see it in the slight furrow in his brow, the slightest tilt of his head in Nico’s direction. His gut twists, bracing for whatever’s coming. But I’m thinking about leaving this job. But I don’t think I can keep doing this.
I just don’t trust you anymore.
“How about you?” Will asks, finally. His hand is floating on the water’s surface, palm up. Is it an invitation? Everything inside Nico is urging him to reach over, while all of his actual physical being remains resolutely where it is.
“Me?”
“Yeah. Do you ever – I don’t know. The paranormal beat can be hard, right?”
Nico feels his heart sink, and maybe Will can see it, because he immediately rushes on with, “I just mean – it must feel like you’re fighting an uphill battle sometimes, right? Octavian’s not a fan of the department. And –” there’s a hesitation that feels particularly weighty, “ –you’ve said – in the past. About not being taken seriously. By – other departments.” Will says all this extremely haltingly, and Nico thinks he’s probably not mistaken in the assumption that Will started his thought without realizing how close he was coming to talking about That Which They Do Not Mention.
“I – no,” Nico manages, trying to gather his thoughts. “I don’t – it’s like you said, a while back,” Nico’s voice goes a bit softer. He floats his own hand on the water, palm up, mirroring Will’s. “I don’t think there’s any other job I’d want to do. At the Bureau. I know that it’s not always… perfect,” he decides, “but it’s mine. It’s a job, right? No one loves their job every second of every day. But I can’t imagine doing anything else. I don’t want to.”
“I admire you. For that,” Will says, soft.
Nico laughs. “For being stubborn? Stuck in a rut of my own making?”
A flash of white teeth in the moonlight. “Yeah.” Will floats his hand a little closer, brushes the tips of his fingers against Nico’s. The sensation flashes across Nico’s body, down his neck and his chest. It tingles in his cheeks.
“It’s reassuring,” Will says slowly. “To know that you’re so sure about what you’re doing. It always makes me feel more sure, too. I like that I can count on that.”
It would probably be really weird to hug Will right now, wouldn’t it? When they’re both completely naked, marinating in this pond of bacteria. Nico settles for brushing his fingertips back against Will’s, feeling it in his stomach this time. In his heart.
“Back when I was working at Violent Crimes – I loved it, at first,” Nico says. He hesitates, gazing out over the water for a long moment. There’s barely a ripple now. They’ve both been holding nearly still in their little corner, and there’s no breeze, nothing. Nico can smell the rich pine scent in the August-warm air, earth and life all around. Will’s gaze is waiting for him when he turns back, head tilted, patient.
“I felt like I was doing exactly what I was meant to,” Nico continues, his voice a little rougher. “Like all my experience, all my education culminated into something I was really fucking good at. And it was really good for a while. But it started to wear on me so quickly. Like, six months in, suddenly I didn’t want to go to work in the morning.”
Will nods, slow. “Yeah, I get that.”
Nico takes a deep breath. “It was all these big operations, always high-stress. And, you know – it was serial killers. Really grisly murders, all the time. Constantly trying to get inside the heads of these really bad guys. The worst of the worst. And the pace was just – I couldn’t do it. We’d finish up one case, and I’d feel really accomplished for a second… but then we just dived right into another one. Another really bad guy. Someone even worse. And I’d have to figure out what he was thinking. And I – I think I was getting depressed. It was like I was sleepwalking through everything, all the time. Not just at work, but the rest of my life too. I felt like a failure. This was what I thought I’d always wanted to do and then –” Nico shrugs. “I just couldn’t.”
“That’s – I mean I know it was a different situation,” Will says, “but that’s pretty much exactly the way I felt when I dropped out of medicine.”
Nico nods. He knows this. Maybe it’s what endeared him to Will so quickly, all those months ago. It felt so fucking familiar, like looking into a mirror of his own life. Like, maybe both of them needed to crash and burn to end up here, together.
“You’ve never talked about that before,” Will says. Maybe some surprise in his voice, some hurt? For a second it seems like he’s going to say more, but then he just shakes his head.
