Chapter Text
The boat’s motor died about halfway to the island, the sad rattle carrying across the water and fading into the steady lap of the waves against the rubber keel. Then it occurred to Sharky that he hadn’t seen any spare oars hooked at the side where they were usually stowed.
“Well, shit.” Rook checked around the floor again before admitting defeat, zipping up their jacket and tucking their handgun in their backpack. “We’re gonna have to swim the rest of the way.”
“Listen, I’m a great swimmer an’ all, but…that’s pretty far.” He eyed the water doubtfully. “Ain’t Faith been pumpin’ the river full of Bliss, too?”
“I mean, it’s swim or stay here and wait to either float ashore or get spotted by one of the Peggie river patrols.” They shrugged. “We’re basically sitting ducks out here. And I think we’ll be okay if we don’t swallow too much lake water.”
“Alright, I trust you, dude.” He squinted out towards the island. “Someone’s got a tent out there. And another boat.”
Looked like a little jetski, actually, nosed up on the rocky beach. Why would someone go to the trouble of takin’ it all the way out there just to ditch it?
They followed his gaze, standing stock still for a moment before relaxing. “No movement. And I don’t see any of those stupid lawn ornament crosses the Peggies plant everywhere they go. Gimme your radio and any spare ammo you got—my pack’s water-proofed.”
He handed everything over and they stowed it carefully, then sat on the side of the boat, balancing their rifle next to them. They grinned over at him, dangling their boots in the water.
“If you catch Ragnar on the way over, I’ll give you fifty bucks.”
He snorted, plopping down next to them and putting his shotgun up on the side. “Yeah okay, shorty. Don’t get your hopes up, though—I’m pretty sure 'Ragnar the Terrible' don’t even exist.”
“What? The great ghost of the marina, a hoax?” They gave him a look of mock affront, scooting off the edge into the water. Then the shock turned legitimate. “Oh fuck, dude. Oh my god, it is cold.”
“Well, yeah. Shit comes down from the mountains.” He grinned at the desperate way they were eyeing the boat. “Rethinking the float option?”
They scowled, legs churning hard. “No. Get in. Tell me about the fish I’m gonna catch.”
“Ugh, fine.” He eased down the side of the boat, hissing as the icy water slid through his old jeans. Oof, sorry boys. Rook spluttered, wincing away from the splash as he fell the rest of the way in. His jaw was stiff with the cold, but he worked it open. “It don’t exist. I’m tellin’ ya, Dep, it’s just a story Aunt Addie made up to get business for the marina. People renting boats to get out here, extra bait, swanky tackle and shit. Smart, right? But uh, no way is that thing for real and no way are you gonna catch it today.”
They surged up, grabbing their rifle off the boat and holding it aloft as they tread. “Give me two hours, and you can apologize to Ragnar’s gross fishy face for not believing in him.”
“Not gonna happen, man!” He kicked up to snatch his shotty, following suit and eyeballing the distance to the island. Fuck, this was gonna suck.
They snorted, striking out awkwardly, their pack floating behind them. “You wanna bet, Shark?”
He laughed as he swam, elbow dipping now and then into the wavelets. “Man, you are just itchin’ to lose money today.”
“Hey, now that I’m rollin’ in it, I wanna spread it around a little.” They glanced at him over their shoulder, smile sharp and teasing. “Unless you’re chicken.”
“I ain’t chicken!” He missed a stroke, using his free arm to splash them in protest. “What kinda stakes we talkin’ here?”
They splashed back. “Depends. What’re you willing to lose?”
He thought as he swam, heart pounding hard against the chill sinking into his bones. “What’s the reward come up to, again?”
“Uh…I dunno, actually.” Their head bobbed lower into the water, but they kept the rifle high and dry. “Enough to be Skylar’s exit strategy, apparently.”
He snorted. “Then why she ain’t here swimmin’ with us?”
“Man, don’t ask me. With all the Peggie patrols, travel isn’t easy. Maybe she just…can’t get down here.”
He hummed in understanding. “Not everyone can be as badass as us.”
They laughed, and the affection in their voice curled hotly in his gut. “Ain’t that the truth.”
His arm was aching, so he switched, stroking with his left while lake water dripped over his ear.
“I mean, it’s not gonna be an issue because there ain’t no ‘Ragnar’ to catch, but…you just gonna take that prize money since she’s not here to collect?”
“Yeah, but I’m gonna take it right over to her when we head out again.” He had trouble reading the look they shot him. “Cash isn’t the goal. I just like to win.”
He snorted, watching the little island draw inexorably closer. Could’ve guessed that. That wild rush of triumph that blew out their pupils in a firefight, the wolfish grin and breathless laughter afterwards, the trashtalk and gloating. Maybe he should be worried about it, seeing as how much murder they were doing and all, but it was actually…kind of sexy.
