Title: Manny’s Island
Author: podga
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: CSI and its characters do not belong to me. I write and post for fun only.

Every summer Manny returned home for three weeks. It was a long trip for such a short period: he needed to take the plane from New York to Athens, then a taxi to Piraeus and then a rusted old ferry that stopped at every island on the way before finally entering, fifteen hours later, the small harbor of the island on which he’d been born and lived until he was sixteen. A fifteen-minute walk up a steep hill, and he was finally home.

Sometimes his family would travel with him; his wife before she died, God rest her soul, his two sons, later their wives and still later his grandchildren.

On his sixty-eighth birthday Manny went to the travel agency and booked a one-way ticket back to Greece. Then he went to his lawyer and arranged for his home and his small shop to be transferred in equal share to his two sons. Finally he bought a little box for the key of his ’69 Camaro. That evening he told his family his decision and gave the box to his grandson Peter. The following month he traveled on the rusted ferry for the last time.

Two months later Peter came to visit him. Manny wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but Peter convinced him that he should rent out part of his home for the summer. Peter promised that he would organize everything, and that he’d come to the island every summer and help out, and slowly his enthusiasm about the whole project transferred to Manny. He spent the winter fixing up his home, closing off a room behind the kitchen to create a small apartment for himself, arranging for his cousin Georgia to come help with the cleaning and the cooking. He wasn’t convinced that anything would come of it, but it gave him something to do.

True to his word, Peter returned the next summer to help Manny. Not that much help was needed; their total bookings amounted to one Greek family of four for one week and an English couple that stayed three days before moving on.

“We’re too far away and there’s nothing to do here,” Manny told Peter, as they both sat under the olive tree Manny’s grandfather had planted, enjoying a cup of coffee. “People want more these days.” More than to wake up to the buzzing of the cicadas and to the smell of pine and thyme. More than to spend lazy days swinging in a hammock and day-dreaming. Manny himself had wanted more when he was younger.

“All we need is good word of mouth,” Peter said confidently. “And an internet site.”

Manny just shook his head. He doubted any internet site could make up for a fifteen-hour ferry ride to an island with fifty permanent inhabitants, one taverna and one small supermarket whose owner didn’t believe in sell-by dates.

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” Peter said two weeks later.

“Always start with the good.”

“I’ve got you another booking. Two Americans, arriving the last week of August. They’re planning on three weeks, but the guy I talked to said maybe a couple more, if the weather holds.”

“Five weeks? Here?” Manny asked surprised. “Are they sure they have the right island?”

“Well, three weeks to start with. Let’s not count our chickens before they’re hatched.”

“And what’s the bad news?”

“I have to go back home around August 20th, so I won’t be here to help out. I’m sorry, Pappou. But it’s only two people. I’m sure you can handle them with Aunt Georgia’s help.”

And so it was that Manny found himself waiting at the small harbor for the two unknown Americans. He’d considered instructing Peter to tell them not to come, but what was the point? They’d figure it out for themselves before the first week was out and in the meantime he’d make up a small portion of his investment in his grandson’s hare-brained schemes.

 

At first he thought they were father and son, but as they came nearer he realized that they couldn’t have more than twelve or fifteen years’ difference between them. The older man had curly hair laced with gray, which is what had initially tricked Manny, but his face was still youthful and his blue eyes sharply observant. The younger man had dark brown hair and eyes; he trailed the older man, his hands in his pockets, seemingly uninterested in his surroundings. Two days tops if that one had anything to do with it, Manny thought, and that was only because the ferry wouldn’t be back the next day.

“Welcome! I hope you had a good trip,” Manny said, extending his hand. “I’m Manny.”

The older man shook his hand. “Gil. And this is Nick.”

Manny heard the blend of pride and worry in Gil’s voice, and he recognized it as love. Maybe he was mistaken about the age, and Nick was Gil’s son after all. Nick stepped forward and shook Manny’s hand. He had a nice smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I brought Mendis to help us with the luggage,” Manny said, pointing to the small donkey standing patiently in the shade.

Nick suddenly laughed. “Nice hat,” he said, indicating the straw hat sitting jauntily on Mendis’ head. “It looks awfully familiar, doesn’t it, Gil?”

