Watching Gates set up the wash basin, Flint felt the old, constricting silence settle in his throat. He knew that had anyone other than Hal walked through that door and seen him like this, his world would have begun collapsing around him already. Weakness like this was not something to be shown in front of a crew, ever.
He faded, a little. Felt the world slip out of focus, the sounds of Gates’ movements muffled and distant as Flint tried not to think about the blood, and the exhaustion, and how utterly unrecognizable he had become to himself. But he looked up when Hal moved into his line of vision, the world sharpening.
Flint stared dead-eyed until Hal crouched down, at which point the captain’s brow began to furrow. He took the cloth almost tentatively from him, watching Gates with the intense, sharp gaze that usually meant he was trying to read someone. Hal… did not mock. Did not ask questions, or treat this as anything other than offering a cloth to someone that needed to scrub the blood from their face. Flint couldn’t name the emotion that rose in him because of it.
He turned the cloth over in his hands a few times before swiping his face with it, the scrape of the fabric grounding him, dislodging the silence that had stuck itself in his throat. “Good,” he said, quietly, then–eyeing Gates for a moment, his expression unreadable–slowly began to uncurl, and push himself up off of the floor. “Should keep them content for a while.”
He moved past him, towards the wash basin. His eyes fell on the clothes laid out, but the first thing Flint did was begin scrubbing at his hands, keeping his back to Gates as he did so. He would need to wash them again afterwards- trying to clean the blood out of his hair and beard was already proving a difficult task- but it felt necessary, regardless, to have his hands somewhat cleaner beforehand.
He glanced sharply at Gates, then turned away, reaching for the clothing that had been laid out.
“–if you have something to say, just fucking say it.”
Hal kept an eye on Flint as he cleaned up, measuring where he was at and determining if it might be wise to keep him cooped up a while longer or if getting him out under the sun for a time might be more beneficial. He hummed, indicating his agreement with the assessment – he knew that Flint had not wanted this detour, but he also knew it was exactly what the crew needed in order to keep them manageable.
Perhaps that was exactly the right response for answering all questions though. Maintaining a relative silence seemed to have put Flint on edge, especially in light of what appeared to be a complete breakdown, and that was enough to convince Hal to keep the man safely out of sight for a good while, until his humors could rebalance themselves.
“Breathe.” The first word was succinct, but it was the most important thing he had to say at the moment. “Get yourself cleaned up – whatever this was, it is over and we are going to drink, eat, and forget about it. Which will be easier to do when you don’t look – and likely feel – like you’re stuck in the center of it.”
Ocean Archive 