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Nick hears it the second he steps through the doors. It’s a strange sound, a combination of sporadic grunting, the squeak of wet soles against tile, a wet gurgling that makes his face flush immediately. It sounds downright indecent if he’s being honest, and he has half a mind to turn right around and go home, never mind that he reeks to high heaven. Though part of him, the part that got him labeled Nosy Nick in middle school, spurs his feet forward. The idea that someone might have smuggled a girl into the locker room, or might be…up to something else, piques his curiosity. He follows the sound to the back where the sinks and toilets are, yet as he rounds the corner, he’s not greeted by the sight of someone getting lucky, or even having a one-man party. Instead, what he sees sends his stomach plummeting to his feet.
Rip, one of his squad mates, is half bent over a sink, pinning another man’s head to the bottom of the basin. The man is tiny, vulnerable-looking dressed only in his boxer briefs. The sink is full, and the faucet is still running, waves of water slopping over the edge as the man thrashes. One of Rip’s massive hands is wrapped around the back of the man's neck, the other pressing down between his shoulder blades, holding him down. Between the angle and the size difference, the other man doesn't stand a chance of getting away. One of his hands is scrabbling half-heartedly at the hand at his neck. The other pushing fruitlessly at the sink, trying to lever his head up. Before Nick's eyes, the desperate hands still as his body goes limp.
Without thought, Nick lunges forward. Rip’s got a good few inches and muscle density that Nick has never been able to put on. But Nick is desperate and smart, and he hits Rip right in his center, using his weight to knock Rip to the side. Rip lets out a shout of surprise and anger as he smashes to the floor, Nick on top of him. Nick hears a wet thud as the other man’s body hits the ground.
“What the fuck!?” Nick bellows, leaping to his feet and getting between Rip and the prone man. Rip staggers up, huge and clumsy and bull mad. He squints at Nick, nostrils flaring.
“What are you doing Bradshaw! Didn’t anyone tell you to mind your own damn business!” He snarls, taking a step forward.
Nick steps directly in his path and puffs his chest, trying to look as big as he can. “I think when I walk in on you trying to kill soemone it becomes my damn business!” He returns.
“It’s the traitor's brat, what do you care? Rest of us sure don’t!” Rip tries to step around Nick, gaze locked like a predator on the limp body on the floor.
Nick locks his knees and, with a hard shove, sends Rip stumbling a few steps back. “I don’t know what the hell you’re on about, but if you think I’m gonna stand by and let you murder anyone, let alone a member of our squad, then you’re stupider than you look! Now you get yourself out of here before I put my boot so far up your ass you’ll be tasting my polish!” Nick growls. He’s halfway bluffing, as Rip’s got probably 20 pounds on him at least, and taking him down will be no easy feat. Luckily, the squeak of the door hinges and the clatter of feet and laughter remind the two that others are coming and going in the locker room. Nick may not be the biggest or strongest or even the smartest, but he’s got enough sense to know he’s funny and he’s well-liked. If he yells, others will come and help him, of this he’s sure.
It seems Rip must realize it too, as his eyes narrow. He shoots another murderous look at his would-be victim. “Fine. You’re making a mistake, Bradshaw, siding with him. You’ll see. This little bitch isn’t even worth spitting on.”
“Get the fuck out,” Nick hisses back. He walks backward until he’s standing over the other man, one foot planted on each side of his body, guarding him. He keeps his eyes trained on Rip the whole time as the man stalks out of the room, and then they’re alone. As soon as Rip is gone, Nick drops to his knees next to the man. He’s lying half on his side, and Nick gently turns him over. “Shit,” he hissed lowly, as he cups the kids’ face. Because that’s what he is, a kid. No way he’s older than 18, face still round with baby fat, and not darkened by stubble. His blue-tinged lips are split deeply, blood trailing down his chin. Both cheeks and his left eye are starting to darken and swell with bruising. Most concerningly, is the wet edge to his barley-there breathing. “Shit kid,” Nick bemoans. He settles down cross-legged and drags the kid up to lean against his shoulder with a grunt. Kid’s not heavy, short stature and bird bones, but he's wet and awkward, and Nick cringes at the way his head lolls. Nick's hands are shaking, chest tight with fear.
Once he’s upright, Nick pounds on his back, cringing at the way the kid’s body rocks forward. “Come on, get it out, get it out.” The kid suddenly lurches forward like he’s been shocked, water erupting from his mouth. His eyes open wide for a second, and Nick gets a glimpse of frightened green before they’re squeezed shut in visible agony. The kid wretches and coughs while Nick pounds on his back. “That’s it, that’s it, get it all out, bud,” he praises. The relief is more potent than anything he's ever felt. It's like finally, as the kid breathes again, Nick can too. The kid slumps back against Nick's grip, panting raggedly. “There you are, you’re okay,” Nick continues, tipping the kid's head to rest against his shoulder. Kid’s shaking, no doubt a combination of shock and chill. “You’re okay.” There’s silence for a long while, and then, the kid thrashes away from Nick. It’s such a sudden movement that Nick lets him go instinctively. The kid tries to get his hands and legs under him, but he’s uncoordinated and weak, and he falls again and again. In quick succession. Eventually, he manages to scramble into a corner like a frightened animal. He puts his back to the wall and raises his fists weakly, glaring at Nick.
