{ Altered Carbon }
“Oh please, lieutenant. You hardly have time enough in the day to hate me every minute of it,” Thomas debuffed, not at all bothered, “Now are you coming along or not?”
{ If this was a meme I lost it. }
“Pure luck, I’m sure of it,” Thomas agreed breezily, even as he collapsed rather gracefully alongside the quartermaster, hand still glued to the hilt of his cutlass – whether from sheer adrenaline or a questionable tincture of dirt, sweat and blood, he could not say.
Despite the state of his blade, and the unfortunate mess of the majority of his shirt and upper breeches ( not to mention whatever his boots had squelched through earlier ) Thomas felt revived, and even laughed a little as he let the sun catch against his skin where he rested. “That’ll be one for your stories, eh Jack?”
It had been a ridiculously trying day – and in truth, Thomas had not thought there would be anything that could calm his overall frustrations until the very moment James all but fell over and rested against his knee. In an instant, the angry energy swirling inside of him bled away, and the need to be absolutely still fell upon him instead.
To be a safe harbor for this man took immediate precedence – and perhaps that should have been a warning to him, a sign of the power this man would eventually hold over him. As it was, Thomas positioned his arm against the arm of the chesterfield and rested his head within the palm of his own hand as the other arm came to rest loosely over James, anchoring him in silence and making it clear, without a word, that they were fine. Regardless of the disaster of the day – like this, behind closed doors with only Miranda to find them, they were just fine.
{ Little Dark Age }
“That bad, is it?” Thomas inquired, strangely charmed by the other man’s dismissive demeanor. He would be lying if he claimed to hold no nervousness about joining the crew of the Ranger, but there was also no denying that he felt a great wealth of gratitude toward Rackham for showing him that there was another option available – another way that he might be able to live and breathe until he could find what he wanted to do, who he wanted to be.
He doubted he could ever explain it – or that Rackham would ever care to hear it – but it was there just the same as he took a seat alongside the man and observed the ‘shitshow’ as they sailed steadily closer to her shores. “Any advice on what comes next?” He wondered, genuinely curious about what the other might have to think on the subject – and what, exactly, it meant to be a member of this crew while at port.
“If a callous vanished each time you did that I’d have hands that never worked a day again,” Thomas teased, his tone warm in a way that indicated he genuinely was not bothered by the state of his hands and considered James’ attention to them truly flattering.
He made no move to stop the man, either, simply choosing to shift himself so that he could take a seat again – he had not even been gone long, so there was really no excuse for James’ needing to touch him, any more than there was a reason for Thomas craving the offer of it. Yet in the dark hours of the night, when all there was in the world was the creak of the ship and the slap of the waves to remind him of where and when he was, Thomas found he needed James more than ever to feel as if the world was real.
He never believed in happy endings before, and maybe that was why like James, he did not like being apart for more than was absolutely necessary – and that until they touched again, everything felt a little more brittle and fragile than before.
Thomas had been keeping an eye on the lieutenant for more of the evening than was precisely proper – but in truth, he had been preparing for a moment exactly like this. Both he and Miranda had been in silent agreement that they would not speak up on McGraw’s behalf until he did so himself – at which point, they would be well beyond reproach for stepping in and quashing such remarks at future engagements.
When it did happen, his heart had swelled with pride for the way McGraw held his chin up, daring anyone to challenge him for such willful commentary. It was not the greatest opening, but it was a large enough one that Thomas and his wife had room to maneuver as their guests were leaving, to subtle lay the reminder that McGraw was their guest as surely as they were, and was to be treated as such.
Eventually, the room was mostly cleared, with only their dearest friends still in the parlor with Miranda, granting Thomas a free moment to excuse himself and address their fuming lieutenant before he gave himself an apoplexy. Securing them in his office, Thomas found himself temporarily startled by the outburst, but not so much that he could not recover swiftly.
“I tolerate them because I must, James,” Thomas was not about to fall back on formality now of all times. He had worked too hard to wear the lieutenant down to referring to him by his given name to surrender it now on account of his idiotic companions. Society chose his counterparts as surely as he did, an unfortunate truth Thomas had learned to stomach long ago. “You, however, are in no such position.”
Stepping over to the man, Thomas unconsciously tended to the man’s nerves as Miranda would manage his own, reaching up and gently straightening his lapels in a quiet reminder that appearance was everything, and so long as we looked our part, what we did behind closed doors – who we were beyond the mask – would remain safe.
“I will never fault you for excusing yourself, or making your own opinions known. You are as much my associate as they are – whether they like it or not,” He assured firmly, laying his palms soothingly upon the man’s chest now, and simply gazing down into his eyes in the hopes of impressing upon the lieutenant how intently he meant this. “I value your stances James – and if anyone in my parlor is making you feel like you don’t belong there, that is as much my failing as it is theirs.”
{ Things I’ve Said To My Puppy }
“No,” Thomas agreed, his voice thick with throttled laughter, “I suppose it wasn’t.”
Thomas barely even had time to register the danger he was in before a flurry of leather and rage had burst past him, and there was a rather abrupt ( albeit short ) battle before him. Lowering his book, Thomas stared in absolute astonishment as James ruthlessly cut a man down, strangely detached from the overwhelming force of the violence at hand.
He only reacted when blood seeped its way down the planks toward his shoes – urging him to rise and step lightly over the rolling mess toward James, who was breathing heavily and staring down at the corpse he had made as if incensed beyond the capacity to truly see it. Tucking his book into his shirt, Thomas reached down and clasped both hands around the fist presently clenched around the handle of a bloody cutlass, waiting until his beloved’s glorious mixed hues sought him out.
“Thank you, my dear.” He spoke calmly, unafraid of James even in this state – and perhaps that was arrogant, perhaps that was where danger like this one was born. It mattered little to Thomas – his interest, now, was solely in bringing his lover back to him, lest he be forced along with the rest of the crew to deal with Flint for who knew how long.
“Come here,” He insisted, drawing on James’ hand with one of his, pulling him close as his other hand rose to rest on the man’s opposite shoulder. Heedless of the body at their feet, uncaring about the gazes surely upon them, Thomas leaned in and kissed the man – showing his gratitude as surely as demanding James stay with him, rather than get lost in whatever place it was he had built for himself when rage was the only emotion that made sense.
Thomas’ expression spoke rather clearly to how pleased he was about this situation, but despite the openness in which he wore his frustration, the silence that carried on between the two men was a high indication that he was as of yet still calculating a means out of the entire business.
“What do you want from me?” He settled on flatly, unwilling to budge an inch on this topic – nor desiring to have anyone else brought into it. He was functioning fine and would surely be able to stomach food again in a day or two, once the nausea and memories had worn themselves through and the needs of his body outweighed the demands of his mind to avoid food at all costs.
“My portion of whatever it is we are chasing is yours, if that is what it takes for you to maintain your customary silence.”
{ The Meme }
“Ah – thank you Billy,” Thomas did not hesitate to pull the blanket tighter around his shoulders once it settled, a wealth of gratitude swelling within him. His time amid the fields in Havana had taught him well not to voice complaint, least of all over things no man could control, such as the weather. It had been bitterly cold for some time, and he doubted he was the only man to think so – that Billy was kind enough to see his discomfort and act to alleviate it despite his silence spoke volumes to the other man’s good nature. “Does the weather not bother you?” He wondered, certain that Billy’s attire was no more suited to this chill than his own.
Ocean Archive 