At the very least, he gets about half an hour, while Stephen showers. That's one thing that hasn't changed, it seems. Stephen's always been one for long showers. Knowing what he does about him, Nick supposes it makes sense. For someone that likes running around in the woods, getting caked with dirt and mud and slicked with sweat, he's actually a very clean creature. Like a cat; the man showered once, sometimes twice a day whenever he could.

He likes to be warm, too, and Nick can't help wondering how long it's been since he's had a proper warm shower. That in mind, he lets him have his time.

He does start to wonder at the half-hour mark. He thinks maybe Stephen's slipped out, or maybe that he's passed out or something in the shower. It's not until he's two steps up and sees Stephen appear at the top of the stairs that he realizes he's being ridiculous. Or paranoid, one.

Stephen doesn't seem to be bothered, at least. He even smiles, sort of. "Coming to make sure I haven't slipped out the bedroom window?"

It sounds even more ridiculous when Stephen says it, especially looking like he does. Nick can't decide if he looks better or worse now that he's cleaned up. On the one hand, he doesn't look like he's just crawled out of a burning building, but on the other, he can see just how bad the wounds are now that there's no dirt or soot to hide them.

"You wouldn't in those clothes," Nick says, indicating with a stiff tilt of his head the clothes Stephen's wearing. They're Nick's, just a pair of running trousers he never wears (Nick's got a shirt for him waiting on the table, but there's no point in him putting it on until Nick's patched him up), and they're too big on him. They hang low on his hips, and even tired and sore as he is, he can't help noticing the dip of his hip bones and the thin trail of hair that runs from his navel to disappear beneath the band of the trousers.

Of course, he can't help noticing the scars, either. And while they aren't grotesque, while it's not offensive in any way to see the lines of scars, pale on his naked tan torso, they're a reminder of everything that happened the day of the coup and of what Stephen's been through since.

"You're staring."

That Nick is. Unashamedly, at that. He'll stop looking when he's tired of seeing him there, alive. And something tells him that's going to be a long time. Maybe the meds have made him bold. Or maybe it's just relief at having him back.

That's the answer Nick goes with. "Just can't believe you're back."

"Tell you the truth?" Stephen says softly. "I can't, either."

Nick can hear in his voice that he's got mixed feelings about that. He tries not to take offence to it, though. Of course he has mixed feelings. He's had a lot happen, today. He's been locked in a room, interrogated, gone on the run, and now he's lost something (someone, but Nick doesn't really want to think on that too much) he's been tracking through hell and back for the past year.

But he's also still smiling, and he looks at least a little bit content, a little bit more relaxed than he was before, and Nick decides to focus on that.

The silence stretches on between them, and even though it isn't necessarily uncomfortable, Nick clears his throat to break it. "Well, what do you say we have a look at you, then?" It isn't really a request, and he doesn't wait for an answer, turning and going back down the stairs into the sitting room. He trusts Stephen to follow him. He's got no reason to leave just now, after all. Not yet.

"You don't have to," Stephen protests, even as he joins Nick in the main room. "Shouldn't you be resting, anyway? With your shoulder, I mean."

"Sit," Nick says instead of answering. He doesn't feel the need to tell Stephen about all the restless hours leading up to this; he'll sleep better knowing Stephen's here and at least something close to taken care of.

Stephen does.

He takes the seat in the middle of the sofa, and Nick sits down on the table in front of him. The first aid kit is on the table just beside him.

Stephen doesn't protest as much as Nick thought he would as he gets started. He's mostly still as Nick sets to work. Mostly, because he can't seem to help flinching when Nick reaches for him.

"Sorry," he says.

Nick shakes his head. "Not your fault." It really isn't. Stephen always has trouble with things like this, letting someone take care of him like this. He remembers after the Gorgonopsid knocked into him, it took nearly passing out mid-snog for him to admit he'd hurt his ribs, and another half an hour and the threat of an ambulance for him to let Nick bind them and ply him with painkillers and ice. He'd fidgeted the whole bloody time, too.

And that was when they were comfortable with one another.

He doesn't think Stephen is, strictly speaking, uncomfortable with him now. But there is an underlying tension between them that neither of them are rested and stable enough to talk about tonight. Probably doesn't help that he's spent the last few hours taxing the hell out of his sympathetic nervous system. He thinks, after this past year, 'fight or flight' might be his default setting.

