NICO

Deputy United States Marshal N. Garcia

[nicogarcias]

norarbecker‌.

Nora idly deduces that Nico either sees a therapist himself or has been explicitly instructed on how to best counsel his charges into assimilating as seamlessly into their new society as possible. She can almost respect it - she’s thought before that he’s good at what he does, and she means it. Advice is delivered as a suggestion rather than a directive from their (respective) figure of authority, like a friend. She sets her fork down onto her nearly-empty plate. “So, what - find a hobby? No offense, but I’m not the scrapbooking or knitting type. The only thing to do down here is check into a retirement home, go to Disney world, or golf.” Her tone contains the lilt of a joke as she rests her elbows on the table, propping her chin atop clasped hands. It feels easier to joke about the unknown than to examine just how empty she feels under a microscope like he’s suggesting. And it’s glaringly obvious he is just as insecure about his baggage being magnified beneath a lens. The corners of her mouth pull into a frown, inherently skeptical. In Nora’s mind, the so-called shit that happened and people who died would have happened and died regardless if he was involved. “Was being undercover something you enjoyed?” she prompts after a pause. The line. What, she presumes, separates Nico from the dangerous criminals he assisted. The self-proclaimed tortured man across the table from her hardly seemed like someone who would enjoy killing or looting. 

Nico breathes out a laugh, gentle on the tail-end of an exhale, a smile toying at the edge of his lips. “Not quite-- I meant more along the lines of figuring out what sort of career you want to pursue. Whether you intend to return to journalism or want to try your hand at something else.” Something told him that those living under this roof were falling into the understandably difficult-to-avoid trap of getting swallowed up by the past rather than considering the new opportunities that lie ahead. “Or-- consider joining a club or a charity, maybe? You said life here was stagnant, maybe that would help.” Nico drains the remainder of his water, picking up the glass as he stands and collects Nora’s plate. Running the tap with the intention to wash them up, he takes his time thinking over his answer to her question which hangs in the air between them. Warm water runs across the back of his hand, sponge clasped between his fingers. “Yes and no.” It’s a non-committal response, he knows, having to prize any further information from his own jaws. “I enjoyed the idea that I was working towards something; that I was helping in a way that my colleagues couldn’t.” Emerald-coloured liquid is added to the small pool forming in the sink, cutting off the tap and focusing on cleaning. Gaze fixed firmly on iridescent bubbles, he adds, “I did what I had to.” That’s what his supervisor tells him. What his counsellor tells him. What he tries to tell himself. “The rest of it was necessary but-- some would find what I did unforgivable, regardless of the arrests and charges made as a result of it.”

[nicogarcias]

summertownsend‌.

The words swirl around in her head, mocking her: pot, kettle, black. She’s being hypocritical. She expects him to bare his past and air out his skeletons her, and calls him out for not doing so when she’s guilty of almost exactly the same thing. It doesn’t occur to her that her hurt is not dissimilar to his own. It doesn’t occur to her that there’s a battle that he’s still fighting beneath his cool exterior. “I didn’t realize…” Summer says, in way of an apology, settling him with a remorseful glance. “…I guess we aren’t so different.” And perhaps..just perhaps, that’s what Nico had been trying to show her this entire time. That their circumstances when stripped of the details, could mirror in some ways. That what worked for him and is helping him to cope could help her too. “You…were trying to help me, and all I did was snap and bite at you. That was wrong.” She isn’t afraid to admit she was wrong. He reaches over, the hand that was once at her cheek grasped between his own. Letting out breath of a disbelieving laugh, Summer shakes her head as she looks at her hand, his fingers curling around and covering her own. “You make it so hard not to like you,” she admits, the beginnings of a smile forming, “I’ve been stubborn and…difficult and you’re good to me anyways.” Thinking quietly for a moment, Summer’s gaze moves to study him before deciding, “I think maybe counseling might not be a terrible idea, for me.”  

“You weren’t to know,” Nico responds swiftly, wanting to extinguish the ember of regret that he can already see flickering across Summer’s face. He can hear it being fanned by the stop-start lengthy pauses between her words too, threaded together like a child’s home-crafted necklace made from different pasta shapes. One long penne tube. A few macaronies. Some shell-like ones he can’t remember the name of. “Yeah.” The syllable drifts momentarily, so used to keeping to himself and not talking of anything that might give away who he is, who he really is, that it takes effort to force it out. “Being here, keeping a low profile-- I’m protecting myself just as much as I’m protecting you.” One corner of his mouth twitches upwards, her acknowledgement of his help appreciated. “You were scared, Summer. It isn’t your fault. I should have given you more time to relax before pressing you to talk about it.” His thumb gingerly traces the back of her knuckles as if trying to smooth his own apology carefully into the spaces between. It makes sense to him to help her -- to prove to himself that he can do just as much good with this assignment. That even helping a small handful of people recover from their pasts was worthwhile. “I can’t imagine being anything less than good to you-- it’s what you deserve.” Dark eyes meet her own, grateful for her trust. “We can get something booked. And if you end up hating it, that’s fine. You just have to give it a chance.”

[nicogarcias]

summertownsend‌.

