Work Text:
I clawed my way to the living room window,
stood there in the cold.
the last bits of my dream like figures in the distance,
hard to hold.
I thought of old friends,
the ones who'd gone missing.
said all their names three times.
phantoms in the early dark,
canaries in the mines.
ghosts and clouds and nameless things.
squint your eyes and hope real hard,
maybe sprout wings.
-the mountain goats
---
Ryan got cracked across his middle with a pipe when he wouldn't shut up during their blindfolded ride to the warehouse. Ryan got his face held under the icy water until he stopped struggling. Ryan lay on the floor not seeming to breathe until one of the goons kicked him in the ribs and he choked up a mouthful of water. Ryan nearly got his knee shattered and would have been on desk duty for the rest of his life. Ryan had to spend the night in the hospital for observation, swaddled in warming blankets and submitting to pokes and prods. Ryan had it by far the worst, so why did Esposito feels like he was losing it?
---
Esposito hadn't slept much since their ordeal. He didn't sleep the first night, sitting by Ryan's bed in the hospital. He didn't sleep the next day, or the next night, because he just didn't feel like it. It was some time during the second night when the flashbacks began -- seeing things when he wasn't asleep and hearing people who weren't there. At first it was just things from that night: seeing Ryan's face every time he came out of the water, hearing his racking cough, feeling the rough rope around his neck cutting off his air.
He banged around his apartment, staying busy until the sun came up, and then decided to go for a walk to clear his head.
It didn't help.
In fact, it got worse. He kept thinking he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, but when he jerked his head around, no one was there. He thought he heard gunshots, but no one else seemed to notice. He shrugged his jacket on tighter and turned on to the sidewalk at the perimeter of a park. He wasn't actually getting too freaked out until the smell started. At first it was just a niggling at the edge of his consciousness -- the suggestion of something familiar he couldn't quite place. As it grew stronger, his heartbeat became more and more panicked.
He rounded a corner onto a food cart selling Middle Eastern food and overheard two businessmen speaking Arabic and eating their breakfasts. Suddenly, it was like all the lights had been thrown on in a room somewhere in his brain -- a place he had carefully walled off after the war and not thought about until now.
He was back in the desert, sand burning his eyes, listening to someone shout orders, and trying not to notice the tacky dried blood on his hands. He knew he was in New York, at the park. Somewhere under the smell and the heat of the desert he could hear cabs honking, but it was like he couldn't sort out the false signals from the real ones.
Someone shouted over his left shoulder and he thought it sounded like Myers. Myers died years ago, overseas, but his head jerked around reflexively anyway. It was one of the Arabic businessmen. He looked at Esposito funny and said again, "Hey, you all right, man?" and Esposito realized he'd been about to step into the busy street.
Esposito shook his head hard, willing it to clear, and the cars got louder and slid into focus. The sand and sound of war were still there, but farther away. He turned toward home.
Two more days. On Monday, he and Ryan would see the precinct shrink and get cleared for duty, and everything would go back to normal. He just needed his routine back, to keep his mind occupied, and he needed to see Ryan, sitting at his desk in the office looking bored like he usually did, and everything would be okay.
---
Ryan was sitting at his desk, toying with his badge and checking all the emails that had accumulated while he was out, while he waited for Esposito to finish his screening appointment. Beckett already had a case waiting for them as soon as they were both reinstated.
The break room door swung open with a bang that made Ryan jump and Esposito stormed out, kicking the door shut behind him. The psychologist, a small balding man with glasses, quietly reopened the door and exited. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Esposito," he said and ducked into Montgomery's office. Esposito watched him go with a glare.
"Bro?" Ryan asked. Esposito kicked one of the metal trashcans, the ones built to withstand an atomic blast, and it gave a dull thud. He danced briefly on one leg and swore under his breath. Ryan glanced at Beckett and she gave him her best significant eyebrows. He nodded and stood, backing Esposito back into the break room with a hand on his shoulder and shutting the door behind them.
"What's wrong?"
Esposito paced to the opposite side of the room and rubbed one hand roughly over his face. "I didn't get cleared. I gotta’ keep seeing the shrink five days a week, till he says I'm okay."
