Thatch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thatched) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
concoursec2013-06-17 05:57 pm
thatched) wrote in concoursec2013-06-17 05:57 pm
Entry tags:
Settling In
Characters: Thatch and Marco
Location: Thatch's Room
Rating: PG-13 for cursing and bromance
Open/Closed/Finished: Closed
Summary: On the eve of the battle, Thatch finds some comfort with an old friend.
Thatch rested his arms on the back of the too small tub, and tilted his head back to blow a stream of smoke to the ceiling. Man, what a day. He hadn't expected to be tossed into a maelstrom the minute he stepped into Balamb-- and the battle wasn't even part of it. Well, battles never were. They came and went. You fought them, you lost some, you won some, you mourned, you celebrated.
Nakama, on the other hand. Marco on the other hand. Shit. He lifted the cigar to his mouth and took another draw of the precious rose scented tobacco. Rare in Trabia, but not Balamb, thank everything. Not that he was much of a smoker but he liked to indulge once in a while and he had been running out of indulgences.
He stretched and cursed as he stubbed his toe against the wall, kicking it in frustration. Damned tiny bathroom. Damned tiny everything. He needed to commission a new tub, a new bed and desk that he could actually fit under because everyone seemed to be in the size toothpick and under.
Not that he could complain, Namur was in a much smaller boat and had to share one besides. He closed his eyes and ran more hot water in the bath to stir up the lavender bubbles and relaxed again, leaning his head against the wall.
If he knew his Marco.
And he did.
The sparkly chicken would be here soon.
Location: Thatch's Room
Rating: PG-13 for cursing and bromance
Open/Closed/Finished: Closed
Summary: On the eve of the battle, Thatch finds some comfort with an old friend.
Thatch rested his arms on the back of the too small tub, and tilted his head back to blow a stream of smoke to the ceiling. Man, what a day. He hadn't expected to be tossed into a maelstrom the minute he stepped into Balamb-- and the battle wasn't even part of it. Well, battles never were. They came and went. You fought them, you lost some, you won some, you mourned, you celebrated.
Nakama, on the other hand. Marco on the other hand. Shit. He lifted the cigar to his mouth and took another draw of the precious rose scented tobacco. Rare in Trabia, but not Balamb, thank everything. Not that he was much of a smoker but he liked to indulge once in a while and he had been running out of indulgences.
He stretched and cursed as he stubbed his toe against the wall, kicking it in frustration. Damned tiny bathroom. Damned tiny everything. He needed to commission a new tub, a new bed and desk that he could actually fit under because everyone seemed to be in the size toothpick and under.
Not that he could complain, Namur was in a much smaller boat and had to share one besides. He closed his eyes and ran more hot water in the bath to stir up the lavender bubbles and relaxed again, leaning his head against the wall.
If he knew his Marco.
And he did.
The sparkly chicken would be here soon.
no subject
"I could use a beer or two," he said, his voice tight as he looked into the near empty fridge. Beer was nearly all there was right now. Though... "You want some stir fry?"
no subject
"Please don't make me do this," Marco regarded Thatch calmly, but seriously. It wasn't fair of him to ask though. He knew Thatch must not want it either. Certainly no more than Marco. "Thatch... Just remember all right? We promised. I love you. If you hurt, I'll hurt with you. Your pain is mine." How many months had he spent in mourning? Wearing black? He'd refused to go back to even purple until he had to be brave in front of the crew, to try to save Ace, and the minute he was in the garden, he went back to black.
"Grell's a shinigami. She has a list of the dead. It's a comfort, eh? I can always know who's still safe. Talk to me. You won't feel better until you do, and I won't stop being an anxious birdie until then, aye? Don't tell me you forgot that in just five years." He reached over and poured a cup of tea to hand to Thatch, though he still didn't climb off the man.
no subject
He pulled back from Marco's words, trying to force himself into not understanding them. Just meaningless syllables. He didn't take the tea and instead folded his arms and stared off into the middle distance, letting everything else fade away, fuzz into nothing.
1/?
Not the silent treatment.
2/?
3/?
4/5
5/5
"Too bad I can't pull off his puppy-eyes look, then you'd never be able to resist, eh?"
Marco sighed, fully resigned. "If you don't want to talk about it now, we won't. But it will happen eventually, and the more you push it to waiting, the more I'll have to fill in the blanks. And giving you time to come up with lies won't be enough, eh?"