I understand more than you think I do. “No, you don’t,” Summer shakes her head, quietly insistent. “You’re so,” she looks over her shoulder at him, gesturing with a hand, “Together. And collected.” He wasn’t falling apart, he wasn’t damaged goods, and he most certainly wasn’t putting colorful plasters over the sores like she was, trying everything in her power to distract and divert attention from her pain. Even the way he answered her was effortlessly calm and cool, his tone ever even, never once betraying a single emotion. Turning back to face the window, Summer sniffles and swipes at her nose muttering a low, “I don’t know.” Because she doesn’t know why Nico would need to see a counselor, but she does happen to know, “But I doubt you’ll tell me. You’re private.” All she has of him is a handful of puzzle pieces and no picture to tell what he should look like once she puts them together, not to mention…she doesn’t have all the parts. She hates this part. She hates that once again they’ve drifted into a tension that made the air feel thick and uncomfortable. This was all her fault, it always was. Lips part, an apology ready on the tip of her tongue but Nico’s pulling the car over on the side of the road prompting her instead to ask, “Why are you stopping?” I don’t want you to do that to yourself. Summer’s gaze drops to her lap as he says it, his near-silent confession filling the space. It’s so hard to meet his eyes but she makes for a brave attempt. “I just…hate feeling like this.” And Summer didn’t simply hate things. Frustratedly, she presses her fingertips into her eyes as if pushing the glassiness away, only to drag them down her cheeks. “You really think just…talking to people will fix it?” Fix me, she means to say. 

Nico flexes his jaw. He doesn’t want to make this about him and he knows better than to take what Summer’s saying to heart, but her dismissal of his points still stings nevertheless. The warmth from her earlier embrace has turned cool, a certain sense of sharp defensiveness taking its place. “Pot, kettle, black.” He turns her accusation back on her, tone still even despite bristling inwardly at his private nature being used against him. “You’re refusing to share your past too.” He listens to the sound of passing traffic, eyes fixed on a smudge marking the windshield glass -- he absently reminds himself to wash the car soon. “I’ve done things working out in the field that I regret. That’s why my supervisor referred me to counselling and why, once a week, I go and talk about it. Helps me come to terms and accept what happened.” Had it occurred to Summer that, maybe, the reason he didn’t like talking about his life prior to this assignment was similar to why she avoided thinking about her own crimes and mistakes? He turns his head to watch her tear herself apart over the situation. Reaching out, Nico captures one of her hands in his, bringing it to rest at her side, fingers curling around her own. “It isn’t guaranteed to fix anything, not exactly. But it might stop your fear from getting worse.”

[nicogarcias]

summertownsend‌.

He obliges her request and Summer’s grateful that he doesn’t pinpoint the exact moment where she contradicts herself. She knows what she said, and still believes that she’d be most comfortable elsewhere, but instead of burdening him any further, she tells him the only option she has the most certainty with. That’s her problem, she supposes – everyone else and what she thinks they need, thinks they want always seem to come in line first. As the diner gets smaller and smaller, Summer turns her head, watching as the distance between it and Nico’s car gets further and further. Tucking a wind-swept strand of hair behind her ear, Summer rolls up her window a touch, the smile settled on her face feeling less and less forced as they got passed familiar streets. But just when she thinks she’s getting close to feeling better, Nico’s perceptively keen assessments make her cross her arms over her chest, make her head snap towards the window, her protective walls reinforcing themselves before him. You aren’t coping, you’re just running away from it. “Well,” Summer starts hotly, only to stall and swallow thickly, “Maybe running is what I’m really really good at, okay?” The more he talks about the fact that she’s hurting herself by acting this way only causes the lump in her throat to grow until she can’t breathe. “You don’t understand,” she utters lowly, staring out the window to avoid his eyes. Her lashes feel damp. She blinks it away. “It hurts me to ignore it but it hurts me more to bring it up again. So yes – maybe I will let myself feel scared til I’m sick because it’s not the worse feeling here.” 

Nico tells himself that this was the only way to get through to her. The only way to even begin considering how he could help. The alternative was, surely, just watching her sit pretty and fake that everything was alright with the same stubborn, presumably mirror-practised, smile that he’s beginning to tell apart from her more genuine smiles. Nico tells himself that this was the best chance he had at making her see sense -- a goal which is swiftly dashed against the rocks, turning his good-intentions to matchsticks under the wave of her upset accusation. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “I understand more than you think I do,” he says, ever-calm, ever-composed, ever-careful. “Why else do you think I get counselling?” Dark eyes remain fixed on the road, not wanting to witness the pain he can hear in her voice written across her face. He’d put that there. His fault. Nico tells himself that he should stop now before one of them regrets being stuck in the car together. That he should just drive her home, as requested, and accept his position of glorified taxi driver. Only, that isn’t his job. He’s here to protect Summer, even if that means from herself. The indicator clicks as he signals, pulling over and cutting the engine. “I don’t want you to do that to yourself.” The confession is church-quiet, pushing his sunglasses atop his head to look at the damage he’s unintentionally done. “Living afraid. Constantly paranoid. Getting frightened when you don’t need to.” He knows how it feels to carry suspicion around. The possibility of Summer calling him again with that same worry whispered down the line was something he wanted to avoid, for her sake. “What if the pain of talking about why you’re so scared is part of recovering?”

[nicogarcias]

summertownsend‌.