He doesn't do either, fortunately, but his foot is bouncing a quick rhythm on the floor, and he's twisting the drawstring of his trousers around his fingers almost compulsively.

The second time he jerks back from the alcohol wipe, Nick sits back with a sigh. "I know you're not doing it on purpose," he says, cutting off the apology he can see forming on Stephen's lips, "but as you can see, I've only got the one hand. I can't chase you."

"I can do it," Stephen says mildly.

Nick shakes his head. "I can do it. I just need you to let me." He reaches for him again, but instead of going for the wound on his head, he cups the side of his face. Stephen doesn't jerk back this time, though Nick can tell it takes that same effort as before. He appreciates it. He holds him there, locking eyes and smiling softly as if to say, 'See? This is alright. This is okay,' and smoothes his thumb along the edge of the bruise on the left side of Stephen's face. His eye really does look vicious, the bright lakebed blue ringed with blood red where the white should be. "I know what I'm doing, alright? And I won't even make you go to the hospital. So just come here—there, like that—and let me take care of you."

Stephen's scooted up to the edge of the sofa, his knees bracketing Nick's. He's all leg, Stephen is. Any closer, and his legs would be bumping the table. But this is close enough. Nick Barely has to reach this time to wipe the alcohol swab across the cut, and this time, when Stephen flinches, he manages to keep still.

It's Nick who apologizes this time. "Sorry." He knows the alcohol stings, and even the slightest pressure on the tender bruising has to hurt something fierce. When he's finished, he blows on the wet patch to help the alcohol dry, and is surprised to hear Stephen laugh.

"What?" he asks as he sets to smearing antibiotic cream over the wound. He tuts when Stephen starts to shake his head, which just makes Stephen laugh that much harder.

Nick had almost forgotten what Stephen's laugh sounds like. Even before the coup, he didn't hear much of it. Not after Helen. He didn't realize until now how much he missed it, the soft richness of it, the way his eyes crinkle and his cheeks dimple. Christ, but those dimples.

"Just forgot how much of a mother hen you can be," Stephen says.

"Mother hen?" Nick doesn't stop, though, pulling some butterfly stitches tight over the cut, wincing as Stephen does. Absent a spare hand, he bumps his leg with his knee. "And what does that make you?"

"Good question."

"I ask those from time to time." Sitting back, he taps Stephen on the shoulder. "Turn around. I need to see that burn."

He sees the hesitation, sees him pause. There's a flash of something that isn't quite panic, but is something close. It's so ... beyond Nick, to comprehend how such a simple thing as turning his back to someone can be so alarming. But even before all of this, Stephen was always a little tetchy about things like that. It was more subtle: putting his back to walls in a room, favouring corners instead of the middle of the room, turning around whenever someone passed behind him. But he imagines a year on the run would probably stand to exacerbate any nervous habits someone has. He spent a year fearing for his life; Nick has to expect some fallout from that.

It makes him appreciate it that much more when Stephen gives him his back, anyway. He's suddenly acutely aware of the position they're in. Specifically, the position Stephen's in: stuck on the sofa, legs folded up for lack of anywhere else to put them, trusting a man who, despite his standing promise not to hurt him, still hasn't made his feelings towards him entirely clear.

It hasn't escaped his memory that the last time Nick saw Stephen before he disappeared, he was still sporting a bruise from where Nick had punched him across the cheek.

He'd told him he'd never hurt him before that, too. A few months before, maybe, but that doesn't change the principle of the thing.

It's that, knowing how anxious he is (seeing it with his own two eyes, in the rigid set of his bare shoulders) that makes him pause before he starts on the fist-sized welt on the back of Stephen's shoulder. Instead, he settles a hand between his shoulder blades, splaying his fingers slowly, deliberately. It's something he's done before. Nights he would wake up to the sounds of panted breaths or quiet whines, when Stephen would sit up on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands or pace in front of the window like he was trapped inside.

