𝑟𝑒𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠

[longitudinal]

𝑖'𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢

please don't forget me and all the things we did
please don't be in love with someone else

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[kobes]

[There’s that first shuddering sob, and Koby’s entire chest seizes up, aching with that (youthful, childish) desire to find exactly what has caused Quentin’s suffering and stop it somehow. He’s taller, broader, arms coming around the shivering, beloved, longed-for shape of the man kneeling on the deck, but deep down he’s still that wide-eyed boy outside the arena, seeing the wounds, the blood and trying to make them stop hurting.

Instinctively, he finds that spot, just shy of Quentin’s temple, presses his lips there and waits, waits for the storm of tears to come and go – about this, at least, Koby’s a little less judgemental nowadays. He used to hate his hair trigger tendency to cry, how his eyes would well up at the slightest provocation, happy or sad or angry or just overwhelmed, used to rail against that tendency in himself, but now…now it feels like a cleansing, like a baptism, like something holy to cling onto Quentin and close his eyes and feel his breath hitch and his eyes burn and his throat go tight. He’s cried so, so many tears over the last five years – these ones, at least, are joyous, relieved, triumphant.

But there’s darkness too, in the new shadows under Quentin’s teary eyes, the hollowness of his face, the way he’s trembling all over and radiating exhaustion. Koby is hale and hearty and well-fed in contrast, carefully-honed power contained in a form he was only just beginning to settle into, before they were torn apart. The difference staggers him, Quentin always larger than life in his memory, bright as the sun, strong as the sea. Koby thinks of the nightmares at Saltburnt, the stories Quentin would whisper into the hollow of his neck once awake, the horrors he’d endured, and he thinks – that’s where he was. That’s where he went, when we left. And there’s a taste like blood, like salt and iron and metal, and for a moment he hates himself for not finding Quentin sooner, for the years and years between them.

Oh, but then – but then there’s those hands on him, those eyes, that mouth pressed to his own, and Koby is taller and stronger and older, but he becomes that boy again, tangled in soft sheets, kissed and kissing and touched and touching and losing himself again and again in the glorious mystery of someone who loved him, against all odds, against all rules of this universe or any other. And he loses himself in that, like fog burned away by the sun, surging into Quentin’s lips on his own, fingers sliding into his hair, finding the loops of his curls, the silky thickness of each lock and kissing and kissing and kissing him.]

I know, I know you did, I know. [Koby keeps saying it, when he pulls away to breathe, when he half-sobs out a laugh, forehead pressed to Quentin’s, catching the glow of his eyes, of the power that thrums in his veins, spills from his fingertips – different, brighter, stronger, they’ve both gotten stronger. His hands are shaky, reaching up to trace the line of Quentin’s jaw, the shape of his mouth, the curve of his cheekbones, all seared into his mind, into his heart, but there, there at long last.] I did too, I – never stopped, I’ve been looking for you this whole time, I knew you wouldn’t stop s-so I didn’t either, I –

[A hitching, watery sound, more tears than joy, more joy than agony, all three at once, then Koby cradles Quentin’s face again and says what he’d said every night, every morning, every day a thousand times, on every beat of his heart, on every step he took, promise and vow and reminder:] I love you. I never stopped loving you. I need -- you to know that.

[longitudinal]

[ quentin knows nothing else but the feeling of koby's lips on his, the thread of fingers into his hair, the pounding of their hearts with chests pressed together. he can taste sea salt, tears, the sun, sweetness - all of it coming back to him like their first day in the arena, with battered bodies and tired souls that so happen to find one another.

and that's what it is now.

his arms wrap around koby's waist, pulling him in, wanting the nearness, uncaring who should see him close the distance, wanting to feel him real and warm and bright. he pulls away from the kiss on a gasp, foreheads and noses touching. ]

I don't know how - [ a breath, because he can feel the burn of tears trying to come on again. ] I don't know how I got here.

[ the tossing of the ocean, the angry screams of witches and wizards on the shores, the way alonso had tried so, so hard to hold onto him and the gold chain round his throat. (there's a mark - almost like a burn - around his throat where once, a high cuffed collar had been wrapped round his neck).

he kisses koby again and again, short things in bursts and wanting to commit the feel and taste of him right now. in case their time is limited. ]

I love you. Fuck, I love you - do you - [ a watery laugh of his own and his hands slide up to koby's face, keeping him close. ]

I never - I dreamt about you. I saw you in the corner of my eye, I felt you and I couldn't... I couldn't get to you. I reached for you - to see what horizon you would - but I couldn't -

[ a sigh, a shake of his head. ]

I love you, captain. Cadet. Commander. Mine, sweetest mine, and I will - you have all of me. All. Let me stay. Let me stay a little while, please. I've...

[ i've been alone so, so long is what he wants to say, his body so weary, his bones aching. his hands have little scars and new calluses, his skin flushed darker by the sun, his ribs and angles more defined, his hair dirty, his face smudged. ]

I know if you can't - it's... it's a ship. I know.

[ rules, regulations, order. especially here where things aren't quite as free unless you're on one of the pirate's ships. ]

I'll go when - when I have to but - just a little longer. That's all I need - just... just a little.

