Chapter Text
Yusuf woke up cold and alone, curled up around the woollen blanket Nicolò got from their bed the evening before when looking out over the bay turned into stargazing on the veranda. They had been pressed up against each other, lying next to each other in the hammock Nicolò had installed between the sturdy beams holding up the roof.
As much as Nicolò still badmouthed Columbus with a passion whenever he was mentioned equalled the pleasant joy Yusuf still felt when he got to point out just how much he himself had profited from the discoveries Genoa’s famous son had brought back from his journeys. The small joys of their lives together through the centuries were often tainted by Yusuf’s insatiable need to point out Nicolò enjoyed something introduced to the Old World by the very man he despised. The hammock, introduced on ships as a means to allow more sailors to sleep in one room. Nicolò had taken to the concept particularly fast and Yusuf, although in favour of a comfortable bed, could see the advantages of a bed that would force two people resting on it closer together. It also made it very hard, if not impossible to get up without waking the other person.
Yusuf looked around drowsily, sleep still clinging to him in an attempt to lure him back into his dreams in which Nicolò was by his side. The sun was up already over the cliffs and hills surrounding their little bay and made the barren stone cliffs shine blindingly white whilst shearwaters called out to each other to share the location of plentiful fish amongst each other. Deep down at the bottom of the soft decline leading towards the water, the sea rolled against the rocks peeking out of the spray in lazy waves. Swimming out to lie on the warm rocks in the evening when the sea was still warm and tranquil had become one of his favourite moment of the day as they dried in the setting sun. For a few days, the weather had been the same, warm and dry until the stones under their bare feet had been warm even during the night and the herbs Nicolò had planted in the small herb bed behind the house had lost a little of their fresh green colour under the scorching rays.
He climbed out of the hammock, staggering a little as he tried to straighten himself out without tripping in his doze, ‘Nicolò? Where did you go?’
The cicadas and their song were the only sound that answered him, he stepped through the open door into the house and shuddered when he entered the shade of the door frame. There was still no sign of another living soul anywhere, not even the fresh vegetables and fruit Nicolò had promised him he would get for one of his favourite spicy stews. Yusuf raked his fingers through his hair, catching on a few knots that made him swear under his breath when they tugged on his scalp.
‘Nicolò?’
‘Out front.’
‘What happened, did you get lost on your way into town? Have you dropped a crate or forgotten your basket, met a handsome stranger and decided to get rid of me?’ Yusuf opened the front door and stepped into the heat that held the landscape in its tight grasp without the roof to provide any shade.
Nicolò sat on the flat stone in front of the house, one hand propping him up in the sun, his grown out hair covering his face like a curtain of fine silk and the other hand cradled in his lap. He did not move to acknowledge Yusuf’s presence, his lips twitching in a barely there smile instead that was so familiar to Yusuf, a sign of his partner’s quiet content. There was a moment in which he heard nothing but the cicadas and the distant birdsong in the trees beyond their small cabin and it filled him with a warmth rivalling the sun, made his skin crawl in the most delicious way and reminded him of hundreds of years of memories. It was a sound and a feeling only connected to one place and one man for Malta and Nicolò were the anchor of his happiness that he got to revisit in his mind.
‘Isn’t it peaceful?’ He took another step closer to Nicolò, ‘How I would have enjoyed waking up to birdsong with you in my arms, my love.’
‘Hush, amore mio,’ Nicolò turned to look up at him through the long strands of sun kissed hair, blinking into the sun, ‘you’re scaring her.’
Yusuf felt his jaw drop as Nicolò unfurled from the hunched over posture he had taken. There, in his lap, claws dug into Nicolò’s waistcoat and teeth busy gnawing on his fingers, sat a cat. She was grey and white with dusty brown stripes across her back and even darker grey ears that twitched against his touch as he carefully freed his fingertips from her teeth. Her strikingly blue eyes seemed to reflect the sky and the sea, endless and deep like either of them and she followed Nicolò’s gaze readily.
‘She was just sitting out here when I returned,’ he said quietly, voice level and in time with his careful touches, ‘I think she needs something to eat, I can feel her ribs.’
‘You picked up a cat on your way to town?’
‘No, she sat out here when I came back,’ Nicolò ruffled the cat’s fur and tickled her behind the ears, ‘look, I think she must be starving.’
‘Give her some milk or water then and send her on her merry way,’ Yusuf yawned and stretched his arms out over his head.
‘I don’t think I can do that,’ Nicolò looked back into his lap, a smile firmly tucked into the corner of his mouth, ‘Yusuf, I think I would like to keep her. Amore mio. Tesoro. Habibi. Ya hayati.’
‘No, no, Nicolò, we can’t have a cat,’ Yusuf put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed it carefully, ‘our lives are too –‘
‘Yusuf, please. We’ve been here for a year already, and we will likely stay years more to keep an eye on the situation as time progresses, the political situation with that lunatic in France is likely to have an effect on all the kingdoms around the Mediterranean, you know the type, and Andromache was clear in her instruction. We should stay here, protect those people who will otherwise be overrun by French armies.’
‘That plan did not include picking up a stray,’ Yusuf sighed and sat down next to him, ‘Nicolò, we can’t get attached like that. I know your soul yearns to take care of those who need it, and this little lady certainly looks like she could do with a little pampering. We are to keep an eye on the spies who arrive daily, the ones scoping out the way towards Africa.’