I’ll always be there when you need me. Summer smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes as it usually does. She’s heard that before. Cesar uttering the words into her ear, into her hair, countless times when things got hard, when she was having doubts about the deepening of his gang involvement. He always said he’d be there but he wasn’t when it mattered most. Time and time again putting the other guys over her. Summer knows Nico has the best of intentions with his words, an earnestness in brown eyes that she wants to latch onto, reminding her that honest is all Nico’s been with her. His explanation makes sense, she’s heard that part of letting go of the past was coming to terms with it, understanding where the hurt comes from. It’s therapeutic, she’s heard. “I’m just…scared. I guess.” Unpacking everything is a thought that terrifies her after doing everything in her power to suppress it. Pulling away a bit more, her arms unwind from around his neck, drifting along strong biceps before resting neatly in her lap. She’s grateful to him, clearly expressed in the way she glances up at him, but she toys with the hem of her skirt, the minty candy in her mouth doing nothing to ease the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. “Thank you…again. I’ll think about it – the counseling thing.” Looking back towards the dinner, she all but pleads, “Can we just…talk about something else now? Anything else. Or better–” She leans over, tuning the radio until she heard a song she knew.   

The warmth of Summer leaves as Nico wonders what it is she’s scared of. Opening up? Revisiting the past? Daring to remind herself that she’s not as sturdily content as she pretends to be? He doesn’t ask, not now, not after the fright she’s had. Quiet, he slides the keys into the ignition but doesn’t turn on the engine, waiting for her to voice where she wants to go if not home. “You’re allowed to be scared,” he says, hoping she’d stay true to her word and consider all he’d advised. His gaze follows the motion of Summer’s fingers fiddling with the radio dials, her request to draw a line under this topic clear cut. He tries not to take it personally. The Jeep fills with a bass, sunshine-like-pop music fit for cruising down the highway or drinking at the beach pushing away the slow-paced silence. Nico’s back presses into the seat, buckling himself in. One hand resting on the wheel, he pulls on his shades to conceal the flicker of concern on his face, interpreting the walls Summer had thrown up to protect herself as a request to forget that she’d been hiding in a toilet cubicle less than five minutes ago. “So, where do you want me to drive you?”

[nicogarcias]

summertownsend‌.

She’s torn between the persistence of her fears and her determination to prove to Nico that she was fine. Knowing he’s only trying to help her keep steady and secure but she slinks out of his touch so he wouldn’t feel the rapid fluttering of her pulse still. Happiness and optimism weren’t just her signatures, they were her coping mechanisms, ignoring all things that made her upset and afraid was the only way she’d gotten this far, and she couldn’t let Nico see her any different. Summer knew she was rattled, something that wouldn’t dissipate in a matter a moments and a sweep of the diner for Cesar’s presence, but she’d be damned if she didn’t act like it. The beating of her heart only seems to slow once she slams the car door. But the line of her shoulders relaxes as she exhales into the fabric of Nico’s jacket, resting her chin on his shoulder. As he hugs her back, her fingers curl on their own, gripping the fabric between them as if to make sure her safety net doesn’t fall away. It’s his job, he says. It’s his job to keep her safe, to keep all of them safe. "But you came for me,” she insists, a lump in her throat forming, past hurt tasting bitter. She implores him to understand how much it means to her that he showed up in the first place, that her safety mattered to him. As he turns his head, Summer pulls back slightly to meet his gaze, doubts swimming in as he hesitates. Once more, she’s showed him affection that she shouldn’t have. But that hardly makes her let him go. “I don’t,” she twists her lips, unsure, “I don’t know if I could talk about it all. Out loud. To a person. How do you do that? It just drags everything back up…”

He’s all too aware of what she wants. She wants a heartfelt confession. A reminder that he feels the same as she does. Reassurance, warm and comforting, like frost-cold hands on a heater in the winter -- but like frost-cold hands on a heater in the winter, anything of the sort would prickle and sting, too. Floral-scented curls tickle his neck, the weight of her head on his shoulder echoed beneath his ribs. “I’ll always be there when you need me,” Nico responds, each word lined with far too many truths to voice: that he wanted her to need him; that this went beyond the duties of his job; that when he said always, he meant it. He studies her as she watches him, attempting to quell the glimmer of worry on her features by forcing a small, reassuring smile to lift the corners of his mouth. “You know how speaking a dilemma out loud to someone helps get a fresh perspective? It’s the same with talking about things that have happened in the past. It doesn’t make them go away, but it can make you look at them differently.” His thumb soothingly grazes the cotton of her waitressing uniform. “You’ve been through some shit, Summer. I’m not saying you have to discuss it with me -- we can organise a counselling for you if it’s something you want to try -- but if there’s ever anything troubling you, I’ll listen.” 

[nicogarcias]

summertownsend‌.