Gil smiled at what was obviously an inside joke, but he didn’t take it further.

 

By the time they reached the house, both Gil and Nick were perspiring and out of breath.

“I’ll show you to your rooms. Then I can offer you a snack and a cool drink or coffee or maybe you just want to rest for a while?”

“Thank you,” Gil answered and unhitched his bag from Mendis’ saddle. After that brief moment of laughter down at the port, Nick had retreated into silence, trailing almost five or six meters behind the others and leaving it up to Gil to make conversation with Manny on their walk up the hill. Manny was becoming more and more convinced that this was Gil’s son, although he seemed a bit too old to be acting like a spoiled teenager. Anyway, it wasn’t any business of his.

“The rooms are upstairs,” Manny said. “I hope you don’t mind sharing the shower between you.”

“Not at all,” Gil said politely, and Nick laughed, although once again Manny couldn’t see anything funny.

 Manny showed them to their rooms, proudly pointing out the view from their windows, which Gil, at least, seemed to appreciate. “You can have breakfast on the balcony here, or you can come downstairs. Whatever you prefer. And if you need anything, anytime, just let me know.”

“Thank you, Manny,” Gil said.

 “Well, I’ll leave you to unpack. When you’re ready, we can have a refreshment on the downstairs patio. Anytime you like.”

Gil nodded absent-mindedly, his attention on Nick, who was leaning on the window sill staring outside with his back to them, so Manny left them alone.

 

About half an hour later, Gil came downstairs and sat with Manny at the table under the olive tree.

“Is Nick joining you?” Manny asked.

Gil seemed to hesitate a second, then shook his head.

“No, he decided to lie down for a while. It was a long trip.”

It had never been Manny’s way to interfere in things that weren’t his business, but it seemed to him that this was his business. After all, Gil and Nick were staying in his home, even if they were paying to do so and weren’t guests in the usual sense. He brought Gil some watermelon, a coffee and a glass of cool water and sat down again.

“How did you decide to come here?” he asked delicately, trying to figure out a way to start the conversation. “We’re a little off the beaten path.”

Gil shrugged. “It’s what we want. Peace and quiet.”

“It doesn’t seem to be what Nick wants.”

Gil’s eyes immediately grew wary. “Nick is just tired,” he said in a hard voice, and Manny understood that he should change the topic.

 

Nick didn’t put in an appearance until dinner time. He stood at the door, his shirt obviously slept in, squinting out into the darkness.

“Where’s Gil?” he asked.

“He walked down to the village. He should be back pretty soon.”

Nick came and chose the same chair Gil had a few hours earlier, twisting it around so that he sat astride with his arms resting on its back. Not quite at the table with Manny, but close enough so that Manny figured he could start a conversation.

“How did you decide to come here?” he repeated the question he’d asked earlier, hoping for more success this time around.

Nick had been staring into the distance, but he turned to look at Manny. “Why?” he asked, rather rudely in Manny’s opinion.

“You’re only my third guests this summer. I want to tell my grandson what people say, so that he can design the internet site better. Marketing research.”

Nick looked amused. “Marketing research? That’s pretty advanced for summer rooms.”

“I lived in New York for over fifty years, you know. I had my own business there,” Manny bristled.

“What made you decide to leave New York after so many years?” Nick asked.

“After my wife died, New York wasn’t home any more. This always has been,” Manny said, and although Nick was staring out into the darkness again, he seemed to be paying attention, nodding at all the right places, asking short questions.

It was only later that Manny realized that Nick had neatly changed the topic of conversation to what any old fool most enjoys talking about: himself. He was still no closer to figuring out why Gil had chosen his island (and there was no doubt in Manny’s mind that it had been Gil’s choice) or what the two of them were doing here.

 

Manny jerked awake, his heart racing. A second later he heard the sound that had woken him again, a kind of howl that froze his blood. It was coming from the guest rooms. He hastily pulled on his tatty old robe and rushed up the stairs. By the time he reached the corridor, he could hear loud, rasping sobs, somebody repeating ‘no, no’ over and over again, and then he recognized Gil’s voice murmuring in a comforting, almost sing-song tone. The door to Nick’s room was ajar and in the light from the hallway Manny could see Gil sitting on the bed, his arms wrapped around Nick, rocking him back and forth.

