Color Blind

Chapter Forty-Nine

AN: Alice in Chains again, with 'Head Creeps'.

* * *

Coffee. He needed coffee. But coffee didn't want to stay down.

He gagged and spat out a mouthful of coffee-flavored saliva. What had he been thinking? This was a horrible idea!

"Cole? You okay?"

"I'm sick."

"You're going. Don't worry, you'll be fine."

"Nancy, please..."

"You'll be fine." she said again. "I promise. Look at me." He dragged his head away from the toilet and looked up. "Just show him everything you've got-but don't you dare get rid of that picture you made for me-and see what he says." She patted his back. "I have to go or I'll be late. Good luck."

The front door opened and closed and he dry-heaved again. God, what had he been thinking?

Sadie rubbed against his ankles. He reached back to rub her head and she bit him. If that was her version of a pep talk, he liked Nancy's better.

Well, she was already in the bathroom. He dodged out and shut her in, trying to ignore her yowls of betrayal.

He would drink that coffee, and it would stay in his stomach if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

"Cole Martin?"

Oh, god, it was time. Hopefully he wouldn't puke all over the shiny tiles.

He took a shuddering breath and stood up. One foot in front of the other. He could do this.

"Ah, Mr. Martin." Should he correct the man? Did anyone ever correct Edgar Nicholson? "Sit down."

Huh? Oh. Right. Sit.

He perched on the edge of the chair, twisting his hands in his lap. He could feel the rough fabric of the gloves against his fingers. He could also feel his heartbeat in his fingertips. Now he knew the meaning of the phrase, 'so quiet, you could hear a pin drop'.

"You're an addict."

That was the first time anyone had ever been so...blunt. He was used to dirty looks and rolled eyes, but this was new. He didn't know what to say.

"Not anymore."

"How long?"

How long what? How long did he use, or how long had he been clean?

"Sorry?"

"How long have you been off?"

Mr. Nicholson had never done drugs in his life, apparently. Cole bit back a small smile and thought back. How long, how long...he'd lost track.

"Seven months." he said finally. It was the best guess he could come up with, being put on the spot like this.

"And long were you on it?"

Good god, what purpose was this serving?

"Years." he said softly. "I lost track."

"But you're better now."

Well, in a manner of speaking. The cravings were still there, in the middle of the night. And in the middle of the day. All the time, really, in the back of his mind. But some days were worse than others.

"Yes."

"Good. So." Mr. Nicholson leaned back in his chair. "I've seen some of your work, and I liked it very much. What I want to know is this: what else do you have?"

Finally, the reason he was here! He picked up the binder from the floor and flipped through it until he found his Heroin Jesus prototype.

"I'm working on enlarging this." he said. "But I tend towards stuff like this."

He slid it across the shiny desk and closed the binder again. He wished he'd had access to a fix before he came here, to settle his nerves. He didn't remember his heart ever beating so fast before.

Mr. Nicholson looked at the picture for a long time, his face expressionless. Cole took the time to look around his office.

Several photographs littered the walls. Most of them were stylized-a close-up of a typewriter keyboard, a black and white photo of a candle, and a teacup-but there were a few normal ones of children playing. Cute.

"This is very good."

"Th-thank you."

"What else do you have in that binder?"

* * *

Nancy got home from work to the smell of cooking tomatoes. Spaghetti sauce? Oh god, yes.

"Hi, Cole!"

"Hey, Nance!"

She dropped her backpack and wandered into the kitchen. She really needed to get him a chef's hat. That would be hilarious.

"How did it go?"

"How did what go?"

"Don't play dumb! With Edgar Nicholson, how'd it go?"

"Oh. That." That didn't sound good. "It went fine."

He was suddenly very interested in the sauce and she frowned.

"What happened?"

"We discussed my history of drugs." Oh, boy. That was never a good thing. "And then we discussed his putting up of some of my stuff in that building of his. You know, Zig-Zag."

What.

What?

"Really?"

"Uh-huh."

She squeezed him, remembered he had broken ribs and that hugging was a Very Bad Thing, and let go.

"Move over, I'm cooking!"

"I'm almost done!"

"Fine, but I'm making dessert. That's great!"

"Yeah, well..."

"Cole, that's awesome! Remember what I told you, when we first met?"

"You told me a lot of things."

"Yes, but I told you you should look into doing something with those pictures of yours!"

He finally turned around and hugged her, a little more gently than she had hugged him.

"Is this okay?"

Was it okay? There were no alarm bells ringing.

"Yes."

Behind them, the spaghetti sauce bubbled happily.