“Me too,” she answers with a grateful nod. At the very least, they could both agree on that. Cesar not having slipped past Nico’s apparent many radars and finding her here was the best case scenario. It means Nico’s doing his job and doing it well. It means she’s still safe. And that’s more than enough to let Summer exhale. She doesn’t feel better, but surely she would, of that she is certain. Wide eyes dart between him and the opened door, chewing at her cheek as she hesitates on her feet. Her steps are slow as she slips around him the first step over the restroom’s threshold is a tentative one. Summer lingers by the doorframe waiting for him to lead the way, feeling much more secure when he’s closer to her. “I dunno’,” she mumbles, tucking a curly lock of hair behind her ear, “Just…not here. I don’t…think I wanna see the others either. Quiet sounds good.” Wherever that is, she wanted to go. It’s what carries her feet faster across the asphalt pulling at the passenger door and climbing in. Running her fingertips over the leather interior feels familiar, feels comforting, feels safe. And when Nico enters on the drivers side, Summer flashes him a fleeting smile. I’ll be fine, it said. She’s grateful to him. More than he knows, and probably much more than she could express. It’s why she doesn’t even allow him to put the key in the ignition, throwing her arms around him and pulling him close. “Thank you,” she whispers into his hair, allowing her lashes to press shut. 

She creeps through the diner like a deer in a lion’s den. He can almost hear the effort of her trying to keep quiet breaths even and allows concern to briefly pass across his features when she picks up the pace, the palm pressed to her back falling away. It makes him wonder how many times she’s done that -- how many times she’s tried to make fear look like fearlessness. Something that resembles regret, or maybe guilt, winds its way around Nico’s ribs, but he refuses to give it his attention, glancing at Summer through the glass of the driver’s window and then through the warm, humid air as he opens the door and joins her inside the car. He stays quiet for her sake, settling into his seat only to pause as slender arms wrap around him. Unexpected, the hug takes him by surprise. Motionless for a moment, it’s the brush of Summer’s breath against his cheek that spurs him to act. An arm moves to wrap around her, the awkwardness of their positions ignored, holding her for as long as she needs. “You don’t need to thank me,” he utters softly. “It’s my job.” How long can he get away using that excuse for before it wears thin enough to reveal the truth? Nico dares to turn his head despite their close proximity, meeting Summer’s gaze. He hesitates before surprising himself with a confession. “Getting scared, letting the past haunt you, it’s-- I see a counsellor. Being able to talk about it with someone helps, I think.” 

[nicogarcias]

summertownsend‌.

I’ll be right back. She keeps hearing his voice on a loop, repeating and repeating that he’d come back to her before she knew it. She’d hardly known Nico to lie, he even insisted upon being as transparent as possible with her, but as time dragged on, she was beginning to lose her faith. That dark, shadowed part of her mind had already latched onto the idea that something bad had already happened to him. You can’t tell her it wasn’t a half-hour by the time the sound of boot-heavy footfalls returned. Her concept of time exaggerated despite the phone that resided in the pocket of her uniform. Palms pressing to the door, she only pulls the latch again once she sees his familiar eyes once more. Peering up at him, Summer asks tentatively, “Is he gone? Did you make him leave? What if he comes back?” Her questions pick up speed as she frets some more, nervously threading a stand of curly hair through her fingers. “How did he know? I can’t–I don’t…feel safe.” Worrying her bottom lip, Summer rubs at her eye, mascara streaking against her knuckles, and she pouts at kohl-smeared skin. She’s a nervous wreck and she’s smudged her makeup. Feeling helpless, she blinks up at Nico, asking meekly, “Do I have to stay…?”

He leans his weight into the firm frame of the cubicle door, shoulder pressing against rose-coloured plastic that, further inside, he can just about make out the sharpie-line scribblings of phone numbers and messages and doodles. “Summer,” he says as gently as he can, syllables slipping softly past his lips. “You’re safe. It wasn’t him.” Nico says nothing more, in truth he doesn’t know what else he can say, but instead slowly reaches for her wrist and takes it in his hand. Guiding her to the sinks, he runs the hot tap and uses his thumb to wash away smudged makeup, first from her knuckles and then from her cheek. Her skin is smooth to the touch but he can still feel the heart-pumping tremble of her body, his focus fixed on the self-imposed task. The scent of soap rises from the warm water until he cuts it off, drying his palms on his jeans. An electric-edged tension of fear remains, residue-like. “How are you feeling?” He pulls a wrapped candy he’d plucked from the diner’s counter on the way back out of his pocket and holds it out in offering, the gesture less insensitively spontaneous than it appears. “Here, the sugar will help. We can wait until you’re ready to leave.” 

[nicogarcias]

summertownsend‌.

Her heart’s in her throat. Fingers shaking around her tightly-clutched phone. Too terrified to breathe deeply, to think clearly. Her lashes feel damp from tears she can’t shed. Summer was sure. She was so sure she’d seen him. His worn brown leather jacket was too familiar, and likely smelled of Modelo beer. His walk was the same, his stature was the same, his haircut was the same. Or at least it did when she looked really fast, running into her co-worker and dropping a tray of water glasses in effort to escape as quick as she could. She doesn’t know how he found her, miles away from their home in this quaint little Floridian town. You have to come, she begged Nico down the receiver, fingers fumbling with the latch to lock herself in the bathroom where it was safe. Lowering the toilet seat cover, Summer perched herself gently on top of it, tucking her knees to her chest. The minutes feel like hours as she waits – for Cesar to locate her, for Nico to get to her before he could. It’s the knock on the door that draws her from her fretful musings, having halfway resigned to Nico leaving her behind. The sound causes her to jump, body freezing at the sight of dark combat boots beneath the door.  Summer, it’s me. Her heart calms itself instantly at his voice. Instinct tells her to be distrustful, but she lowers one foot to the floor and then the other, leaning over to peek through the slit in the stall door. She catches brown eyes, eyes she knows, eyes that have only shown concern for her. It’s then that she opens the door, hands twisting in her uniform shirt. “You can’t let him see me, Nico, please.” 