He cleared his throat and ducked his head back, letting the cold water flash against his hot ears. “Well, you usually do.”
“Don’t back down on me, Shark—we could have a long afternoon ahead of us.” That wolfish grin again, and he couldn’t look away. “Let’s make it interesting.”
“Okay,” he blurted. “How ‘bout a kiss?”
The words hung in the air, and he flinched at the awkward weight of them pounding in his ears. Too much. Wow, that was stupid. Couldn’t smooth that out with a joke without coming off as a dick. Maybe it’d be fine. They were cool with a lot of the weird shit he said, so maybe they’d just chalk it up to that.
“A kiss…if I don’t catch him?” they asked hesitantly. “From you?”
“Uh, yeah. Y’know…unless you’re backing out.”
He tried to watch them from the corner of his eye. Staring at ‘em straight on would be a mistake. His face would do something weird for sure, and it’d only make it worse. He could tell they were glancing at him, but couldn’t make out their expression. Not extreme, at least. Probably a good thing. Still, the silence crawled between his shoulder-blades.
“Deal,” they said lightly, and his heart jumped up in his throat.
“Deal?” he echoed, almost dropping his gun.
“Yeah, deal.” They sighed and switched arms, the strap of their rifle dipping into the water. “And what if I catch him?”
“You’re the one pushing this bet thing, so how ‘bout you fuckin’ pick—why do I gotta do all the work?” He could swear his water-logged sneakers scraped up against rock a couple times, but it was still too deep to stand. “‘Sides, you’re not gonna catch a fish that doesn’t exist.”
Shit. No Ragnar the Terrible meant they would lose the bet. Then they’d be obligated to follow through. Should he just plan to bitch out? Kiss their cheek or hand or something tame like that so they weren’t uncomfortable? But they’d agreed to the wager, so didn’t that mean they’d considered the possibility of losing and been okay with it?
So should he actually kiss them, then? What would that be like? He couldn’t deny that he’d thought about it a few times before. A few hazy dreams, even. But those had all been fantasies—private movies playing out in his head that would never actually happen or affect his real relationships, risk ruining that rare and very special friendship he’d found with the Deputy. The thought of really leaning in, of seeing those dark eyes slide closed in affection and trust, their full lips warm and gentle against his, was making him feel flushed, despite the cold water.
But a kiss was a kiss, and they could be long or they could be short, but they all ended eventually, and then they’d be right there standing in front of him just the same as they’d ever been, except he’d kissed them. And every time he thought about it, dreamed about it after, he’d know what the real thing was like. And that he’d never experience it again.
He swallowed, something small and sick worming in his gut. Then he realized they’d said something and were looking at him expectantly.
“Uh, what’d you say? Sorry.”
“I said ‘Then you got nothin’ to worry about.’ But…just in case. What do I get?”
“You’re the one pushing this bet thing, so how ‘bout you fuckin’ pick—why do I gotta do all the work? Just—what do you even want?” His next kick landed on solid stone, but when he tried to plant his other foot, it just plummeted through open water and he fell in up to his chin before he caught himself. “Shit.”
“You okay?”
He considered goofing around—play-acting that something was biting him or grabbing his leg or something. Full-on trash compactor monster. But he saw their face twisted with actual concern, and felt preemptively guilty.
“Yeah, just found like a boulder or something. I’m good.”
“Okay, cool.” They stretched out so each stroke carried them further. “Hey, will you hate me if this other boat’s out of gas?”
“Oh my God, dude, don’t even say that,” he groaned. Felt like his arm was about to fall off. He switched the shotgun to his left. “You’re gonna jinx us. Exactly like O’Hara’s.”
“O’Hara’s?” they repeated incredulously. “How was that shit my fault? You guys had a freakin’ serial killer out here for years before I even—”
“‘Ooh, Shark,’” he mocked, grinning up at the sky and pitching his voice louder over their protests. “‘How spooky would it be if these bodies were real?’”
“Me sayin’ that didn’t retroactively make them real!” they sputtered, floundering to a stop. “You saw the same shit I did. Don’t give me that—that quantum theory bullshit.”
“I’m just sayin’, Dep. Maybe you puttin’ that out into the world…you know, kinda brought it to life.” His sneakers ground against unexpected gravel and found purchase. Fuckin’ finally. “Not intentionally or nothin’—I mean, you’re really good at murder but you’re also like, a legitimately good person.”
“Shark, I think you’re trying to be nice, but please don’t suggest I in any way contributed to that pile of clothes in that crazy fuck’s attic.”
He started to laugh, but a glance to their face killed that real quick. Their eyes were wide, and they looked gaunt. Wounded. A kind of shell-shocked desperation that made him want to rush to their side and check for injuries, and it made him miss a stroke.