His stern big brother expression didn't last long though before Marco just glomped Thatch in a hug and snuggled against his chest, purely unabashed. "I missed you, stupid. Quit holding out on me. I'm not allowed to hide away in some cave, what makes you think I'll let you take all my bad habits for your own? We know better now." He knuckled both hands to Thatch's temples, needlessly careful of the hair, given the hat. "Was it something here?"
no subject
"Don't you have a wife to get home to?" He was going to shut this bastard down one way or another. Even if-- Even if things got a little regrettable-- It was better then-- better than anything else.
no subject
He fluttered his eyelashes at Thatch. "She knows where to find me. It's her night out with the boyfriend." That was a joke, but Marco didn't stop joking for much of anything usually.
"Talk, Skyscraper Hair. We can talk about the scar, we can talk about the panic attacks, we can talk about the last five years in this world, but talk."
no subject
"Damn liar. Grell isn't out with the boyfriend because I'm right here." He rested a casual arm across Marco's lap, just for the presence of it and looked at nothing in particular. "The attacks pretty much started the moment I got here. Got a little worse when Namur came along and then got better over time. Not much more to say, though, really. I haven't done anything. Mostly just studied and worked. That kind of thing."
It had been easier to just be buried in his room. Less to think about. Less to be jealous of.
no subject
Still, he mused over the next words. It was a lot of truth, even if he was hiding something. Marco nodded and leaned back against his brother. "So maybe it's flying with me that triggered another?" He didn't frown, but he was a little worried. His favorite brother had nerves about flying alone with him? Ideally there shouldn't be a safer place in the world. "Hey." Marco shifted in Thatch's lap and turned his arms into wings to wrap in a tent over Thatch's head. "Still worried?"
no subject
"Hell if I know what triggered it. I want them to stop." He closed his eyes but still saw the light there behind his lids, however faintly."When I first got here I'd get them...I don't know, three, four times a day? Everyone probably thought I was a nervous wreck. Heh. But by the time I got to Trabia it had gotten better."
After he'd gotten used to Namur being around. After he'd stopped wanting to punch him in the gills and run. He'd turned into such a damned coward after all. He opened his eyes a little at Marco's question.
"Worried about?"
no subject
"Oh, I don't know. Worried about jumping, flying with me, being alone with me, traveling through the air with only myself between you and a certain death. Panic attacks get triggered by something, matey."
no subject
"I don't know, I said. I just... I looked and saw you flying...and I froze."
He wanted to ask why it was a big deal, but knew why. Because they were nakama. They should trust each other completely.
Ha.
Because maybe...
Maybe in the end....
There was always that one thing. The one thing that no one could say no to. Beyond all bonds of nakama. And maybe when someone found that one thing, everyone else fell away. Thatch lifted his head and took another sip of tea that was growing cold.
Maybe one day Marco would find that thing. Maybe one day Namur would. And who knew what Grell and Espio wanted. If they even understood the usual bonds. Maybe that was just how life was, no matter how much everyone wanted to pretend otherwise.
no subject
He cocked his head to the side, looking even more like a bird than usual when he did that. "You said I'd catch you, so it wasn't that. Was it?"
no subject
"I don't know what it was." He sighed again and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. Well fine. Absorb this. It would sting, but that was what Marco was best at, right? Taking pain from every damn thing whether he could withstand it or not. Just because his body could didn't mean the same thing for his heart but--
No...no. Hell he couldn't do it. He couldn't. No matter-- even if there was that one thing, he didn't think Marco would believe it and hearing it... well...maybe not exactly....
"I used to think some things were certain. But nothing is, really." It was like the old warden had told him once over a handful of frayed cards. In the end, everyone is rowing their own boat.
no subject
"Aye," Marco's blue eyes were sharper than usual, sad, and serious, unusual for him. Very unusual for him. When did he ever stop kidding around and get serious? Or maybe he was always a little serious so no one except Thatch could tell the difference. And that was the rub of it. Only Thatch seemed to instantly know the difference. "I told you, didn't I? I could barely trust anyone when I first arrived here. The only thing that kept me pushing, kept me trying so that I didn't run and hide in some cave was the knowledge that you and Pops would be disappointed in that. You both taught me better." He poked Thatch's forehead.
"I'm scared, eh." There wasn't a single person in any universe Marco could ever admit that to usually. The more he loved someone, the more the trusted them, the more he had to protect them. Even his father. If Marco was scared, then everyone else had to reason to be scared, and like dominoes they'd fall and knock each other down. "I'm not kidding, either." Seriousness in exchange for seriousness. Honesty in exchange for honesty. Hard words, brutal words. It was poison extraction though. Drawing out the darkness to show it in the light. "What if you're different enough that you're not the same Thatch I always loved? What if you don't like who I've become? What if you--" Marco closed his eyes and let out a sigh, before resting his hand calmly on Thatch's forehead. "But I make it quiet. I remember that I trust you. No matter what. More than everyone. Much more than myself. Do you still trust me Thatchette?"