He hadn’t quite known what to expect upon arriving. Summer’s call had been a blur of rushed words made worse by the echo of the bathroom but had succeeded in flushing his body with adrenaline, quick to jump in the car and make a few calls to check the last known whereabouts of her ex. Anger mixed in with his emotions too, however composed he remained, furious even at the idea of anyone slipping through his net and harming those he serves to protect. Remaining calm despite being plunged into high-tension situations is a skill he’s honed well over the years, capable of having a gun pressed to his temple without even so much as blinking. Nico’s breathing is even and posture unruffled as he waits for Summer to respond, listening intently to the sound of rubber soles lowering to the tiled floor. He’s careful not to hurry her, remaining silent as the lock is fiddled with. When the door opens, he assesses her, attention flitting from the tightness of clenched knuckles to the dark rim of mascara beneath wide eyes, panicked words mirrored in her expression. From the information he’s been given, he’s ninety-eight percent certain Cesar isn’t in Florida, but he refuses to let that two percent chance go uninvestigated. “I won’t,” Nico promises, pressing a palm to her shoulder, fingers curling around the curve of her arm in a reassuring squeeze. “Where in the diner was he sitting? You stay here and I’ll go and check, ok?”

[nicogarcias]

↳ @summertownsend

The Jeep’s tyres come to a screeching halt in the diner parking lot, shadows stretched long across cooling tarmac by the slow setting sun. A bell chimes as he enters the squat one-storey building, a waitress poised by the door ready to ask if she can help him only for a flicker of recognition to sweep across her features as her gaze settles on his own. "She's in the bathroom -- has been for the last twenty minutes." If Summer's decision to call who her colleagues know to be her neighbour ( he'd been introduced to them as such after picking her up from her first shift ) is any surprise, the woman before him doesn't express it. Instead, she ushers him to the door of the toilets, offering a nod of permission and a reassuring "she's the only one in there." Nico is tentative as he steps over the threshold, met with the smell of cherry-scented chemical bleach. The tread of his boots is slick against the smooth floor, black-clad like a shadow in the otherwise brightly lit room. He approaches the sole cubicle with its door locked shut, eyeing the red of the occupied sign. A careful knock is pressed into plastic, the sound bouncing off of powder pink tiles, accompanied by a gentle, "Summer, it's me."

[nicogarcias]

acharlatan‌.

Frank had lived in a blissful state of denial for so long that any proposal of snapping himself back into reality wasn’t exactly a reassuring feeling. He liked being irresponsible and impulsive. Admired the way it made him feel more alive than it did to be any other acceptable member of society with a well-paid job. If anything, he was using it all as a security blanket to mask the fact he knew he fucked up. “Do you keep a diary?” his words float curiously, brow quirked as he attempted to challenge the other. Perhaps it was more to do with establishing masculinity than it was his capacity to interpret his feelings, maybe it was both. But once more, it was all theories Frank would happily lock away to never see the light of day again. His head tilts in soft contemplation, he’d not remember the last time he’d seen his younger sister and that in itself laid a heavy coating of guilt across his lungs and like tar it became harder to breathe. “I’ll consider it, I feel a little like I’m your lab experiment though” he answered quietly with a short exhale. But it was going to take more than a stern conversation to oversee Frank back onto a healthier path. 

It comes with a relief that the study is removed from himself and back onto the cat. Leaning over from where he was sat, he attempts to coax the cat from under the bed. No luck. Sitting back upright, Frank waved his hand dismissively at the inevitable speech of responsibility, “I got it, I got it. I’ve already booked him in for an appointment with the vet and I’m going to the store later to get him all the stuff he needs. And he’s gotta be a stray, the poor thing is skin and bones.” Most of what he said was true, everything apart for the bit with the vets who he’d certainly not called but would be doing so the moment Nico left the villa. It was a strategical lie, something to make himself look more put together for plucking a random stray off the street. “Can’t call him Tesla, Elon Musk is a prick. Jaguar is too corny for a cat. I was thinking something like Bentley, he’s sophisticated enough to pull it off. ” 

“No.” His answer is blunt but not defensive. The question would have been welcome had it been posed by anyone else, but the look on Frankie’s face makes Nico think that he’d most likely asked purely for the chance to mock him had he said yes. He refrains from adding that he didn’t need to keep a diary of his actions because, for the most part, he tended to consider them thoughtfully, instead offering an alternative. “I do keep a schedule, though.” He scratches at a peppering of stubble on his chin. “Guess that means I prefer looking forward than backwards.” Or that he liked to be organised. A light scoff passes over his lips at the suggestion of the other male being some sort of laboratory guinea pig. “I’m not doing this for the fun of it, Dalton. I’m not really asking you to behave appropriately for your own sake either, to be honest. I need you to do it for the others.”