“F’k off!” he wheezes, voice shot, and it’s such a juxtaposition to five minutes ago that Nick feels a slightly hysterical chuckle rising in him.
“East there, tiger, you’re okay. Not gonna hurt you,” he soothes, moving towards the corner and crouching down to get on the kid's level.
Green eyes watch him mistrustfully. “Think ‘m gonna buy that?” the kid croaks. “F’k you, leave m’lone!”
“I’m Nick,” Nick says, deciding to ignore the kid's hostile tone for now. “What’s your name?”
The kid regards him for a moment. “Y’don’t know?” he finally says.
“Sorry, probably should, but I’m terrible with names. I don’t remember seeing you ‘round here before, though, so maybe we’ve never been introduced,” Nick babbles.
The tiniest bit of tension has leaked from the kid's shoulders. “Maverick,” the kid replies hesitantly. As soon as he says it, he cringes away from Nick.
“Nice to meet you, Maverick. Are you ready to get off the floor and get to the med center? I’m sure the beds they’ve got there are a lot more comfortable than that corner,” Nick cajoles, using the voice he normally saves for coaxing stubborn nieces and nephews and calves and the like. Unfortunately, Maverick flinches hard, and all the tension goes through him again.
“No!” He cries. “No! I can’t, they’ll say-“ he cuts off with a gagging noise, and spits out a mouthful of watery blood. There’s some more coughing that follows, and then he takes a ragged inhale. “M’fighiting, can’t be grounded-can’t be-”
“Woah! Woah, kid, it’s okay, I’ll tell them what happened, they’ll-”
“No! They won’t believe me! Never do! Trying to run me out- I- I can’t!” There’s a terrified, wheezing edge to Maverick’s words that tells Nick he’s probably seconds away from a full-blown panic.
“Okay! Okay!” he cries, holding his hands up. “No med center, no med center, okay?”
Maverick cuts off with a flinch. He pants raggedly for a moment, and then goes back to observing Nick with suspicion.
“No med center, but you gotta let me fix you up then, you need someone t’keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t croak in the middle of the night,” Nick continues, trying to imbue some firmness into his voice.
“What? No! I’m not going anywhere with you, do you think I’m stupid?” Maverick growls.
“It’s come with me, or go to the med center. Your choice.”
Maverick glares at him, clearly weighing the options. He shifts a little, taking stock of his injuries, and Nick watches as the fight drains out of him, and his shoulders slump. He’s too hurt to defend himself, and he knows it. The resignation that fills his face is terrible to see. “If you’re gonna...gonna hurt me. Just do it here. Please. I won’t tell anyone, I promise. Please don’t make me go somewhere with you. Please,” he all but whispers. His eyes drop to his lap, and he looks so young and so scared that Nick’s heart throbs.
“Kid-Maverick, I promise, I swear on...on...” Nick fumbles for a minute in his flight suit pocket before producing a battered Polaroid photo. “This is my girlfriend Carole, she’s the love of my life, and I swear on her life that I won’t hurt you.”
Maverick raises his gaze to look at the photo. He reaches out a trembling hand, and Nick carefully hands him the photo. Maverick looks at it for a long moment. “She’s pretty,” he finally says, handing the photo back. Nick can’t help but smile.
“She’s the prettiest girl in the world, and the kindest and the smartest, and she’d kill me if I ever laid a finger on someone who didn’t deserve it. So let me take you somewhere safe. Please?” Maverick looks at him for a moment longer and then carefully nods.
From there, it’s a process of getting him up and dressed. Nick locates a damp towel and a pile of Maverick’s discarded clothes on the floor by an open locker, and the picture it paints has him balling his hands into fists. Maverick is silent as Nick helps him into his pants and jacket. He helps where he can, though his trembling hands and unsteady legs prove to be more of a hindrance. He never takes his eyes off Nick, and he shakes when the other man touches him. As he dresses him, Nick notices dozens of scars, fine white lines across the kid’s back and stomach. They look like they’d been welts once, a long time ago. There's a cluster of round, pale marks on the kid’s shoulders that look like they’d been burns. The scars are old, Nick realizes, his throat dry. Shaking his head, he slings one of Maverick’s arms around his shoulders and guides them out of the locker room and towards the exits. They get a couple of strange looks from passersby as they leave, but no one stops them, despite the fact that Maverick is clearly weak and injured. That in itself is cause for Nick’s stomach to twist. By the time they reach Nick’s Bronco, Maverick is barely able to keep putting one foot in front of the other. “Just a bit further,” Nick promises. He props Maverick against the side of the Bronco while he unlocks it, and then rushes around to open he passenger door. He practically lifts the kid into the seat and then shuts the door. When he climbs into his own seat, a glance over at his passenger tells him Maverick is terrified. The kid has his back pressed against the door, facing Nick, and his eyes are wide. “We’re heading back to my place, I’ll get you patched up, and we’ll order a pizza, how’s that sound?” Nick asks gently.