Manny pushed the door open a little further and the sudden shift in light caused Gil to look up, but Nick remained completely oblivious, his face buried in Gil’s shoulder, harsh sobs still racking his body.

“Can I help?” Manny asked hesitantly. “Do you need a doctor?”

Gil just shook his head and turned his attention back to Nick, cupping his head with one hand and rubbing his back with the other. “Shhhh. It’s okay, sweetheart. Nicky, it’s okay. You’re awake now.”

Manny stood undecided for a couple of seconds more, then backed away and started to close the door.

“Leave the door open,” Gil said.

Manny went to the kitchen and for want of something better to do, filled the kettle in order to boil some water. A couple of times he walked to the foot of the stairs and listened, but all he could hear was Gil’s voice, talking softly. Nick had apparently quieted down.

He was brewing chamomile when he heard the floorboards creak slightly and he looked up to find Gil standing there in pajama trousers, looking tired and disheveled.

“Is Nick okay?” Manny asked.

“For now,” Gil said. He swallowed hard, then sank bonelessly onto one of the kitchen chairs, as if his strength had suddenly deserted him.

“What’s wrong with him? Is he sick?” Manny was worried. The nearest doctor was on the next island and if Nick needed medical help, there was no way it would get here fast.

“No, he’s not sick,” Gil answered in a tired voice. He looked up when Manny set a cup of chamomile tea in front of him. “Thanks.”

“Then what?”

Gil looked at Manny, as if taking his measure and trying to decide how much information he could be trusted with. “He went through a pretty bad situation at work recently,” he said finally, and Manny could tell that there was a lot more to it than that.

“What work does he do?”

“We’re criminalists,” Gil said, and although Manny had never heard the term before, he figured it must be something like a policeman.

“You’re partners?” he asked Gil. That made sense. One of Manny’s neighbors in New York had been a cop, and his wife had always complained that he cared more about his partner than about her. It was clear that Gil felt responsible for Nick.

“Yes,” Gil answered, a small smile tilting his lips. “We’re partners.”

 

The next morning both Gil and Nick woke up late. Manny had already sent Georgia home before her tut-tutting about the slothful ways of American tourists drove him up a wall. For a second he’d considered telling Georgia about the previous night and asking her to be discreet about it, but discreet to Georgia meant telling only half the village rather than all of it.

Gil came downstairs first, wearing shorts and a T-shirt.

“Can we still get some breakfast upstairs?” he asked. “I know it’s late.”

“No, it’s fine,” Manny said. “My cousin was here earlier and she prepared a tray. I’ll just make the coffee. Would you like Greek coffee? Maybe a frappé?”

“What’s a frappé?”

“Something between an iced coffee and a milk shake.”

“That sounds good,” Gil smiled. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all. I’ll bring everything upstairs.”

Gil hesitated at the doorway. “Let me help you.”

“No, no, that’s fine.” Manny made a shooing gesture. “It’s no trouble.”

When he walked onto the balcony about fifteen minutes later, he nearly dropped the loaded tray. Nick was wearing swimming trunks and was resting his forearms on the balcony railing and Gil was standing next to him, one arm resting on the railing as well, the other draped around Nick’s bare shoulders, their heads close together. It was an intimate gesture, and not one Manny could mistake for anything other than what it was. He realized that once again he’d been mistaken about the nature of the relationship between the two men.

He set the tray down on the table and Gil straightened abruptly, stepping away from Nick. Nick didn’t change his position, just looked over his shoulder at Manny, and Manny saw the challenge in Nick’s brown eyes. What are you going to do now, old man?

Manny had seen a lot in his seventy years and not much shocked him any more. Still, he wasn’t too sure he was comfortable with this latest development. On the other hand, it had been a long time since some young whippersnapper half his age could intimidate him, especially one as vulnerable as Nick, with his dark circles under his eyes and his skinny frame. Manny could see from the knobs of his spine and his concave belly that he was at least 15 pounds underweight.

“Kali orexi,” Manny said in a firm voice. “Let me know if you’d like something else.”

“This is great, thank you,” Gil said. It made Manny feel somehow better that Gil seemed even more embarrassed at being caught out than he felt at catching them.