Those nights, he'd catch him and come up behind him. Slowly, gently, so as not to startle him, he'd settle a hand between his shoulders, warm and firm. Back then, he'd usually kikss a path down his neck and shoulders, until the tension started to ebb away. He'd pull him into a kiss, drag him back into bed, hold him until his breathing evened out and his body relaxed.

He doesn't do that, now. It's not that he doesn't want to, because as he's somewhat baffled to find, he really does. He wants to do all of those things, just like he used to. That's part of the problem, though, because they clearly aren't that anymore, and things are confused enough without confusing that particular issue. He's no expert, but what Nick thinks Stephen needs now is stable. And he knows he personally needs a chance to wrap his head around things.

He thinks the hand is okay, though, because it came before everything else. It came when Stephen was still his grad student, when Stephen's father made his last visit (he's not dead, as far as Nick knows; after what he's done to Stephen, death would be too kind) and left Stephen in the kind of state that usually precedes a lot of alcohol and poor decisions. To be fair, it had, but at least he hadn't been alone.

It's a gesture of comfort, of solidarity. It's ... gentling. And for someone like Stephen, who's so desperate for any kind of connection, it's a channel he needs to keep from drawing in on himself.

It works. He stiffens at first, but then he lets out a breath and relaxes. It shouldn't mean as much to Nick as it does, but something about the familiarity of it speaks to him.

"You're alright," he tells him, and he repeats the phrase several times as he starts cleaning the burn. Stephen tenses, back arching away, but it's more from pain, Nick thinks, than nerves. That doesn't make it any better, just different. "Almost done, just keep breathing. Try to relax."

Stephen's taken to holding the back cushion of the sofa. He's resting his chin on it, and has his arms stuck between it and the back of the sofa. Nick can't tell if he just wanted something to hold onto or if he's trying to keep himself still, but Nick just lets him and tries to work as quickly as he can, cleaning it out and smearing a thick layer of ointment over the blistered skin. He tapes a pad of gauze over it.

The rest of the burns aren't so bad. The skin is red, but not blistered, and only in a few spots on his back and along his arms.

"Nick?" Stephen sits up a bit and turns when Nick rises.

Nick brushes a hand through the back of his hair. Another too-familiar gesture. It's easy to forget how tactile he is around Stephen. It's not in his nature, but it's reassuring, and not just to Stephen. It's reassuring to Nick. In a way, he thinks he needs that channel, that connection. Especially with Stephen. "Just going to get some aloe. Stay there."

He's slow going. His shoulder's aching with a vengeance, and if he didn't think they would knock him out, he'd take another dose of his painkillers.

As it is, he just grabs the bottle of aloe and pockets the blister pack for later, before going back to the sitting room.

He stops in the doorway.

Stephen hasn't moved, at least. If anything, he's settled in. Nick was only gone for a minute or two, but he's got his head pillowed on the cushion, and his eyes are closed. His breathing's as steady as Nick thinks it's going to be, with his ribs in the state that they are (that is, bruised and sore-looking), and if Nick didn't know any better, he'd say he's taking a kip.

As Nick approaches, he stirs a bit, blinking his eyes open and lifting his head. He might've been napping after all, because he has that bleary, semi-startled look that he gets. His hair, nearly dry now, is sticking up in all sorts of directions, and it doesn't even occur to Nick until right at that moment that he's shaved. He's just so used to seeing him clean shaven, it didn't strike him as odd when he saw him that way.

Nick's suddenly reminded of a working night. Stephen isn't usually the first to fall asleep, but sometimes, he'd catch him dozed off over a pillow in his lap, pen still in his hand. There's no pen, now, but the feeling is still there.

Nick smiles. "You can go back the way you were," he tells him as he sits back down on the table. "I won't take offense." Actually, he's glad. He's glad Stephen's settling down enough to be drowsy. He's not sure how long it's been since Stephen's slept, but he thinks it's too long.

Stephen's gaze lingers on him over his shoulder for a moment longer, but then he turns back around and rests his head back on the pillow.

Intent on finishing this as quickly as possible, he squirts some of the aloe out onto his palm and rubs it as well as he can in just the one hand to warm it before he starts spreading it out over the burns. Stephen's breath hitches a bit, but otherwise, he doesn't react.