[kobes]

[The hands on his face – familiar, beloved, calluses he’d learned like his own within days, as familiar as the charts and maps he’s stared at for years now, trying to find where his world and Quentin’s might intersect, where the divide between would be thin enough to find one another again – are the focus, for now, but Koby can feel the wounds (mind, heart, soul, body) all over the man he adores, and it sparks up a ferocious, vengeful savagery he hadn’t quite possessed when they were at the manor. Heartbreak and loss do that to a person – he knows, he knows it runs like a thread of venom through his words as he shakes his head hard and replies:] It’s my ship. And you’re staying.

[Anything else is unthinkable, unacceptable. Koby hasn’t torn the seas apart for five years to let go of Quentin now that he’s here. The air around them snaps, crackles, and there’s a steely sheen to those wide, sweet eyes, a threat to anyone who might disagree. Koby just manages to rein it in on an exhale, on a squaring of his broader, stronger shoulders.] You’re staying. With me. [As long as you’ll have me, he might’ve said, in another world, in another life.

Here, though, it’s a proclamation, accompanied by a glance over his shoulder at Helmeppo, who approaches cautiously, not wanting to interrupt. There’s nobody Koby trusts more, but he still straightens, angles himself between the rest of the world and Quentin, even as the flare of energy around him abates, washes out like foam on the tide. Mindful, Helmeppo stops several paces away, just close enough to be heard when he speaks – ”The area’s secure, nobody unfamiliar lurking about. I got ahold of Garp, and he’s coming to assist in locking down the island as long as you’re here.” A quirked eyebrow, curious over the visor the blond Marine wears, glancing towards Quentin. ”We’ll continue the patrols, but…you should both get out of sight, Captain.”]

Mmm. [Koby nods, already distracted – locked down, secured, for now, until he can be sure there’s nothing else from Quentin’s world on the approach, no ship that’ll need sinking, no Regent asking for a knife in the ribs. It’s a more savage line of thought than he normally follows, but Quentin’s shoulders are trembling, his eyes haunted, and Koby wants to tear apart something. But for the moment he softens, smooths back the tousled, tangled hair, leans in to kiss Quentin once more, uncaring of the audience.]

Come to my cabin? It’s quiet, there’s a bathroom, you can rest safely there. I’ll be right with you the whole time. [Shifting back to sit on his heels, voluminous coat spreading around them, there’s a flicker of the smile belonging to the boy he’d been.] You found me, and now there’s no getting rid of me, sorry. Are you sure you can walk?

[longitudinal]

[ quentin can tell there's no arguing, that there's no rebuttal or question - he can stay, and he can stay with koby. there will be no more wandering, no more hurt, no more questions. he leans into the last offered kiss and hums, pulling away with watery eyes and a tired, but lopsided grin pulled across his mouth. ]

I am an expert at walking now.

[ he aches all over, sore and weary, but he pushes himself to his feet before koby, if only so that he can offer him a hand up like he would have so long ago. koby's taller, broader - filled out in a way he' begun to see but never saw through fruition. there's something to admire there among the fatigue, a stirring of warmth at the breadth of his shoulders, the strength of his hands, the firm set of his jaw.

the determination and confidence behind his eyes. ]

Lead the way. Don't let go of my hand, hm?

[ as if the comfort is for koby, but he knows better. it's for him. to make sure koby is real still, warm and comfortably, fingers wrapped around his. and he can find the captain's cabin, knows already where it is just by thinking of it, a pulse of something powerful and strong fizzling around them.

he doesn't want to let him go - holds his fingers the whole way to the quarters, even wary to let them go here when the door shuts behind them, the room so very koby in all ways and yet foreign at the same time. he stills, unsure of where he can move once in the doorway, frozen like a stranger sneaking around someone else's house.

he's missed so much. ]

This is your ship?

[ it's just really started to sink in, his tired mind having said nothing but kobykobykobykoby for the better part of a year. now he's here. koby is here and real and everything missing about him. ]

[kobes]

Never. [Koby very nearly means it, too, already trying to think through the possible ways he can make sure he never has to physically let go of Quentin again. He could take a sabbatical, he could retire, he could cash in everything he’s done for the Marines over the years for a ship, a crew, for the freedom on the ocean waves that they used to talk about in the rowboat out on the lake. There’d been rumblings of promotions for years now, whispers of Admiral, and Koby’s thought about it, thought about the potential way he could help people, about the good he could do.

But he’d held back, not wanting to have to divide his attention any further – it was already torn between SWORD and the alliance with the Straw Hats and his search, always his search, always the conscious thought that this wasn’t right, that there was something missing, that his dream had changed a long time ago, between silky sheets in a strange, dangerous, wonderful place. If he was going to be an Admiral, he was going to do it with Quentin at his side, or not at all.

Now, though – now he’s back, he’s here, and Koby is suddenly conscious of the horrible fact that they’ve been separated longer than they were together. Even though he immediately falls into step with Quentin, slightly slower, used to him leading the way around the manor, trusting his gift without question, without hesitation. The cabin door closes and Koby steps away long enough to pull off the captain’s coat he wears out on deck, to kick off his shoes, looking a bit closer to his old self, albeit broader, more muscled, longer hair and sharper features.]