“I – it’s not that I didn’t want to,” Nico says after a long stretch of quiet. It’s an apology, of sorts. The best he can manage. But Will seems to understand, because when his voice comes through the darkness again, it’s teasing.
“What else aren’t you telling me?”
Nico shrugs, cool. “Stick around and you might find out,” he says, while his heart, stupidly, is screaming, please don’t leave me.
When Nico glances over, Will’s gaze is warm, sure. “I don’t have any other plans.”
Nico’s throat goes tight. “Good,” is all he’s got for a response.
“Good,” Will echoes.
“Hey,” Nico says before he can completely chicken out. He doesn’t think he can say what he actually wants to say. But he can say something.
When Nico shoots a glance over at Will – god, he’s beautiful. The shine in his eyes. The way the moonlight catches on his hair – in complete and glorious disarray, curls everywhere, half already dry and frizzing, others still in perfect damp ringlets that Nico wants to twist his fingers into.
Nico swallows, turning back to the water stretching out before them. It’s always easier to talk properly when he doesn’t have to look at Will head-on. When he doesn’t have the distraction of those blue eyes gazing into his soul, those soft lips he’s becoming far too fixated on brushing with his fingertips. “Can – can I ask you a favor?”
“Of course.”
“I know these last few months have been – hard,” Nico says. The words hang heavy in the dark space between them, as Nico finally dares to put some voice to this thing that they’ve both been so determinedly avoiding.
“But – I just wanted to say – please don’t shut me out. If you can. If – I don’t know. If things are hard. Or if you’re not – feeling like yourself,” Nico manages, halting. He’s not sure that he’s even making any sense. But he can’t bear to say it any more explicitly. He still feels ready to shatter into a million pieces when he thinks too hard on it. “Maybe I deserve to be shut out. I probably do. But I want you to know that you don’t – you don’t have to pretend you’re okay if you’re not. Not with me.”
There’s a long silence. Nico feels frozen in place, terrified to look over at Will.
“You don’t deserve to be shut out,” Will says, finally.
“No, don’t –” Nico shakes his head. God, how do people even do this? “I’m not trying to – make this about me. I’m sorry if that’s how it came across.”
“It didn’t. I think I know what you mean.”
Nico honestly doesn’t know what else to say, or how to say it. This day, this whole trip has been almost perfect. And now, maybe, he’s gone and gouged a dark mark over all of it. But there’s a niggling feeling, growing stronger, that maybe there can’t be any properly perfect days before he at least makes an attempt to repair the imperfect ones.
“I’ll try,” Will says. “Not to shut you out. I didn’t – I don’t want to.”
Nico nods, throat tight. “Okay.” And then, because it’s twisting in his chest and he’s terrified he still hasn’t properly said what he means – “I missed you,” Nico manages, his voice rough.
There’s a pause, but then – “I missed you, too.” Will’s voice is wobbly. Carefully, he reaches over, a gentle grip on Nico’s arm, just below his shoulder. Nico feels all the broken parts of him not heal exactly, but definitely start moving in a different direction. A better one.
Nico dares to look over. Will’s hand is warm, his eyes shining with tears and moonlight.
“We’re gonna be okay,” Nico croaks. He needs to believe it.
Will nods. “Of course we will.”
They don’t leave the little lake, not yet. They stay a while longer, in mostly quiet companionship, watching the slow progress of the moon across the heavens.
“Is that Orion?” Will asks, pointing.
Nico squints at the stars scattered over the dark sky above. “No fucking clue.”
Will giggles.
Nico looks over, appraising. “You’re starting to drawl. We better get you to bed,” he says unthinkingly.
Will’s brow furrows. “I’m – what?”
Nico feels his face warming. Lucky for him, he’s fairly certain Will can barely even recognize him right now, in the dark. “You – your Southern accent starts coming out. When you’re tired,” Nico says, awkward, painfully aware that he’s never, ever mentioned it in almost a year of noticing it. “It’s a harbinger.”