It wasn’t until a little later that he thought of his conversation with Nick the previous evening, and the excuse he’d offered regarding marketing research. He started laughing so hard he had to sit down. He could just about imagine the faces of his fellow villagers if he turned their island into the ideal vacation spot for gay men seeking a quiet alternative to the racket of Mykonos.

Gil and Nick kept to themselves most of the time. As far as Manny could tell, Gil liked bugs; he had several books on them and seemed to spend hours just sitting and observing an insect as commonplace as a cricket or a bee. Nick obviously didn’t share his interest. One warm afternoon, Manny watched Nick studying a column of ants moving up and down an outside wall; suddenly he rubbed his finger across a gap in their path and watched them mill around in confusion, a strange expression in his eyes. Then he rubbed his finger across the path in several more spots, disrupting the industrious column almost beyond recovery. It seemed pointlessly cruel to Manny, something a child would do.

There were a couple of repeats of the first night, but Manny no longer got up, even when he heard Gil in the kitchen getting a glass of water or brewing tea. Most nights, Manny would hear both men sitting outside, under Manny’s grandfather’s olive tree, talking quietly. They only went to bed when the birds began to sing and the sky to lighten in the east. Once or twice, as Manny went about his early morning tasks, he heard the unmistakable sounds of lovemaking coming from the room upstairs, muffled moans, the rhythmic creaking of the bed. Manny only just managed to convince Georgia to start coming later in the day, telling her there was no point to her showing up to make breakfast or clean rooms when the Americans didn’t get up until noon.

Overall Manny had to admit that the two men were discreet, probably due to Gil’s deference to Manny’s sensibilities more than to Nick’s; Nick seemed to want some kind of reaction, although Manny couldn’t figure out why. Once he returned from the market earlier than he’d originally planned and found them lying together in the hammock, Gil asleep and snoring softly, and Nick wrapped around him. Nick opened his eyes as Manny tiptoed by, but instead of moving away from Gil, he hugged him closer, all the time staring at Manny as if daring him to say something.

Manny pondered on the two men’s relationship. He didn’t really understand what brought two men together, but surely love was love. He didn’t see Gil as somebody who would be attracted by Nick’s apparent immaturity and constant moodiness; if they were together, it was either because what had happened to Nick had changed him, or because Gil felt himself somehow to blame for the incident, whatever it was. Either way, Manny suspected that Gil was reaching some sort of breaking point. The first and second week Gil hadn’t seemed to mind when Nick ignored him, but by the third week Manny caught a bleak look of despair on Gil’s face when Nick opted to skip dinner in order to lie in the hammock listening to his iPod and shutting the rest of the world out, or when he refused to go down to the village for a drink. Manny wondered if Nick realized the effect he was having on Gil, or if he even cared.

 

“How are your guests, Pappou? Did they decide to stay the extra two weeks?”

Manny leaned against the kitchen counter, squeezing the phone to his ear. Peter was his only grandson and by rights he should have had Manny’s name, Emmanouil, but Manny himself had insisted that they give the boy his other grandfather’s name, when he passed away mere days before the christening. Until he heard Peter’s cheerful voice, Manny hadn’t realized how affected he’d become by the mood of his two guests.

“I’m not sure yet. They haven’t said.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re taking very good care of them. You’re not getting too tired, are you?”

“Ah, they’re no trouble,” Manny half-lied, because they really weren’t any trouble, at least not in the way Peter had implied. “How is everybody in New York?”

He listened to Peter’s account of a family outing and for the first time he wondered if he’d made a mistake by coming back to the island, so far away from his children and grandchildren.

“Are you okay, Pappou? You sound a bit down,” he heard Peter say, and he forced a light laugh.

“I’m fine. Just a little preoccupied.”

“What about?”

It was then that the idea occurred to Manny.

“Peter, are you able to look up newspapers on the internet?”

“Newspapers?”

“Yes. Nick, the young man who’s staying here, apparently he was involved in something, maybe an accident, and I’m wondering what it was.”

“Why don’t you just ask him?”

“Where would the fun in that be?”

Peter laughed. “You’re right. Hold on, I’ll look him up right now. What’s his name again?”

“Stokes. Nick Stokes. I think he’s a cop in Las Vegas.”