“I don’t need food, I’m okay,” Maverick responds immediately, something desperate in his voice. “
”Your words say no, but your ribcage says yes,” Nick teases as he steers the Bronco onto the main road. “I don’t mind, really.”
Maverick clearly doesn't believe him, but he doesn't argue, so Nick will count it as a win.
There’s a silver Honda parked in his driveway when they pull up, and Nick curses under his breath.
In the passenger seat, Maverick stiffens. “Who's that?” he asks nervously.
“Remember how I told you ‘bout my girlfriend Carole? Well, I forgot we had dinner plans. She won’t be mad or ‘nothing, but she’ll likely smother you, so I’ll apologize in advance,” Nick replies, hopping out of the car and going around to the other side to help Maverick out. The two stumble through the front door, and Nick settles a trembling Maverick onto the couch in the living room. The whole house smells amazing, like garlic and tomatoes and home cooking.
“Nicholas Bradshaw! Do you have any idea what time it is?” Carole demands from the kitchen. She rounds the corner into the living room, spatula in hand, and freezes at the sight of Maverick. She looks stunning, in her blue jeans and white tank top, backlit by the warm yellow glow of the kitchen, Nick thinks. Though to be fair, he always thinks Carole is stunning.
“Who’s this?” Carole asks with a frown.
“Carole, this is Maverick. Maverick, this is Carole.”
“Hello, ma’am,” Maverick says meekly. His eyes are huge and green and imploring.
Before his eyes, Nick watches Carole fall in love.
“Well, hi honey, aren’t you the sweetest? What happened to your poor face, huh?” she coos, marching over to Maverick and tipping his face towards her with a gentle hand. Maverick looks at her wide-eyed and doesn’t say anything. “We’ll get you patched up in no time and get some food into ya’, you’re awful skinny.”
“I’ll get you something more comfortable to wear,” Nick says and starts for the bedroom. He hears Carole speaking in soft tones to Maverick and smiles as he begins rifling through his drawers, trying to find something soft.
“What happened to him, Nick?” Carole asks from behind him. He jumps a little, swears to himself that he needs to get her a bell.
“Walked in on him and Rip. Rip was trying to drown him in a bathroom sink. Damn near suceeded too. Managed to get him off Maverick, got the kid to come around a little. He refused to let me take him to the med center, and he- he practically begged me not to hurt him, like he just expected me to. And the things Rip was saying, shit like he thought it was okay that he was hurting the kid, like he was doing us a favor, I...” Nick trails off, rubbing a weary hand over his face.
“I’m so glad you were there, baby, who knows what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been,” Carole says. She wraps her arms around and buries her face in his chest. Nick doesn't reply. He knows what would’ve happened. Maverick would have died, alone and scared, with the thought that no one would care. Nick tucks his face into Carole’s hair and shudders.
Dinner that night is odd and wonderful. Maverick eats with the air of someone who is very hungry and also very desperate not to let it show. He practically licks his plate clean, but won't ask for more. Eventually, Carole takes to just putting second helpings on his plate, and the look he gives her is so grateful it makes Nick want to cry. Over dinner, Carole coaxes more conversation out of the kid. He is eighteen, as Nick thought. A pilot in training, looking for a backseater. He’s lived all over the country, but spent most of his time in California, which is where he was born. He grew up in foster care and never stayed with any family for more than three years. He gets a pained look on his face when he says this, and Nick’s mind flashes to the scars he noticed when getting Maverick dressed. He swiftly changes the subject. The golden ticket is getting him talking about flying. As soon as the conversation finds its way there, Maverick’s eyes light up. He talks excitedly then, about the flying he’s done and the flying he wants to do. About his plan to become the best pilot in the Navy, about F-14 specs, about the twin engine he’d worked on in high school, about the wide blue expanse of sky and the freedom of it all. There’s a little boy's enthusiasm in him that makes Nick and Carole just melt, and by the end of the dinner, it only takes one look between the two for them to know what the other is thinking.
The kid is here to stay.
Once dinner is done and the leftovers put away, Carole gets the couch made up and helps Maverick settle in for the night. Nick brings his pillow and a quilt out to the recliner and begins making himself comfortable.
Maverick raises his head and regards him in confusion. “Why are you sleeping out here?”
“Got to keep an eye on you, make sure your lungs are all right.”
Maverick looks puzzled. “I don’t understand,” he says slowly. His eyes are half-lidded. “Why are you doing all this for me?”
“Because you’re going to be my best friend, I’ve decided it. I’m going to look out for you. You’ll see.”
Maverick looks at him longer. There’s something soft and vulnerable in his eyes.
Nick is a goner.
Finally, after a long moment, something close to a smile twitches its way onto Maverick’s lips, and it’s one of the most damn beautiful things Nick has ever seen.
“Thank you for everything,” Maverick breathes, and then he’s asleep.
Nick stays awake the whole night.