“Oh fuck, Dep, you know I say stupid shit all the time. You’re workin hard and changin’ things for the better out here, okay? I was just messing around.”
“No, I—I’m sorry. Just tired of all this bleak…crap we’ve been dealing with.” They flashed him a thin smile. “I like talkin’ shit with you.”
“Cool. Cool, cool, dude.” He nodded in a way that he hoped was casual. “Also I can pretty much stand now—you?”
“Scrapin’ with my tippy-toes. But it’s good to see we’re close.”
“Yeah, for sure.” He was walking slow now, like he was on the moon or something, and the sight of dry land scant feet away made his shoulders sag. “Thank Christ.”
“Oh! I got it now!” They sank a little further down, the water lapping at their chin. They grinned, though, and used their free arm to splash him, laughing when he spluttered. “How big do you think it is? She said he was a paddlefish, right? I’ve seen ‘em get five feet long.”
“Aw, Dep—don’t get your hopes up.” He drifted closer to them, trying very hard to keep his face composed in an earnest expression of concern. “If we had a fish that big in this lake, it would’ve eaten us both on the way over here. And uh, I hate seein’ you disappointed.”
They switched their rifle to their far arm, cocking their head and narrowing their eyes in suspicion.
“What’re you—”
Before they could finish, he’d pounced. Well, as much as he could pounce with water up to his neck and one arm straining to keep his shotgun lifted up and away, but he managed to cuff his other arm around their shoulders and dunk them.
“Yeah!” he whooped, bouncing back out of splashing range as they resurfaced, spitting lake water and looking at him with gleeful disbelief. “Don’t start shit you can’t finish, Dep. I ain’t afraid to step to ya.”
“Oh you will be, Shark,” they promised, glaring at him and advancing threateningly, but the effect was ruined when they stepped into a hole and disappeared under the water again with a startled gurgle.
He used the opportunity to wade closer to the island, boots churning up the steep, gravelly grade until the water was sucking at his knees, then swirling around his ankles. Then his feet crunched over dry grit and he stood in the sunlight, clothes heavy and dripping.
“Finally,” he sighed, closing his eyes and letting the warmth of the sun bathe red against his eyelids. Fuck, his arms were leaden and aching. He stooped over, setting his gun down on a convenient rock and stretching. He could hear Dep sloshing their way over, and cracked an eye open to watch their progress.
“Got some bad news for you, Shark,” they said, swiping strands of wet hair from their face. The water was up to their chest, but they were pushing forward with purpose. “You ain’t gonna see Ragnar after all. ’Cause I’m gonna kill you and use your ass for bait.”
He grinned and backed a few steps up the uneven rise, holding his hands out in placation. “C’mon, Dep. You an’ I both know that’d-that’d be a shameful waste of a great ass.”
Rook snorted, shaking their head as they plowed towards him. “Should’ve thought of that before you betrayed me.”
Thigh-level. He had an idea. Probably a bad idea, but before he could think it through, he was already moving, running down the slope and launching himself at them. They shouted and tried to get out of the way, but they were just a little too slow and he caught them full on around the waist and tackled them back into the water.
Rook curled around him, arms locking around his ribs with steely strength, and he could feel them kicking to right themself against his weight. He tried to surface and get better leverage to wrestle, but they wrenched him around, pushing off his chest to get air first and planting a hand on the top of his head, ruffling his hair playfully while keeping him from popping up. He burbled in protest, poking their side in hopes that they’d squirm away ticklishly. Instead, a knee jack-knifed up and caught him in the crotch, sending bright flashes off behind his eyes and the last of the air from his lungs.
Oh shit, he tried to say, but when his mouth opened, the lake came rushing in. He barely had time to register the panic at the cold, thick fingers of water snaking up his nose and down his throat before he was hauled up into dazzling light by the front of his sweatshirt.
“Dude, you okay?”
Their eyes were wide, and he wanted to assure them that he was fine, just needed to hack it out for a bit—but he couldn’t stop coughing and his chest was stiff.
They didn’t wait for an answer. Slinging his arm over their shoulders and cinching an iron grip around his waist, they hauled him through the water, casting him onto the shore and rolling him quickly onto his side where he could choke what felt like a pint of lake water out into the dirt. When he could finally breathe again, he just lay there, taking in ragged gasps that tasted dizzyingly sweet while they knelt behind him and rubbed brisk circles over his shoulderblades.
“Hey—” he rasped, lurching to get up, but they stopped him, shoving their balled up jacket under his head and urging him to lie back down.
“Wait a bit,” they said, settling heavily beside him and draping an arm comfortably over his side. “Give yourself some time. Get it all out.”