He could hear his grandson tapping away, then there was a brief pause, then he heard Peter suck his breath in and utter a soft profanity.

“What? What is it?”

“Wow. Wow, Pappou, this is unbelievable. Poor guy. Shit…”

“What? What?”

And so, Manny found out what had happened to Nick.

“Is he okay now?” Peter asked after reaching the end of the article.

“No,” Manny said slowly. “Not at all.”

 

 The following evening, observing Gil and Nick playing backgammon, Manny thought he understood both of them a little better: Nick’s self-isolation and seeming indifference to everything, Gil’s enormous patience with him. He wondered how much longer either man would last in their current state.

“Have you decided whether you’re going to stay longer?” he asked them and Gil paused in the act of casting the dice to look at Nick.

“Not yet,” Nick responded gruffly and the dice clattered on the wooden board immediately afterwards, the game resuming as if nothing had happened. But Manny had seen the brief spark of hope in Gil’s eyes right before Nick answered. The boy needed sorting, only Manny had no idea how anybody could go about fixing what was wrong with him.

 

After two restless nights of plotting, Manny finally made up his mind to meddle. In the afternoon he dragged a bag of potting soil to the patio, where Gil was working on his laptop and Nick was swinging slightly in the hammock, his eyes closed, the perennial iPod buds in his ears.

“Nick, can you help me?” Manny said loudly enough for Nick to hear him. For a second he thought Nick was going to ignore him, but Nick removed the earphones and slowly climbed out of the hammock.

“What do you need?”

“I have to take this bag to church. Will you help me load it on Mendis and then unload it when we get there?”

Nick cast a look at Gil as if seeking guidance, then nodded. “Sure, Manny.” He bent down and easily hefted the bag of soil onto his shoulder.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Gil asked and Manny made a shooing gesture.

“Nick and I will be fine,” he assured Gil. “We’ll be back in less than an hour.”

They walked on either side of Mendis, Manny leading him and Nick occasionally reaching out to keep the bag from slipping off the wooden saddle as the small donkey negotiated a slippery bit of cobblestone.

The one thing Manny couldn’t predict in his plan was how Nick would react when he realized that they were heading for the cemetery. He was relieved to see that Nick seemed more curious than disturbed; a Greek village cemetery was very different to what he was probably used to and anyway, he hadn’t been buried in a cemetery, had he?

“My mother loved geraniums, so I planted them for her,” Manny said. “They’re sturdy plants, don’t need much watering, but at the end of summer I always come and change the soil.”

Nick was starting to look uncomfortable, but Manny told himself that it was due to the nature of the conversation rather than any other reason. No young man is interested in the rambling memories of an old man.

“Can you hold the bag and pour a little soil into each pot? Yes, like that.” Manny slowly and methodically patted the cool dirt down around the plants.

“My wife is buried in New York City. I wish she was closer to me, here, next to my parents, so I could visit her, as well.”

“What difference does it make?” Nick asked harshly.

“Everybody wants to be close to the people they love,” Manny said simply, standing up and brushing the soil from his hands.

“She’s dead. Buried. What difference does it make where you remember her?”

“You can put the bag down now. Yes, she is dead. But you’re not.”

Nick rocked back on his heels, almost like he’d been dealt a physical blow.

“You’re not,” Manny repeated, grabbing Nick’s shoulder and hanging on as Nick tried to walk away.

“Let go of me,” Nick said through gritted teeth.

“For almost three weeks I’ve watched you and Gil. You need to start living again, Nick. If not for your sake, then for his. Don’t make him mourn you as if you really were dead.”

“I… I don’t… How?” Nick stuttered, his voice breaking, and he tried to pull away again, but Manny had a good grip on the sleeve of his T-shirt. “Let me go,” Nick whispered again, his mouth working.

“You pretend at first. You pretend everything is okay and then, one day, it will be, and you won’t even realize when it happened. Life is strong that way, Nick.”

“What do you know about it, Manny? What the fuck do you know about it? I am trying,” Nick said in quiet fury, but his eyes were shiny with tears.

“No. I don’t see you trying. I see you giving up and relying on Gil. What happens when he gives up too?”

Nick didn’t hesitate for even a split second. “He won’t.”

Manny was touched by the absolute faith in Nick’s voice.

