Chapter Text
Philip is shaking as he makes his way to their meeting spot in Weehawken. He sees Eacker in the distance, and he tries to swallow the lump in his throat. He already regrets proposing this duel. He wasn't thinking; he just said what was on his mind, exactly like his father always does. His big mouth may be the death of him.
He holds out his hand to Eacker, putting an obviously fake smile onto his face, but he still adopts a cheerful tone. “How are you, Mr. Eacker?”
Eacker narrows his eyes, his arms crossed. Philip grimaces, pulling his hand back. “So, uh…” he mumbles, searching for any words that might convince Eacker to let him live.
“Let's go,” his opponent says abruptly.
Philip’s heart pounds as Eacker pulls out a pistol, and he follows suit as they turn their backs to each other. From the corner of his eye, he can see his doctor facing away from him, and he hopes he won't be needing him. Philip always thought of himself as tough, but now he wasn’t so sure.
Time seems to slow down as takes his first few steps away from Eacker, counting quietly under his breath. He’s gripping his gun so tightly, his knuckles are turning white, and his legs feel like jelly; he doesn't know how he musters the strength to keep walking. He feels his eyes sting as he starts to lose hope. What are the chances that Eacker decides to show mercy on him? He doesn’t really have the kind of personality that makes it easy to express pity.
Philip tries not to think about his family. He'd be leaving them behind if he died. His father would kill him if he died. Even despite his large quantity of family members and the number of arguments they have on a daily basis, he knows he’d be missed.
He takes his seventh step, hearing the man behind him do the same. He can’t handle this stress. He’s usually a pretty laid back person, but he’s not immortal. This duel is doing a number on him.
Before he knows it, he’s taken his last step and turned around, facing Eacker. Philip is surprised when he sees that neither of them is brandishing their pistol; however, even this far away, he can see the gleam of anger showing in Eacker’s eyes. And he is fully aware that he looks like a goat on its deathbed.
Philip takes his father’s advice and starts to raise his gun, but as soon as he does, Eacker levels his pistol at his chest. He immediately aims the gun back down, realizing something: Eacker will only shoot if he has to. Right? Why else would he be so hesitant? He doesn’t want to take Philip’s life unless it’s obvious his own life is on the line.
Then how is he supposed to let him know that he’s not going to kill him?
He takes a ragged breath as he points his gun to the side (hopefully not at the doctor or one of the seconds) and raises it to the sky before pulling the trigger.
Even after the blast goes off, he can still hear the ringing in his ears, and it makes him even dizzier than before. He’s so vulnerable right now. His life is in Eacker’s hands, and he could die any second.
His whole body is shaking as Eacker raises his gun. The end of it lingers at Philip’s chest, and he’s almost sure Eacker’s going to shoot. But at the last second, he points at the sky, and the gun goes off.
Silence.
Some movement to the right catches Philip’s eye, and he sees the doctor packing up. Both of their seconds seem relieved. He turns back to Eacker, whose gun is being taken from him by his second. He’s staring at Philip with a harsh expression; hopefully he doesn’t regret not shooting him.
Philip hands his gun to his second, relieved to see it go. He doesn’t think he could ever fight in a war. How did his father do it and manage to walk out alive?
Ahead of him, he sees Eacker walking toward him with a blank face. Philip had never noticed how tall Eacker was until now, with him standing right in front of him and towering over him. Or maybe he just feels small at the moment.
Eacker holds out his hand to Philip, and he--shocked but nonetheless still glad--shakes it. Eacker’s hand is warm, and he has a strong handshake. He’s almost sad to let go.
“Thank you,” he says.
Philip’s mouth drops in surprise. George Eacker? With manners? The two phrases just don’t match.
“Uh, yeah, you’re welcome!” he stammers out. Not knowing what to say isn’t something Philip, a poet, is used to. He also wants to express his gratitude for still being alive but just can’t find the words to do it. “Um, George?” he says to make sure he has his full attention. He hopes he won’t have another near-death experience because he used his first name. “Thanks for, you know… not murdering me…”
Eacker nods, his lips pursed together in thought. “Well, I guess that’s it,” he says slowly. “I’ll be on my way.”
“Wait,” Philip says before he can walk away. He pulls a smile onto his face, hands on his hips as he says, “How ‘bout when I come back, we both strip down to our socks?” He makes sure to add a wink as to emphasize what he just said.
Eacker’s eyes widen in surprise, obviously not expecting that little outburst. He recovers quickly, holding his chin up high. “That would be nice,” he says with the tiniest smirk and glimmer of playfulness in his eye. And with that, he turns around and walks away.
Philip’s face has gone red. His heartbeat is almost as enhanced as it was when he had a gun aimed at his heart. Before he can collect himself, his second walks into view.
“What a way to get a boyfriend.”