Nico can’t help but study Frankie with an expression of shielded curiosity, affection and care the ex-gangster afforded a stray cat coming as something of a surprise. It was reassuring to know that he knew how to sympathise, even if it was with a malnourished moggy rather than his equally vulnerable, just-as-in-need-of-kindness housemates. “Good,” he says with a firm nod. “You’re going to want to wash your sheets too. If it has fleas, you’re fucked.” A half-smile flickers across his mouth at the name suggestions, Frankie’s predictability when it came to loving cars a source of amusement. “Bentley it is then.” Casting a sidelong glance at the spot under the bed where Bentley had vanished, Nico moves towards the door. Opening it a fraction, he leaves Frankie with a parting thought. “If it helps, think of your housemates as cats. Treat them gently. Give them space when they need it and try not to scare them to avoid getting scratched.”

[nicogarcias]

norarbecker‌.

Nora doesn’t know the answer to his question. Her goal, from the start, has been merely to survive until she doesn’t have to worry about surviving any longer, for the indefinite future. His honesty triggers her guilt like a dam, regret washing over her in a wave that’s nearly staggering, and Nora needs to look away from him for a moment. Gaze fixing on the worn edge of the kitchen table, she searches for a response in the woodgrain only to find none. “I don’t know,” she says finally. “The whole point of this was to hopefully stay alive until it’s safe to contact my family again. I didn’t - haven’t - thought much beyond that.” Nora, too, finds herself almost wishing that she had returned to her bedroom to ruminate in their initial tension rather than having this conversation - the benefit of learning more about him is barely worth upheaving the meticulously-constructed emotional suppression she’d successfully maintained thus far. It is, however, oddly satisfying to see Nico shift uncomfortably in his seat. “So you’re trying to balance out whatever bad things you had to do while you were undercover,” she states. “But - I mean - how bad could it have been? You were doing that for the greater good, right? So that the right people could be arrested?”

“I think,” he says somewhat tentatively, careful with how he poses the suggestion — however stoic and brave Nora may seem, it was obvious that the bond she shared with her family was strong and that she’d been living each day as it came rather than looking ahead to the horizon, “it would be good to consider how you want to use this fresh start to your advantage.” There was likely a vast number of people who would jump at the chance to erase their existence and start a new life. Unfortunately, not all those who wound up in witness protection seemed to be so keen on the idea. “You said life here moves slowly. Maybe it will speed up once you know what you want to do with yourself.” A small almost-smile is offered, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards before returning to a more neutral expression, schooled for the sake of concealing his visceral desire to repel the sort of questions he was being posed with. “You go in thinking it’s all for the greater good,” Nico agrees with a barely perceptible nod, still avoiding her gaze. “But then you have the initiation.  And then you have to win their trust. Then you have to keep up the charade to the point that you start to forget where you end and your undercover persona begins. Shit happens and people die — but everyone always reassures you with the same thing: it’s all for the greater good.” He stares at the roadmap-like patterns crisscrossing a palm, getting lost in a memory that he swiftly pulls himself out of. “That’s why I’m here, that’s why I want to help you. Because I used to be as dangerous as the sort of person you’re running from.”

[nicogarcias]

norarbecker‌.

Nora is happy to leave the subject of her immediate family members behind. She can tell he is trying not to stare at her as she meticulously curates a bit of egg, then a triangle of toast in each bite, only the sound of fork scraping against worn porcelain punctuating the silence. Her attention shifts back up to him only with his final question - do you intend to try and forget about them? Fork hovering over the table, her brow creases. “Of course not,” she asserts, indignant. Adjusting would be simpler if she could, perhaps. Nora couldn’t imagine a more lonely alternative. “I would never. But life here - it stands still. For them, it’s going to keep on moving whether I’m there to see it or not. And who knows when - if - I’ll get to see home again. It wasn’t like the feds gave me an expiration date.” She refuses to wallow in it - it is what it is, consequences to a prescribed set of actions she’d put into motion all on her own - but it doesn’t make accepting their circumstances any easier. In all his attempts to relate to her, lining up his familial absences with hers as neatly as he can, he seems to just miss the mark. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Nico’s thumb tracing condensation on glass thoughtfully - her own dark eyes meet his with his confession, something akin to evening the playing field. “Redemption,” she repeats, the word leaden as it rolls off of her tongue. His answer surprises her, her expression giving her away. “Redemption for what, exactly?”

“It doesn’t have to stand still.” He pauses, mouth parted in silence before posing a question he hopes she doesn’t choose to avoid answering. “What is that you want from this — who do you want to be now?” A blank canvas would only remain blank if she chose not to do anything with it, although he can understand her worry. That slim seed of doubt taking root inside her head would wrap its vines around her mind if she spent too long dwelling on the past. “You might never see your old home again,” Nico admits, words lined with firm truth. “And that’s going to fucking hurt. But it will hurt a lot more if you do go back and end up risking the lives of your siblings and their families in the process.” There’s a weight in his chest that he’s been carrying for so long that he’s almost forgotten it’s there. It stirs, now, however, at Nora’s request to learn more, staring at him over her half-finished breakfast that he almost wishes he’d left with her to eat alone in peace. “This is my first safe house assignment.” Knuckles scrub at the stubble peppering his jawline. “Before this, my work was as an undercover operative.” He aims his gaze at the table, away from dark brown eyes trained on him. “Staying hidden amongst criminal organisations means doing whatever you can to prevent them from suspecting you.” 