"It's cool, man," Ryan searched for something to say. "You need to take your time to get over this." He noticed the bags under Esposito's eyes and the two-day-old scruff on his chin; wondered why he hadn't called over their long weekend. "You okay?"
"I don't know, bro." Esposito scrubbed one hand over his short hair. "I mean, yeah. I'm fine. I'm going home." He moved toward the door.
"Do you want to--" Ryan hesitated. "To talk or something? I'm sure Beckett would give me the afternoon off if--"
"No. You get back to work," Esposito summoned a weak smile that didn't fool Ryan at all. "I'm gonna’ go take a nap." He glanced over his shoulder suddenly as if he'd heard something.
Ryan looked around but didn't hear anything. "Okay... Madden tonight?"
"Sure, you bet. I'll see you later?" He smiled tightly, "Yeah, see you later." He clapped Ryan on the shoulder and moved past him to open the door. Ryan watched him stop briefly at Beckett's desk before he headed to the elevator.
---
Ryan knocked twice and let himself in. "Javi? I brought beer!" Esposito appeared in the hallway wearing pajama pants and his NYPD hoodie. "Did you sleep?" he asked and Esposito shook his head. "Do you want me to go? Let you get some sleep?"
"No," Esposito took two quick steps toward him and shook his head. "Stay, if you can."
"Nowhere else to be." He carried the beer to the fridge and noticed the kitchen trash can, overflowing with soda and energy drink cans. When he came into the living room, Esposito had flipped on the Xbox and TV and was sitting on the couch staring into space.
"I haven't slept since that night," he said. "Or, whenever it was I slept last before then."
"Shit," Ryan dropped onto the other end of the couch. "No wonder you're going crazy." Esposito looked at him sharply, his glare fading to hurt around the edges. "I didn't mean that, Javi." When Esposito looked away, he reached out, putting one hand on Esposito's knee. "Really. I'm sorry. C'mon, why don't you talk to me?" Esposito shook his head almost imperceptibly. "I'm your partner, bro," Ryan reminded him and then, more quietly, added, "and I was there, too."
They sat, and Ryan watched the shadows move and the evening light change colors as the sun set. Finally Esposito broke the silence, "I can't--" His voice was rough, and he was looking steadily at the floor. "I don't want to talk about it, okay? Can we just play?"
"Sure, man." Ryan bit back his instinct to try and dig deeper. He studied Esposito, who looked like he had the literal weight of the world slumping his shoulders down, and searched for something to say. "And I'm going to kick your ass," he goaded. That would have to do for now.
---
Ryan tried to outlast Esposito's refusal to talk and ended up crashing on the couch instead. He faintly remembered waking up when Esposito draped a blanket over him, and then nothing until Esposito shook him awake the next morning to go to work. Alone. Esposito still didn't look like he'd slept, and he still didn't want to talk about it.
Ryan didn't see Esposito at the precinct all day, and he got only single word answers to his text messages, so he went over after work without calling or being invited and found Esposito sitting on the couch, wrapped in Ryan's blanket from the night before, playing Madden.
He still didn't want to talk about it.
---
Ryan woke up in the middle of the night with a crick in his neck and a really unattractive drool puddle smudged around his cheek. He quickly scrubbed at the couch arm with his sleeve and looked around, disoriented. Faint light and the soft sounds of someone pacing, not picking their feet up all the way, drifted from the kitchen.
"Javi," Ryan called, not shouting, but loud enough to be heard. There was a sudden thunk and a clatter in the kitchen. "Get over here." Ryan rubbed his sticky eyes and groaned. Esposito's shuffling footsteps approached and Ryan rolled on to his side and pulled his knees up to make room for him to sit.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up," Esposito said, appearing at the end of the couch.
Ryan waved him closer. "You think I care? Idiot. You should have woken me up when you couldn't sleep." He patted the cushion in front of his hips, in the crook of his knees. "C'mon," he stifled a yawn. "Sit."
Esposito settled on edge of the cushion and Ryan shuffled himself a little higher on the arm of the couch. "I'm fine, bro," Esposito insisted. "I don't want you to worry about me."