He slumped back down, clearing his throat and staring out at the lake. Not the first time a joke had backfired, but damn. His breath caught and he started hacking again, retching over the path until he tasted bile. His throat was raw, and his sinuses felt gross but at least his airway was relatively clear. He checked over his shoulder to make sure Dep wasn’t watching, and tucked his thumb against one side of his nose and blew hard, then switching, wiping his nose on his sleeve and sniffing experimentally when he was done. Much better. His chest still felt tight and sore, but it was fading.
“Well shit,” he said, falling back on the makeshift pillow with a squelch and staring out at the water, deceptively calm and reflecting the sky. A blameless blue, giant fluffy clouds drifting serenely as if nothing was wrong, as if the world wasn’t ending. “Think I may’ve swallowed your fish, Dep.”
They snorted, clapping his side, hand warm and heavy over his ribs. “That’s okay, Shark. You, uh…you really scared me there. How’re you feelin’?”
“Been better,” he sighed, rolling onto his back and looking up at them questioningly. They’d lifted their hand while he moved, but once he’d stilled again, the gentle pressure resettled on his chest. They weren’t making eye contact, though. Just staring down at their own hand with a little frown wrinkling their brow. “I’m good, though. Uh, thanks for pulling me out.”
“‘Course,” they said, nodding abruptly and leaning back, wiping their hand on their jeans like it stung. “Sorry for—sorry I didn’t let you up right away. I thought you were fucking with me, and I don’t, uh, I don’t react well to being tickled.”
“No shit,” he grinned so they’d know he wasn’t mad. “Don’t need to tell me or my junk that. Big 10-4, El Capitan. Message fuckin’ received.”
They ducked their head, smiling slightly. “Yeah I guess. Also sorry about that. Literally, a knee-jerk reaction.”
“Nah, man. You’re good. Sorry for being an idiot.”
They swatted his arm, flashing him a warning glare. “You’re not an idiot. Stop saying that.”
He never knew what to say to that, so he just mumbled something in an agreeing tone and picked at the grit under his fingers. His chest felt warm, heartbeat wobbly. Maybe a side effect of the whole almost drowning thing. Yeah, that excuse’d hold for a couple days. And with the sheer amount of crazy bullshit they dealt with on a near-hourly basis, he’d probably have another in the wings by the time that one got stale.
They were looking at him, and he felt a blush crawl its way across his cheeks. Say something. Say something, dummy. They’ll know. They’ll know and they won’t smile at you anymore. They won’t joke with you anymore. They won’t sing along to the radio with you or listen to your dumbass stories or save you the last Hostess cupcake when you’d thought Lorna’s had been picked clean, grinning smugly in response to your delighted yell, passing it over without a second thought and licking the melted chocolate from their fingers as you stuff the greasy cake in your mouth whole. If they knew, their smiles would check themselves, take on that tight, brittle, pitying quality like everyone else’s did when he opened up.
They’d stop sharing with him. Not all at once, not at first, but eventually they’d distance themself entirely. And he’d be alone again.
He swallowed hard.
“So,” he said gruffly, rolling over and getting to his feet, resolutely not missing the warm pressure of their hand as it fell away. “We come here to catch a fish, or what?”
He could feel them watching, their eyes pressing at his back, and he busied himself with picking their jacket out of the dirt and slapping the grit from the sodden cloth. Eventually they just sighed and followed suit, opening up their pack and taking out the uneven metal piping that was their collapsible rod.
“I’m gonna poke around,” they said, heading up the path and gesturing for him to keep the jacket when he offered it back. “Find a good casting spot. You wanna see if the jetski works?”
“Yeah, sure. If it doesn’t, I vote we just live out the rest of our natural lives on this island. Had enough swimming to last me a while.” He eyed their strong thighs as they worked their way up the slope, knotting their jacket around his waist. Their jeans were still soaked through, grit clinging to the dark denim from where they’d been sitting. That couldn’t be comfortable. His were already chafing something awful. Things were pretty quiet on the island—maybe they’d be safe going pantsless for a bit. Let that shit dry out so it wouldn’t itch. Yeah, that was a good idea. Just a couple buddies hanging out on a remote island with no pants and the whole day ahead of them.
He coughed, tearing his eyes away from their ass and heading for the jetski. Task at hand, Boshaw.
The keys weren’t in the ignition, because of fucking course they weren’t, but he’d become a pro at hot wiring all kinds of shit over the past few weeks. The wires sparked readily, and the engine caught with a throaty purr made him grin. The fuel gauge needle bobbed to the three-quarters full mark, and he whooped. Fuck yeah, dude! More than enough to get back to the marina. ‘Bout time they caught a break.
He turned to holler the good news at Rook, but before he got the words out, a sharp crash and a startled yelp shot out over the rise.