[nicogarcias]

acharlatan‌.

Self-analysis was always a hard pill to swallow and was the exact reason he steered far away from it. Frankie didn’t want to sit and contemplate himself, to spend torturous hours invested in frail attempts of self-improvement when it was so much easier to live life impulsively. It’s why the other’s next suggestion makes his own face screw up as if he’d just had a taste of sour milk. “You’re joking…” words trailed off composedly, if only from the realisation that Nico was being completely serious about the bright idea. There was no way in hell he’d be writing his feeling down anywhere, no less a diary. Frankie schools his expression that he already understands to be overdramatic and exchanges him with a prompt shake of his head, “I sort of have a feeling it’d do the opposite, you know, if I were to analyse that shit. I’m not the sort of person to get stuck on anything. I wouldn’t know what to write.”

It was easier to have people not like you and know where you stood than to face the rejection of someone after presenting your absolute genuine self. It was another toxic act that Frankie so often fell back onto. Playing the safe bet as the obnoxiously irritating guy than being vulnerable and authentic. “I’m the eldest, I’ve got to do something to keep my youth,” he jokes, though this time you can tell his words weren’t intended to be cutting or dismissive. Frank’s eye’s dart down to look at Nico’s hand, remembering the last time he shook on a deal it was to become a getaway driver and only make a grand for each drive. It was pennies in comparison to what the other’s were making, a stupid deal that seemed too good to be true when he first made it. But an apology to keep the cat around was an easy transaction that should have been mostly painless and much less idiotic than joining a gang. Taking Nico’s hand in his own, he settles with a sturdy handshake, lips curling into their trademarked innocent grin, “Deal. Two apologies and my best behaviour coming right up, boss.” 

“You don’t know until you’ve tried,” Nico reasons, quietly wondering whether Frankie found it easier to indulge himself in the negative consequences of anti-social behaviour than embrace the possibility that a small change may, for once, provide him with a positive outcome he can be proud of. He hums dryly at the amused words that leave the lips of the other. “Maybe you should try for more of a big brother role in the house -- rather than the jackass that nobody likes.” A hint of a smirk toys at one corner of Nico’s mouth, a falsely uncaring shrug punctuating the suggestion. He’d like to pretend that he didn’t care about the choices Frankie makes but the truth is he does care. He wants the other man to let him help. Wants to prove some sort of point to nobody in particular ( or everyone, in particular, including himself, including Frankie, including those hurt by people like him ) that people can change; they aren’t all good or all bad. 

Time slows as the hand offered is considered. Nico runs through a list of potential unwanted outcomes in his head, all of which include no-deal, a barricaded bedroom door, and an attempt to extract a cat unwillingly from beneath the bed after climbing through the window. He’s pleased when Frankie accepts ( because it saves him from getting scratched, in particular ), nodding once in approval. “It’s up to you to look after it, though. Feed it. Clean up after it. All your responsibility. Take it to the vet, too. Make sure it’s healthy — and that it’s not microchipped by some poor owner currently sticking up lost cat posters.” Nico crouches to peer underneath the bed, studying the pair of glinting eyes staring back. “What are you going to call it?”

[nicogarcias]

norarbecker‌.

“Yes,” she confirms, hovering between discomfort and comfort that the US Marshall across from her plucks her eldest sibling’s name out of thin air like it’s nothing. It serves as a stark reminder that he knows more about her than she’d ever like to tell. But it means her siblings are on his radar, that perhaps they’re being looked over back in Chicago. The gray area between both emotions leaves Nora restless. “Funny. You wouldn’t think it looking at him on paper - he’s got a boring insurance job, lives in the suburbs with his wife. But he’s goofy. Warm. Looks after everyone.” What Nora doesn’t say is that he stepped into that role out of necessity, filling a gaping hole left in the wake of their father’s absence. Feeling his eyes, her own flick upward from her eggs just in time to meet his unwavering gaze. “I’d like to think that,” she agrees. The realist in her wants to think otherwise. Nico’s expression is hard to read, so she turns into her more easily-digested breakfast, cutting her toast into neat triangles with the edge of her fork. Does Nora want to be offered comfort? Yes and no. Comfort overlaps too often with sympathy, requires a certain amount of trust she’s reluctant to give him. “I can’t decide,” she says finally, not unkindly, “what your motive is. You could probably find out whatever you wanted about me from whatever file’s out there. So that leaves me wondering if you’re talking to me because you feel guilty over what happened earlier - which you really shouldn’t, since I was asking for it. Or because part of your job is to keep us out of trouble, which is easier to do if we trust you.” Letting her thoughts loose, stripping them free of niceties, leads her to add, “Or because you don’t want me to ask you about Summer.”