"Tough shit. I'm already worried -- you can't make me stop." He propped his head up on his hand and felt the tops of his legs brushing Esposito's side. "Talk to me? Please?" Esposito stared at the floor and fidgeted. Ryan reached over to wrap one hand around his wrist, right above the rope burn from where he'd been bound that wouldn't quite heal.
"It's not just what happened at the warehouse," Esposito said slowly. He rolled his hand over to catch Ryan's and studied the matching rope burn on Ryan's wrist. Ryan made himself relax and give Esposito time to think. He focused on pushing every ounce of support and good feeling he could through their loosely clasped hands.
"That was awful. And it brought everything back up. But that's not the only thing that's--" he chuckled dryly, "that's keeping me up at night. So to speak." He started to say more and Ryan heard his throat catch as he stopped himself. Ryan studied his profile and listened to them both breathing. The room felt full, with just the two of them in it.
"When I came back from the war, I was in pretty bad shape. A lot happened to my unit. Apparently one of the docs I saw flagged me as potentially developing PTSD -- the precinct doc knew about it, anyway -- but I got my head on straight and it never really developed. Anyway, all these years later, doc seems to think this traumatic event triggered it to come back for real." He dropped his head. . Ryan squeezed his hand quickly and then let go to rub small circles on his back.
"I've been seeing things, bro. And hearing things, when no one's there. I can't sleep because I start having these flashbacks. It's like they're right there in the room with me -- or I'm back in the desert with them. It's worse than when I'm awake because I can't keep it straight, what's real and what's not." Ryan stilled his hand and just rested it on Esposito's back, feeling the warmth seeping through his sweatshirt. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and said softly, "And when it's not IEDs and sand it's that damn warehouse. I can feel the cold concrete under my knees, even outside in the sunlight, and I hear the leaky pipes dripping every time it's quiet," he shivered and dropped his head into his hands. "I think I'm going crazy, bro."
"You're not," Ryan said, almost too quickly. "You're not crazy, or going crazy; you're going to be fine. Those bastards did this to you--" He consciously relaxed his clenched jaw.
"Just because it's their fault doesn't make it not true. Seeing things? Hearing voices? I'm pretty sure that's the definition of crazy, bro." He was staring at the floor again.
Ryan couldn't think of what he ought to do, but he knew what he wanted to do. Under normal circumstances he could make the right choice between the two but now, here, in the still, warm air, cloaked by the darkness, after everything they'd been through, he didn't even really consider what he ought to do.
He pulled his knees up and shoved himself into a sitting position, curling around Esposito's back. He wrapped his arms around his waist and pressed his face into his shoulder. "You are not crazy. And even if you were, it wouldn't matter to me. Or to anyone who matters.”
Esposito's arms came up to cover his and pull him tighter. Ryan could feel his chest rattling under his arms like he was having trouble getting enough air and his voice was thick when he spoke, "Thanks." He dropped his head forward onto their arms and Ryan saw the feathery edges of the rope burn around his neck, fainter in the back and darker around the sides of his throat.
After a few minutes Ryan felt Esposito relax and he started to let go and lean back, but Esposito’s hands clenched around his arms even tighter. He sighed and pressed up against Esposito. "Are you tired?" he asked.
"It's weird. I go back and forth between bouncing-off-the-walls wired and completely fucking exhausted..." His exhales brushed over Ryan's arms and tickled the hair there. He drew in a shallow breath, "Right now I'm completely fucking exhausted."
"You want to try to sleep?" Esposito stiffened. "I'll stay with you. I mean, if you want." Ryan chewed his lip. He wished he could see Esposito's face, to make sure he'd taken the offer in the spirit it was intended.
"I... Okay. If you don't mind." He still had hold of Ryan's arms and his fingers clenched tighter as he spoke. He probably didn't even realize it.
"Not at all. Bed?"
---
Ryan felt pretty damn smug for about five minutes. They'd crawled into bed and after some minor awkwardness Esposito had scooted back into him so that Ryan's chest touched him all along his back and then proceeded to fall immediately into something like a coma. Apparently, his body wasn't asking him permission on these sorts of things anymore.