“He won’t want to. But he can’t last much longer. Don’t you see it?”

Nick shook his head slowly, but it was more in protest than disagreement.

“He can’t live for the both of you, no matter how much he loves you,” Manny said softly. “You survived. You must start taking responsibility for that.”

Nick looked away, as if trying to hide his wet face from Manny. “Please. Let me go,” he repeated, his voice flat and empty.

Manny held on to Nick’s sleeve for a second longer, searching for something else to say, but nothing more came to him and he reluctantly relaxed his grip. The moment he dropped his hand, Nick sprinted away as if the devil was at his heels.

 

Feeling increasingly guilty at the thought that he’d probably caused irreparable damage in a situation he didn’t understand, Manny stalled returning home as long as possible. He watered the geraniums, then went to visit Georgia at the village and let her fuss over him. Afterwards he drifted to the small village café for an ouzo or two.

“Aren’t you taking care of your Americans this evening?” Zois, the owner, asked him, and Manny shrugged and stared hard into his drink.

It was dark by the time he set off to go home, sitting sidesaddle on a sleepy Mendis. All the way he prayed earnestly that Nick had already returned home and that he wouldn’t be confronted by a worried Gil. He was an interfering old fool who should have stuck to his own business. What could have possessed him? He couldn’t even begin to imagine how he would apologize to Gil. To Nick, if he was back. Please, God, let him be back.

He let Mendis loose in the small pasture about two hundred meters away from his house and walked the rest of the way home almost on tiptoe. Even though he knew it was cowardly, he intended to reach his room behind the kitchen without Gil or Nick noticing him.

“Hi, Manny. We were wondering if you’re okay,” he heard Gil’s voice behind him just as he reached the kitchen. He jerked to a stop, then turned around slowly and saw Gil standing at the foot of the stairs, Nick a couple of steps above him. Gil looked unruffled, as usual, but Manny couldn’t make out Nick’s expression, because of the shadows cast by the stairwell.

“I’m okay,” he said. “And you?”

“Fine,” Gil said.

“Good. Good.” Manny cleared his throat. “Well. Goodnight.” He turned back towards the kitchen.

“Manny.”

Manny shut his eyes at the sound of Nick’s voice, bracing himself. Here it came.

“Yes?” he asked in a small voice.

“We’ve decided to stay the extra two weeks. If it’s not too late to tell you.”

Relief flooded through him. “No, of course it’s not too late. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like!”

 

Nick never spoke to Manny about what had transpired between them that afternoon, and Manny wondered if he ever said anything to Gil either. He doubted it, because Gil’s behavior towards him didn’t alter in the slightest.

If he hadn’t been looking so hard, Manny wouldn’t have seen the changes in Nick; at first they were so slight that he wondered if they were real or just his own wishful imaginings. Yet in the following two weeks he definitely heard Nick laugh more often, and he seemed to be putting on some weight. He spent more time with Gil, though he still went off on his own quite a bit. The nightmares didn’t go away, but they seemed less violent than in the beginning, and Manny knew that Gil and Nick were now sharing one bed the entire time. He still didn’t feel comfortable at that thought, so he continued to change the sheets on Gil’s bed as if he didn’t notice that it was no longer necessary to do so.

 

“Well, thank you, Manny. Everything was wonderful,” Gil said, shaking Manny’s hand. It was only seeing him now that Manny realized how tense Gil had been the first three weeks, despite his outward appearance of calm.

Absurdly, Manny choked up, as if he were saying goodbye to his own children. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “Safe trip home.” He extended his hand to Nick, but Nick surprised him by hugging him tightly.

“Take care, Manny,” Nick said, then stepped back to stand next to Gil and smiled. “Maybe we’ll come back some day.”

Manny shook his head. “Go someplace where there’s more to do,” he said. “You don’t want to come back here.”

Nick smiled again, and Manny saw in his eyes that he understood. Nick still had a ways to go, but looking at him, Manny felt optimistic.

He watched them board the ferry and waited until it pulled away from the harbor. He saw them standing together at the railing on the upper deck, Gil’s arm resting casually across Nick’s shoulders, and he stood there and waved until he could no longer distinguish them from the rest of the passengers, until the ferry was a just small speck against the setting sun.