Temporarily – we relieved the acting captain of his duties when we arrived, and it’ll be a little while before we appoint a suitable replacement. [Koby’s not fully aware of the way his tone, his persona shifts slightly when he talks about his Marine duties, the weight of responsibility he carries like a mantle, like an anchor.] Most of the cadets are sensible enough, they’ve just been misguided by a selfish, greedy, power-hungry man.

[Stepping closer, reaching out both hands now for Quentin’s, Koby laces their fingers together, the commanding air fading away, replaced with the open, earnest sweetness he’d had so much of years before. It’s muted, less fiery, overlaid with a world-weariness that’ll never go away again, likely. The fact of Quentin here, here is brilliant and blazing and glorious, but there will always be those five years apart. Later, Koby will let himself be angry about that. Now, though, he smiles and looks up, adoration and bliss radiating from him like sunbeams.] They won’t say anything, Helmeppo's made sure of it. You’re safer here with me than anywhere in the world, I promise.

[longitudinal]

[ quentin looks around the room while koby speaks, talking about the former captain and the duties he has to uphold. he sounds different now, measured and careful, not unlike the tone his father had when giving orders, laying out plans. the room though has all the trappings of the man he knew, even if changed. he still doesn't move much from where he entered, watching koby shake out of his coat.

it feels wrong to feel uncomfortable here - like he should be able to melt into the easy light of their days together. but it's true - they have spent more days apart now than they ever had together. a small part of quentin wonders if coming here, finding koby, will be a mistake.

but four years in war with alonso, with the vysokian empire, and a year in these lands - quentin knows he's not the man koby loved. not entirely. ]

You make an excellent captain. Your men respect you.

[ but koby reaches for his hands, laces their fingers, and his expression softens. koby all strong and broad and warm, and his own hands look filthy in comparison. his clothes have been washed and mended, some from this world, some from his own. simple pants, a simple tunic, a little traveling pouch with any small thing he could collect and call his own. around his neck there's a silver chain, tucked behind his shirt collar.

but how can he deny the way koby looks at him? the brightness and warmth that makes him want to weep for simply seeing it again. he shouldn't, but he leans down and kisses him again, soft and sweet. ]

I'm filthy, sorry. I just - [ a pause, his head ducking faintly, color rising into this cheeks, more defined now from a year of hunger ]

I don't know how I fit into all this. Into your life. This room, my own skin. I'm tired, sore, sunburned and bruised. Your world is no kinder than mine. But seeing you... I feel like I can breathe again. But I... I have seen so much. I don't know that I am who you loved then, even if I desperately wish to be as I still love you so very much.

[kobes]

[The instinct is there to immediately shake his head, refuse the apology, insist it isn’t needed, isn’t necessary – but the words come out soft, hoarse, halting in a way that wrenches at Koby’s chest, speaks of exactly how much Quentin’s endured over the last few years. How many times has he been silenced, forced to submit, to swallow his own voice in order to survive, to escape, to claw his way through time and space to be here, weary and soft-voiced and so, so tired? Koby’s learned to hold his tongue as well, to allow every man on his crew to speak their piece, and it’s served him well – outspoken cadets become strong captains, strong leaders, and there are sworn allies in every corner of the world, willing to bend the rules for his sake.

And they’ll need to – Quentin’s survived in this world for some time, at least, not newly-arrived, and has perhaps promised work to one captain or another. Part of Koby’s mind is already clicking away, thinking of how to dissolve that agreement peacefully, how to pull enough strings to get Quentin both enlisted and stationed to this ship, this crew, paperwork and formalities providing as much security as an armored vessel would. If Quentin’s part of his crew, he’s safe. Koby’s asked for very, very little over the years, and given substantially – it’s time to cash in on all the favors he’s owed.

But that thought slips away at the last words, at the hollow heartbreak in Quentin’s voice, unthinkable, unbearable. Koby’s already shaking his head, stepping closer, reaching up – not as much, he’s taller now, still several inches shorter than the average man, but not the scrawny slip of anxiety and wide eyes he’d been at Saltburnt. His hands are rougher, palms crisscrossed with new calluses, new scars, new strength, but they’re impossibly gentle as they cradle Quentin’s face, tip his gaze upward.]

Listen to me. No matter what you’ve survived, no matter where you’ve been, you could never become someone I no longer love. Okay? [There’s an inescapable steel in Koby’s voice, but it’s balanced out by the stroke of his thumbs over Quentin’s sunburned cheeks, the way he has to stand on tiptoe, still, to press their foreheads together.] We just – need to relearn each other. Find out what we look like here, now. Together. How we fit. That’s okay. That’s wonderful.

[And here, at last, Koby’s voice breaks, falters, and there are tears welling up in his eyes, no longer hidden behind the owlish lenses, easy to see as they overflow, streak down his face, as he manages in a hoarse whisper:] I missed you. I worried – [That I’d never see you again, that I’d spend my whole life looking and looking, that I’d wake up every morning reaching for you and finding nothing, nobody there.] You’re here. You’re with me again and that’s the only thing that matters.