“It’s a harbinger?”
“Yeah,” Nico says. “It means you’re gonna fall asleep within the hour, so when I hear those – those i’s turning into ah’s, I know I need to get you coffee or get you to bed.”
Will presses a hand over his mouth. “I don’t do that,” he mumbles, affronted, “and you – you’ve never mentioned that before.”
Nico begins to swim backward, still watching Will, amused. “No I haven’t, and yes, you definitely do.” He laughs at the look on Will’s face and turns, diving under the surface. Nico reaches the far shore first, turning back to look at Will, who still looks mildly offended.
“You just said you didn’t want to do profiling anymore,” Will protests.
Nico rolls his eyes. “That’s not profiling, that’s just observation. Now, turn around so I can get out.”
Will huffs, but turns. Nico chances a glance over his shoulder as he hauls himself nakedly out of the water.
“You know, I really can’t see anything anyway,” Will calls, still turned away. “You’d just be like, a fleshy blur to me.”
Nico shakes his head. “I’m gonna have to ask you to stop calling me fleshy.”
Will laughs, sharp.
“I grabbed one of your hoodies. Okay if I use it to towel off?”
“Yeah, good idea.”
Several minutes later they’re both out, mostly dry and mostly dressed. Will kneels to tie his runners. They return to the cover of the woods side by side, Will almost immediately walking into a tree.
“Jesus, Solace. Here, hold my arm.”
Will does, a tight grasp of Nico’s sleeve as they reposition themselves to walk single-file. Nico slows his pace a little to avoid giving his partner a concussion.
“I really need to get my glasses replaced,” Will mutters. His grip on Nico tightens as he stumbles over a root.
“Eh. Don’t worry about it,” Nico says. “I’ll be your seeing eye… guy.”
Will giggles. He stumbles again, knocking right into Nico, warm and solid. Nico steadies them both. Luckily, they’re back at the car.
Will gets settled in the passenger seat as Nico rounds the little vehicle, quickly determining they’d mostly likely get hopelessly stuck if they tried turning around. Jaw set, he manages to reverse all the way out of the woods. Will is very impressed, which helps a little. Nico eases the car back onto the highway, pushing it back up to speed. He thinks it’s possible the temperature has dropped a couple of degrees. But probably not.
Will yawns, then immediately looks over at Nico, guilty. “I’m not falling asleep,” he lies.
Nico rolls his eyes. “Ah’m not fallin’ asleep.” he teases.
“Fuck you.”
“D’you think Willesden has a hotel?” Will asks. He sounds, Nico thinks, as if he’s trying very hard not to drawl now. And failing. Nico, magnanimously, does not mention this.
“You don’t want to drive all the way back to DC tonight?” Honestly, Nico could really go for a soft-ish bed and some AC right now.
“There’s no rush. Right?” Will turns.
And of course Will simply means there’s no rush to get back home. Nico knows this. But it feels like so much more.
“Right,” Nico agrees, throat tight. “There’s no rush.”
Notes:
1. Halfway through writing this fic, I realized I wanted to write a chapter based on the title, which is from Nightswimming by R.E.M. This is it :) You should listen to it if you haven't. If you want, you can also listen to me attempting the piano accompaniment.
2. The "Canadian music" Frank lent Nico is an excuse for all the 1990s Canadiana on my fic playlist. Which I will probably remember to share at some point.
3. Most of you are probably too young to have watched Doogie Howser, but it was a sitcom that ran from 1989 to 1993 featuring Neil Patrick Harris as a genius teenage surgeon :)
4. Thank you, always, to @rosyredlipstick the beta & ongoing moral support <3
5. Thanks to all of you for reading and commenting and waiting! I just realized the other day that I hadn't updated since November 1. The next couple of chapters are mostly done & shouldn't take as long to get out.
6. Almost forgot! The song Will sings in the shower is called Omnia Sol.
7. Oh! And the Placebo mention is for @anything-thats-rock-and-roll :)