Like jokes, the nicknames never ended. Nicknames were their affection, their endless reminders that they cared, that they knew each other inside out. The more nicknames they had, the more they could joke around and get through the serious things as well.
no subject
There was just so goddamn much of it.
Marco's last question hit him like a club to the gut and he covered his eyes with a hand though it didn't stop anything except close out the blue light which absorbed but also stung. Here it was only darkness.
"No," he said thickly, his voice hoarse. "I don't trust anyone. I can't." Even if he wanted to. Even though he'd try to force himself again and again. To reassure himself. The doubts wouldn't go away.
no subject
no subject
"Let's just go to bed, aye? Can we do that? Please? Will you have me?" It was a stupid joke but a desperate one. He couldn't do this right now. He couldn't push anymore or he would break and tomorrow would be even more hell than it was already.
no subject
"Mine," he quietly asserted in a whistle, the emotions blessedly a little more dulled in bird form. Dulled, but no less present. Just simpler, less sharp, easier to cope with. They were direct. Thatch was his brother, his best friend, his and he'd protect him. Or die trying.
no subject
"Yours," he said, picking Marco up and setting him on his shoulder so he could get things put away and go to bed. Moving helped. It pushed everything back. Settled it somewhere in the back of his throat. "And you're mine. And Namur is our beautiful baby smolt and we'll be one big happy family if you promise to change him." He gave a choking laugh and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and then leaned against the counter, gripping it hard, fighting past everything that was threatening to drown him.
"I'll try, okay? I will. And trust or not, I'd still follow you to the ends of the earth and beyond because someone has to look after you." That was the only thing he could say right now. The only thing he could give.
no subject
It was excruciating. He absorbed other's pain and damage, but he couldn't save them. It was a strange sort of thing all told. "I love you," Marco whistled comfortably from his position around Thatch's neck and getting into the bed. "Missed you too. A lot." More than he could ever tell anyone. He'd told both Espio and Grell about Thatch, but he could never explain the depths of how much Thatch had meant to him. Marco wouldn't be Marco without Thatch. He'd be as different as was alien. Thatch made him a person. If Whitebeard gave Marco life, a reason to live, a drive, a purpose, and a meaning, Thatch still was the one to make Marco human. A person, not just the phoenix lost in time and observing from afar. It was excruciating, but it was better.
All the time spent perched in trees in the garden, yes, he'd thought a lot about Ace, but just as much about Thatch. Both of them he hadn't been able to save. But Thatch could have saved Ace. Thatch would have known how to talk to Ace. Thatch had known how to talk to Ace once upon a time. "I will protect your dreams," Marco chirped quietly. It was a silly claim. Absurd really. As if Marco had control over such a thing in Thatch's head, but in a strange way, he was sure that he could and would. If Thatch let him. He'd have to trust him enough, but it'd be a start. Less nightmares and then Marco could start repairing the bridge that Teach had tried to chop down. He could try to rebuild something new, something better perhaps. He would protect Thatch's dreams if Thatch let him, because he was Marco, and Thatch was Thatch, and Marco couldn't explain it if he tried.
It was okay though, he was certain that Thatch would understand anyway. Thatch usually did. And even when he didn't, he accepted it and that was enough.
Marco happily nuzzled Thatch's neck and rubbed the top of his head to the underside of Thatch's chin and scruffy goatee. He missed this. He missed Thatch. He was still terrified he'd wake up again and that it would all be some fever dream. Or that he'd lose Thatch again. No, he would eventually lose Thatch again, period. That was the price of being the phoenix, but he didn't want to lose him in such a painful way again. He wanted to do better, to protect him better, to make it last more, to make Thatch a little happier first. For now, it was enough to just hold onto him.
no subject
He rubbed Marco's back, scratched at all his favorite places. Under the wing, under the chin, right at his jawline. He'd missed this and he hadn't even realized it. It was like coming home in a small way.
"Aye, you can guard my dreams, sweetheart," he said, stroking Marco's neck. "You know, Vista told me once that the best way to fight bad dreams is to think of something pleasant before sleeping."
Of course, being Vista, he'd suggested the Ballad of Erom, which was about five hundred pages too long and full of prose so purple, Thatch was afraid he'd dream about being a grape just from reading the first few lines. Not to mention 'Quivering Lances'.
But something pleasant... Something pleasant...
Oh...
"Remember that time on Swanboat Island when Pops came back with both ends of his mustache gone and no one would tell you why?"
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)