Chapter Text
Lucas had grown fond of living in close quarters, which - despite the cold and damp - could be quite cosy during the long, dark evenings. After a month at sea, he now barely noticed the nauseating movement of the floor beneath him, and he’d even started to appreciate the unpredictable weather, which could be clear and still one moment, and thrumming with frenetic energy the next. The crew, whom he’d hired covertly through a contact on the dark web, mainly kept to themselves; the old captain spent most of his time above deck, clad in a tattered sou’wester, staring out into the endless grey of the North Atlantic.
Despite this acclimatisation, even Lucas was taken aback by the ferocity of the storm that now surrounded them.
The rain was relentless, flooding the deck and hammering against the thick, grubby portholes. The sky was black and clogged with cloud, punctured by the occasional flash of lightning, which disconcertingly illuminated the monstrous, roiling sea around them.
“Nothing we haven’t seen before. It’ll pass”, the captain grunted at him when he poked his head into the wheelhouse.
He found Olivia throwing up. “Go away”, she barked from behind the closed toilet door. He obeyed, but returned half an hour later with a bottle of water and some Dramamine.
47 and Diana sat in silence in the small galley at the end of the hall. Diana was trying to read a book - /Really Burnwood? James Bond?/ Lucas scoffed at the wrinkled old paperback - but her nervous eyes darted to the window every few minutes.
“The crew?” 47 enquired as Lucas installed himself in one of the moth-eaten armchairs.
“Playing cards and drinking spirits down below, like proper sailors. Nothing to do but sit tight, apparently”, Lucas laughed, his own fear hidden beneath a veneer of breezy nonchalance.
47 nodded, he looked a little green. Apparently not even Ort-Meyer’s perfect clones were immune to getting seasick.
A particularly loud crack of thunder discharged above them, followed a few seconds later by a flash of lightning. The ship hurled violently from side to side and Diana lurched forwards. 47 grabbed her elbow, narrowly saving her from crashing face-first into the grimy floor.
“I think I need to lie down”, she said, picking up her book and standing up on shaking legs.
Once they’d heard the sound of Diana’s cabin door click shut, Lucas fixed his eyes on 47. “Please tell me you’ve spoken to her.”
47 shook his head, “I can’t.”
“Not about, /her parents/, leave that in the past where it belongs. I mean, about- you know.”
“Six”, 47 said sharply, and then “Lucas.” He sighed and leaned forwards to rest his elbows on his knees, head in hands. “I’m not like you”, he murmured, “I’ve forgotten how to do… how to be human.”
“No, you haven’t. Look, 47, you deserve to be happy, even if it’s with /her/.”
“Does it always feel this miserable?”
Lucas laughed, “Which bit?”
“Being around her, but not… being /with/ her.”
“Yeah, this bit is always difficult.”
47 looked up at him, “Is there… have you got… /someone/?”
Lucas shook his head, surprised by the sudden stab of pain that made his stomach churn. “Not any more”, he said.
“What happened?”
“Another time, maybe.”
47 stared at him, brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by another rumble of thunder. The boat tipped and a crash sounded from behind them as a mug slid from the table and shattered on the floor.
Lucas jumped up, “I’ll see to that. You check on the others.”
***
Olivia shouted at 47 when he banged on her door, calling him ‘robot’ and telling him to leave her alone. She still hadn’t forgiven him for killing her militia friends in Colorado.
Before he could knock on Diana’s door, it swung open and she appeared, holding a bloody hand to her forehead and grimacing.
“Diana, what-“
“I rolled out of the damn bed”, she snapped, “hit my head on the table.”
“Let me take a look.”
“I can manage.”
“Sit down”, he said more firmly, taking her by the shoulders and ushering her back into the cabin.
She sat on the edge of the mattress. He knelt before her, gently pulling her hand away from her forehead.
“So you’re giving me orders now?”
“I wouldn’t dare”, he stood and began to fill the sink in her en suite with hot water.
“I’m sorry. It’s been a long day, a long month.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t. Anyway, what were you doing standing outside my door?”
He felt heat rising in his face. “I came to check on you.”
He handed her a clean damp washcloth, “Put some pressure on it. Don’t stand up. I’ll be back in a minute.”
47 rooted through the store cupboard at the end of the hall, pushing cans of tomato soup and packets of instant noodles to one side in a search of first aid supplies. Eventually, he unearthed a zipped nylon pouch filled with an assortment of bandages and cleaning wipes.
When he stepped back into Diana’s cabin, she was laying on the bed, blood streaked over her face and soaking into the pillow.
“Diana?” He said, slightly panicked, worried he’d misjudged the severity of the situation.
“I’m fine”, she groaned, trying to sit up.
“No, stay there”, he said. He sat next to her and removed the bloody cloth from her head.
She closed her eyes while he gently cleaned her face with alcohol wipes and covered the cut with a bandage.
“It’s not deep”, 47 said, “head wounds always bleed a lot. Do you feel sick? Dizzy?”
Diana raised an eyebrow, “Both, but I don’t think either has anything to do with a bump on the head.” The ship tilted again as if to demonstrate her point.
“Maybe I should stay, keep an eye on you for a little while”
“I don’t need you to take care of me, 47-“
He motioned to leave but she grabbed his hand “-but I do want you to stay.”
He stared at her. Now it was her turn to blush.
***
Lucas must have slept a little, because the next thing he knew he was staring at his watch with bleary eyes and the little illuminated digits read /3am/. The boat was no longer rocking violently, but the rain and wind still whipped against the windows.
He dragged his aching body out of the chair - which he was already regretting falling asleep in - and stumbled down the narrow corridor to his bed.
The door to Burnwood’s cabin was slightly ajar, and as he passed, it swayed open a little further.
/Holy shit-/, he thought.
47 and Diana were asleep together in the small bed, arms wrapped around one another, tangled in blankets. Lucas had never seen his brother look so /relaxed/ - free from the rigidity and pain that usually plagued his features.
There it was again, that lurch of agony and nausea. He’d give anything to curled up like that with Sam again.
Lucas quietly pulled the door closed and returned to the galley, abandoning his thoughts of sleep for half a bottle of whisky and a pack of cigarettes.