“He sounds nice,” Nico muses, not quite sure what else to say about her brother — her brother who has a stable income, a family, and a sister he will never see again ( or so he hopes, otherwise the two of them sat at this knock-off flat-pack Ikea table will both be well and truly fucked ). He tries to avoid staring at Nora as she eats, his attention wandering restlessly around the kitchen, from the set of mugs drying upside down by the sink to the security system panic button under the window. A low hum of not-quite-agreement fills the back of his mouth, Nora’s self-confessed lack of conviction unsurprising. When life chews you up and spits you out, it can be difficult to cling onto hope without fear of being burned by it. “But you don’t.” He finishes her statement bluntly. “Do you really think that being apart from them means they no longer care about you? That they’ll forget about you?” A faint frown furrows his brow. “Do you intend to try and forget about them?” Of the questions he’s posed, she’s skilled at picking and choosing which to respond to -- not that he minds, unanswered questions telling him just as much as if she had answered them. Nico listens quietly as she presents him with theories, wondering why his intentions are of such importance to her. Mistrust, perhaps. Or a desire to seek knowledge for the sake of being soothed by it. He stares at his glass of water, palm still pressed around the cool surface. “All of those reasons,” he answers slowly, his expression closed and tense. “And none of them.” With a hushed sigh, he works his jaw until he can find the strength to offer the truth. “Redemption. That’s my motive.” Dark eyes watch her face for a reaction.

[nicogarcias]

norarbecker‌.

“Sure,” she answers vaguely with a shrug. Nora wonders the motive behind him asking - if this is his way of trying to build trust between them in the wake of their awkward encounter, or if he’s solely doing so out of guilt (or both). Surely, part of his job entails ensuring everyone beneath the roof of this house stays in line, or keeps themselves out of trouble. The odds of her roommates fucking up seem far higher than her own. She wants to stop talking about it, but the mention of her sister seems to have forcibly pried open Pandora’s box. “I’m closer with my brother, though.” The plate he places in front of her is a welcome distraction, the scent of butter and fried eggs enough to reminder that she is, in fact, hungry. Nora is surprised when he settles in the seat opposite hers, presuming he’d be off to check on the rest of the house (to ensure her slumbering housemates are still breathing, no doubt). “Do you really think that?” she asks, unable to keep well-meaning skepticism from coloring her tone as she cuts off a bit of egg with her fork. “Or is that your way of trying to make me feel better?” Truthfully, cliches about love and loyalty and distance fail to quell the ache beneath her ribcage. If he knew how tempted she was to reach out to her loved ones back in Chicago, she wonders if he’d change his approach. “You don’t have to do that, you know.” 

“What’s he like? Elijah, right?” Her responses remind him of his own siblings; of dynamics that now only exist tentatively, fragile bonds growing that little bit more distant when he has to ask questions which he would know the answer to had he chosen to stick around rather than disappear for the sake of a career that has brought him full circle back to Florida. Nico’s gaze pulls from the shimmering surface of his drink to the sunshine-yellow of the egg yolk, flicking upwards to meet Nora’s line of sight as he weighs his answer to her question on his tongue. “Maybe I’m trying to make us both feel better,” he utters. “But yes. I do really think that. My family didn’t know where I was for a large part of my life — but I never stopped being their son or brother. Your family will always be your family, Becker. You’ll never forget them and they’ll never forget you.” Nico takes a gulp of water that he doesn’t need, swallowing down emotions with it. He feels for her, despite her being here having had far more freedom of choice compared to many of the others. She had chosen to dig up the secrets of criminal gangs and had sealed her fate in doing so. A long stare studies Nora for a moment as she continues with her breakfast. “You don’t want to be offered comfort?” He settles in his chair, thumb running over the condensation that’s gathered on the side of his glass. “I don’t do it because I have to.”

[nicogarcias]

norarbecker‌.

Nora doesn’t feel the need to confirm or deny Nico’s statement, guessing he already knows the answer. Talking about it stirs up the longing and worry she’d been determined to ignore as best as she could; she speaks little of her family back home for a reason, evading questions of tattoos and her personal life whenever they crop up. And yet, Nico probably knows more about her than everyone in this house combined. She rests her arm on the kitchen table, thumb worrying over a dented whorl in the woodgrain. “Lara, probably,” she answers, her sister’s name lingering hesitantly before it tips over the precipice into the taught space between them. “She’s too busy chasing her kids ‘round the house to drink like that anymore. So she’d just mother the shit out of me.” Nora’s discomfort is evened out somewhat by the way Nico’s shoulders draw up just slightly at her own question, a man accustomed to knowing without giving too much away. She supposes they have that in common. Something softer than envy curls in the pit of her stomach. “Do you not see them anymore, then?” she prompts, then adds, “Do you regret the time away, or just the consequences?”

He smiles, mouth momentarily caught in a steady curve, less interested in her answer than he is pleased by her decision to offer one. It would have been easier for Nora to shut him out, he has no doubt. “Lara,” he echoes with a nod, mind casting back to the selfie of her sister kept on file for the sake of easy identification. “You close with her?” Nico flips fried eggs onto a brightly patterned plate ( no doubt Summer’s choice ) alongside the buttered toast, setting it down in front of Nora. The kitchen drawer sticks as he fetches her some utensils, passing knife and fork over the table before using the heel of his palm to push the temperamental runner mechanism back into place. He pauses as if in thought as her question swims through his head, grabbing a glass of water. “I see them occasionally.” He sits down slowly on the twin chair opposite hers, his drink providing him with a brief excuse to not continue speaking. The liquid is cool in his mouth. Refreshing. He swallows. “No. I did what I had to do. I’d have been restless if I stayed. And— they’re still my family. Even if I missed a lot of what happened in their lives, they’re blood. Time and distance and consequences don’t affect loyalty and love when it’s strong and real.”