"This is familiar," he muses aloud. Stephen's always been fond of the sun and not so fond of sunscreen. Granted, with him, it's one day burned and next day brown, if he even burns at all. Nick, not so much. "Though I seem to remember it usually being the other way around." He keeps his voice soft so it doesn't bother Stephen any, but Stephen told him once he likes the sound of his voice (his accent, specifically). He's not sure if he still does, but he wants to do anything he can to make Stephen comfortable.

Apparently, it works. Stephen actually lets out a quiet moan as Nick smoothes some aloe over a burn on the small of his back. That's familiar, too, although it's a bit different, now. There's nothing sexual about this. They're both so tired and out of sorts, it just isn't there. It just feels good, and Nick can understand that. He's just glad he's not in so much pain anymore.

By the time he finishes, he thinks Stephen is actually asleep, or at least someplace close. It's a good feeling. It's not just about the trust, but the nostalgia of it. He's missed this. He's missed Stephen, and having him back ... it's more than Nick ever dared ask for.

There's still a lot of unknowns, a lot of things left unanswered. But right then, in that moment, he can't bring himself to care. He just sits there, watching the rise and fall of Stephen's chest, recommitting every familiar part of him to memory and mapping every new mark and scar.

It takes more than he thinks it should to bring himself to wake Stephen up. It's only after he's put the aloe up, taken some of his painkillers with a glass of water, and fetched some linens out of the closet that he comes back in the living room to wake him.

He doesn't give him a shake, just sits down on the arm of the sofa and reaches over to brush a hand through his hair. It's enough to wake him, but he's relieved when he doesn't start awake. He just blinks awake and lifts his head to look at Nick.

"Hey."

"I fell asleep?" It doesn't sound like a genuine question. Nick actually thinks he's surprised with himself.

Nick nods. "Seems so. You're tired." He hasn't taken his hand away from Stephen's hair, not that Stephen seems to mind. If anything, he seems to be leaning his head against Nick's hand. Nick's half surprised he doesn't hear purring, and it makes him happy. It's such a change from the frantic, cagey man in the room that morning that he almost can't believe it. He doesn't expect it'll last, once Stephen's not so tired he can't think straight, but that just makes him all the more intent to enjoy it while he can. "Just one more thing before you can sleep," he says. "How are the ribs?"

Stephen takes a breath like he's testing them, running his fingers over the bruise on his side gingerly. "They'll be okay."

"Will it help you to wrap them?" It won't do much, medically speaking. But it could give him some comfort he doesn't have, now.

"They'll be okay," Stephen repeats a little sluggishly.

Nick rolls his eyes. "I know. But would they be better if they were wrapped?"

Stephen seems to think for a moment, but then shakes his head (Nick winces for him.) "They're okay. I'm okay," he says, and then, as an afterthought, he adds, "Thanks."

There's a weight to the one word that Stephen shouldn't be able to manage as knackered as he is. It makes Nick slow down as it sinks in. He's not really sure what all it means to Stephen, saying it, but it means a lot to Nick, hearing it.

"You're welcome," he says finally, and even if it's not quite as weighted as Stephen's, there's a duality to it. He's welcome in every sense of the word. Welcome for the concern. Welcome for the night.

Welcome home.

He hesitates as he stands to leave. Even if Stephen couldn't tuck himself in, Nick can't really offer much help in that regard. He's brought him a pillow and a comforter. He actually thinks for a minute about offering to share his bed, for want of a guest room, but again, he thinks that would be confusing the issue. Besides, Stephen's slept many a night on that couch. So has Nick, to be honest. It's not a bad place to sleep.

Certainly better than a lot of places Stephen's probably had to sleep.

It's a sobering thought, but at the same time, it makes him feel better. Because he's not in those places anymore. He's here. He's back.

He's home.

And Christ, that thought shouldn't come as easy or stick as well as it does. But Nick's too tired to fight it. He's ... satisfied. Happy, even. And yet, as he starts towards the stairs, he can't help feeling a nervous pull in his gut.

"Stephen?" he says as he reaches the bottom of the stairs and stops.

Stephen's head appears over the back of the sofa. "Yeah?"

"Be here in the morning."

Stephen doesn't answer, but he smiles, and that's enough for Nick.

And this time, when Nick goes to bed, he's asleep in minutes.