whisted | for jollyboat: anywhere you go

He doesn't quite fit.

Horatio had known, of course, that he wouldn't. Even if he had managed to make his way onto a ship years ago, everyone would have known he was odd. Perhaps it's for the best that he's clearly just a bit skittish, just a bit uncertain of himself unlike the other young men his age. Perhaps that would distract the human mind from looking to see just why, exactly, this one didn't seem to be quite entirely right.

It was, nonetheless, one thing to know and another thing to live. Being bundled in heavy unfamiliar fabric is surprisingly uncomfortable. The uniform is far more restrictive than the clothing he had forced himself to become accustomed to while hovering around the port. The sensation of being on a boat, despite the familiarity of the sea, is throwing his stomach through something of a loop. He can't shift and change direction. He can't twist along with the waves, comfortable and easy, or cut through below the discomfort of breakers tugging in the wrong direction. It's unnatural, here on a warped version of the surface. It's twisting something uncomfortable in his shoulders, almost dizzying as he tries to find his feet under him.

This is what he wanted, and it doesn't quite fit.

For the most part, feeling his skin in the sack slung over his shoulders is reassuring. His fingers can worry against the familiar softness with each odd rush of discomfort. This, after all, is the back-up plan. This is the fail-safe if everything falls completely to pieces and he needs to throw himself simply back into the sea. This is the piece of himself which will always fit properly, no matter where he is.

That's why it's resting at the top of his sack as he scrambles up properly into the ship. That's why, in the bluster of humanity, the young selkie doesn't notice that his skin has spilled out onto the deck.

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From:

whisted

For most of the night, Horatio does keep vigil. It's only for a moment that he leaves his self-appointed post, briefly trusting his friend to the protection of a mate who seems every bit as fretful about the pale-haired midshipman.

There's no time to pull on his skin--and no safety in doing so from the ship. It's much easier to simply squeeze himself in beside a gun port, whistling down softly to the waves below.

The mermaids don't tease long, hands like claws digging slightly into the boards of the ship creaking beneath Horatio's feet. There will be time, they know, when he's returned to the waves to properly fuss at their odd little friend, so eager to spend time among men and yet so quick to send one of them into the belly of the deep.

They won't wait for Simpson to be pushed. They don't need to. They aren't quite their siren sisters, but this won't be the first time they've charmed a sailor off his own ship and into their gnashing jaws.

Horatio is safely back in place when Archie wakes, eyes bright with exhaustion but lips pulled back with satisfaction. It's just a matter of keeping space between the midshipmen until the next dusk--and a matter of keeping Archie as far from the rail when dusk comes as he can.

They'll hear the splash, but they won't hear Jack Simpson's screams beneath the waves.

From:

jollyboat

It’s reassuring, to see that glimmer in Horatio’s eyes. It helps him feel a little safer, for all it’s a dangerous thing to even begin to believe. When he and Horatio can manage to stick close, it’s a relief.

They won’t entirely manage to keep Simpson at bay, but it’s enough to keep things from getting too far. It’s enough to keep Archie breathing easily enough when he reunites with Horatio again.

It doesn’t stop him from whirling at the splash and the shouts. It doesn’t stop him from catching at Horatio’s sleeve, a question in the gesture.

From:

whisted

His fingers catch lightly at Archie's sleeve in response. The shouts will make things quicker, but this still isn't something the other young man should have to see.

The other sailors will say it was a fish--a shark, perhaps, big as a man.

"It's okay." That's all Archie needs to know. "It's okay, Archie."

From:

jollyboat

“How did you—“

But maybe he doesn’t want to know. His fingers linger in Horatio’s sleeve a moment longer.

“He’s— gone?”

From:

whisted

"He's gone."

Horatio could trust the mermaids without looking for himself. He had seen their work before, and the hunger in their eyes when he spoke with them.

Archie doesn't need to see, but he does need to very softly be told, "--not-- pleasantly."

But very, very finally.

From:

jollyboat

“O-oh.”

The sway in him is hopefully just interpreted as moving with the ship. The hint of needing to lean a bit against Horatio might not be as easy to excuse, but it’s needed.

“He’s— gone.” It will likely take time to believe it. “T-thank you.”

From:

whisted

His lips twist toward a soft version of his smile, lips still pressed tight together.

"You... let me be free. Now-- you are too."

It isn't exactly handing back a skin, but it feels very much like a human equivalent.

From:

jollyboat

It is very much a human equivalent. Archie doesn't know if he's felt this much like he can breathe in far too long. It's overwhelming, and he's not entirely certain if he ought to laugh or cry, so he ducks his head and tries to steady his breathing so he doesn't explode either way.

"Keep-- working together, maybe? T'make sure we both-- stay free?"

It'd be nice, to feel like they can really, properly be friends.

From:

whisted

"Please."