Ryan was enjoying the steady rise and fall of Esposito's chest under his arm and just about to fall asleep himself when he felt his heart rate increasing. A few seconds later, Esposito sounded like he was running for his life and he batted Ryan's hands away when he tried to shake him. His eyes were open, Ryan realized, suddenly, blown wide and frantic in the dark.
"Javi!" He dodged and jab and clamped one arm across his chest and both arms. "Esposito? Javi, it's me. It's Kevin." Esposito grunted and struggled against his grip. Ryan worked around until he could look in Esposito's eyes. "Javi, please. It's me? Can you hear me? You're safe, you're at home."
For just a second Esposito looked at him and Ryan could see his eyes slot in to focus. "Kev. I--" His eyes jerked to the side as something caught his attention and he slipped away again.
"No! Javi, please," Ryan felt panic rising in his chest, totally unsure of what to do in this situation and feeling out of his depth. At a loss, he did the first thing that came to mind, he started singing: old Irish tunes his mother used to sing like lullabies at his bedside when he was sick. Esposito relaxed minutely and his eyes flickered past Ryan's face. Ryan slid back down to lie behind him and sang in his ear, feeling the random muscle twitches gradually slow. When he got to the end of that sang he sang another, and another, and another...
---
Esposito woke up early. The first thing he noticed was that the tired, achy headache that had been hiding just behind his eyes for days was finally gone. He was surprised to actually be waking up from a sleep rather than jerking back from a waking nightmare. Ryan's plan must have worked. Speak of the devil, Ryan was currently draped over his back, warm and secure and breathing deep. When Esposito moved and disturbed him he started humming, something Irish sounding, which was a little odd. A few seconds later he fully woke up.
"Morning," Esposito said.
"Morning, how'd you sleep?" Ryan rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his messy hair.
"Great, I think. Thank you." He glanced down at the small strip of mattress between them.
"Don't mention it. Really," Ryan yawned and rolled into Esposito's side.
"If I can just have you here every night I think I can send this shrink packing," he said, only half joking.
"In all seriousness, why hasn't he referred you to someone for sleeping pills?" Ryan's blue eyes looked especially stark in the morning, or maybe his skin was especially pale. He left red streaks where he kept rubbing his face. "I mean, not that I mind, but if you're going to be relying on either me or pills to sleep, I'd prefer you have the one you can keep in your pocket. Just in case." Esposito mumbled something into his sleeve. "Sorry, what?"
"I've been telling him that I'm fine," he made a face. "I don't want to have to talk to him."
Ryan sat up against the headboard and pulled his knees to his chest. "Why not?"
"I dunno. Psychobabble bullshit, you know? I don't want to talk to some random guy about my feelings." He made air quotes on 'feelings.'
"You should give it a try, bro. Let him try to help you. It's not all bullshit. I mean," he caught Esposito's eyes and didn't look away, "I went to one once, and it helped a lot."
"Really? When?"
"When I was a kid. Well, teenager. I don't think I'd ever have become a cop if I hadn't; I don't think I'd have become much of anything." Esposito tried to imagine him as anything besides a cop and realized he couldn't.
"What'd you have to go for?"
Ryan sucked his lip against his teeth and shook his head shortly. "Maybe I'll tell you someday. It's not a nice story." He held Esposito's gaze. "So, you'll go, though? And give it a try?"
"Yeah," he said. He was reluctant, but he couldn't say no. "I'll give it a try."
"Thank you," Ryan grabbed his cell phone and glanced at the screen. "What do you say I take the morning off and we nap until your appointment time?" He was already texting Beckett.
"Deal," Esposito slid back under the covers, grateful for every minute of sleep Ryan could give him. Ryan laid down next to him, not quite touching. He felt the distance acutely and in his head the sound of the pipes dripping in the warehouse ratcheted up several levels. "I'm not better, you know," he said into his pillow without rolling over to face Ryan. "One short night of sleep, I'm not healed just like that." He felt Ryan's arm come up to rest on his shoulder. "Even now, I can hear--"
"Shhhh. I know," Ryan scooted closer and wrapped his arm over his chest. "I know you're not better yet, but you will be. Now go to sleep." And he did.