This, after all, isn't the sort of bond that chaffs and restricts. This is the sort of trust, of partnership, which makes a heart feel very slightly bigger.

"And-- thank you."

From:

jollyboat

"Me?" he echoes, surprised, "'m not sure I'll-- ever be able to-- thank you."

From:

whisted

Horatio's features wrinkled, somewhere between confused and pleased.

"Don't-- need to."

His fingers twitch to catch at Archie's, pulling back at the last second to press against his own chest.

"Everyone's free, now. No-- thanking or owing. Just living."

From:

jollyboat

The relief and confusion on Archie’s face is obvious. It’s a wonder, to realize that this is just balancing the scales— That they’re even, and he owes nothing to no one and no one demands anything of him, and he’s free.

He needs to duck his head away briefly and take a deep breath to force the tears back before he looks up again.

“Just— living,” he echoes, and the start of a smile rather like his old one is growing on his lips, “Okay.”

From:

whisted

They can't keep lingering. It's suspicious, with everyone else running here and there to try and dredge up any sign of Simpson.

But they can bustle together, surely. They can stick close, the way everyone's used to seeing them, now.

And they can keep smiling, quiet and pleased, without anyone really having to ask why.

From:

jollyboat

They get to smile, now. They get to stick close. They get to remain quietly contented in one another's proximity without worrying, now. It's wonderful. It means that Archie slowly remembers how to stop jumping at shadows; that his smiles come quickly and without nerves or bitterness. It's even better once they've transferred aboard the Indy.

It all means that, one shore leave when Archie is just a little tipsy, he finds himself murmuring quietly in Horatio's ear as they make their way back to their room.

"C'n I-- tell you something?"

From:

whisted

Living so completely among men isn't easy. Horatio knew it wouldn't be. Still, it's infinitely easier for the man he's been allowed to stick just beside--and who had been so thoroughly returned to him.

(He stays up, some nights, to wedge himself nearly all the way through the gun ports. The little bits and pieces of human life he offers the mermaids, week after week, are never much. Sometimes they laugh, watery and pleased, and tell him his smile is a present enough.)

Not having to pretend, even just a hair less, around Archie is certainly part of it. The rest, well... Horatio doesn't let himself dwell on it. He simply enjoys moments like this, helping the other man along to their room for the night.

"Hm?"

From:

jollyboat

“‘s— important,” Archie asserts, “But also— super secret.”

So it should probably wait until they’re a little more tucked away. Archie fumbles just a bit in his eagerness to get there.

From:

whisted

Horatio does his best, as always, not to clutch at Archie. That's part of freedom, after all--part of the pact between them, as it were, much like keeping one another's secrets.

But hopefully he's allowed to steady the young man now. Hopefully it's all right that he catches gently, fretfully to keep Archie more or less on his feet.

"--easy."

From:

jollyboat

It's all right. It even has Archie settling against him, just slightly.

"Just want t'be able t'tell you," he says, the brogue curling through his words a bit, "Y'll-- let me?"

From:

whisted

"You can-- tell me anything, Archie."

What could possibly be more than the secrets they already shared? What could possibly need to be kept separate and apart?

Well, other than Archie's head and the door frame. Scrambling through the door to their room doesn't have to be a truly perilous thing.

From:

jollyboat

"Y're th'best."

Which is part of what he wants to tell him.

"'nd you should know I don't-- ever want t'-- own you, okay?"

Which is another part of it.

From:

whisted

That pulls an inquisitive little huff over Horatio's lips as he lingers at the door, moving carefully with the lock. It's an odd thing, fighting the impulse to make either of them feel trapped while hoping to make both of them feel safe.

"I know."

He hadn't moved his skin from any of the places Archie knew--in his chest, in his bag now, in the odd moments when it had to be tucked in under his uniform for safekeeping.

From:

jollyboat

“‘s just that—“

One moment. He’s located the glass of water his past self left to ensure he drank some when he came back sloshed.

“—Your skin ‘s one of th’most— beautiful things ‘ve ever seen,” he continues, “Which I guess makes sense, because ‘s— yours. You’re beautiful— ‘nside and out.”

From:

whisted

The rush of warmth under his skin prickles an entirely lovely flush into his cheeks. The pleased clenching of his heart feels wonderfully warm and, strangely, not at all restrictive.

"--oh."

It's a touch better, perhaps, than clearing his throat, but it's not much less flustered.

From:

jollyboat

He likes that blush. It has him grinning and stepping just a hint closer.

“I like when y’blush,” he tells him fondly, “‘nd when you— smile. I always— want t’kiss you, when y’do.”

And thats a statement which has Archie blushing.

“Would y’— ever like that, d’you think?”

From:

whisted

Moving toward Archie when Archie moves toward him feels like an old instinct now, like the tug of the moon dragging at the tide.

Archie likes his smile. That tugs him another step forward as well.

"I... do think."