‘We have built a life,’ Nicolò lifted the cat out of his lap and up between them, ‘we have space for someone more.’
He got up, cradling the cat in his arms and cooing at it. Yusuf watched him push the box with fresh produce inside with one foot and buried his face in his hands.
‘Nicolò, I am serious about this, we might have to leave tomorrow, or any day after that; what will you do then? You can’t have this cat get used to you, not when we might be gone and she left here without anyone to tend to her,’ he followed him inside, worrying the fingers of his hand against the other, ‘can you see what I mean, I am simply trying to spare you the pain of separation.’
‘Oh dear, Lunetta, do you need something to drink? We can find you something.’
Yusuf stopped again, his feet barely having crossed the threshold, ‘You gave her a name?’
Nicolò turned back around, the smile captivating and natural as he nodded and met his eyes with a challenge, ‘This is Luna.’
‘You named her after the moon.’
‘She looks like the moon.’
Yusuf cursed under his breath and watched his partner move about in the room, pulling dishes from the shelf and rekindling the fire, all whilst carrying the cat on his arm who meowed into the cloth of his light shirt. Nicolò glowed with joy as he watched the cat lap up some milk and water on the table all whilst he stored the food. He put breakfast out for them which Yusuf begrudgingly accepted and polished off, eyes still following as Nicolò bustled and worked.
They had come to Malta with a mission, more than they usually had when they visited, every other century. The months had progressed into a year without their work ever really stopping; Nicolò never left the house without his spyglass or keeping an eye out on the horizon anymore and Yusuf had taken to carrying his scimitar openly in his belt again.
For the most part, their days were quiet and they got to enjoy their time together in the house they had furnished after Andromache left them to their work. Nicolò had enjoyed that part and Yusuf had been amazed to one day find the hammock on the veranda, after a particularly heated argument against Columbus that ended in Yusuf reminding him of their stint trading between the Black Sea and the Italian kingdoms and how much Nicolò had enjoyed the soft rocking motion. Seeing him coo at the cat made him imagine how possible it was for Nicolò to get back at him by introducing a furry nuisance to their house.
Nicolò padded through the room, a hummed melody on his lips that sounded like one of the traditional songs that had been played and sung at the Feast of St Peter St Paul a few weeks prior. The cat followed him at every turn, meowing quietly and pawing at his bare legs. Yusuf enjoyed the sight of his partner in the light summer clothes common in the fishing villages, with loose shirts under embroidered waistcoats and linen trousers that swirled around his browned calves and bare feet. He had taken to the fashion during their first sea travels and Yusuf had taken to seeing Nicolò in these clothes.
The days they had spent on the island, in their house on the rocks with the view over the wild and untamed sea and the dusty, sparsely used footpath leading through the hills to the next village had been some of the most memorable out of the centuries they had spent together. Every day, as the sun climbed into the sky and the smell of fresh food and the sea mingled in their noses, Yusuf tried to see beyond the mission at hand. They had managed to build as much of a life as possible, fulfilling each other’s small dreams and adding to the bliss it had been.
Yusuf grabbed his sketchbook and the charcoals Nicolò had gifted him to celebrate their return to their favourite place, making them some of his most prized possessions. The images created under his fingers would one day fade into memory, singular moments to be revisited and remembered until glorification or ruin tainted them.
He sat down on the edge of the veranda, opened a fresh page and looked out over the rolling waves and the tiny white shapes that were the sails of the fishing boats bobbing up and down along the coastline. It was a familiar sight that filled him with a security that he could never take for granted but was ready to relish for as long as he got to see it every day and witnessed the way the sun painted golden streaks in Nicolò’s hair.
Soon enough, the slight creaking of the ropes holding the hammock up between the beams was the only sound he could hear over the never relenting tides as it swung in the warm breeze coming up from the water. Yusuf tilted his head to catch some of the warmth radiating from the sun, feeling the rays tickle his nose.
‘Nicolò, can you see that bark out there? I’m sure it’s those boys we pulled of the sea a few months ago,’ he chuckled, ‘they don’t learn out of their mistakes, they’ll be soaked through before nightfall.’
He did not get an answer and sighed, watching an insect flutter past his face only to land on his leg, ‘Did you fall asleep in your beloved hammock again, my love?’
Resting his sketchbook against his thigh, he turned towards the hammock. He had to blink against the sun for a moment before he could make out more than the silhouette of the other man buried in the cloth. Nicolò preferred to curl up when sleeping on his own, tucking his knees up high and bowing his head until he took up minimal space. It was endearing to watch and Yusuf could name a few situations in which he had taken such liberties, relishing in the knowledge that his partner felt secure enough around him to turn his back.
From his spot on the ground, Yusuf only saw the tuft of hair sticking up from the crown of Nicolò’s hair, the windswept, salty strands that resisted any attempt at being tamed. The rumpled hair was one of the many facets that made Malta so special to him because without fail, within days of their arrival, Nicolò would begin to rake his fingers through his hair and complain, swear in rapid-fire Ligurian as it began to rebel against the way he tried to mould it. Yusuf laughed every time his heart despaired and began to threaten him with cutting his hair in response to his glee, to which he reacted with exuberant praise for the many favourable parts of Nicolò’s hair after some time spent in the saltwater.
Yusuf pushed himself up high enough to look into the hammock. Nicolò had indeed fallen asleep, curled in on himself and with a smile still hanging onto his lips that made him seem peaceful and harmless, as if the muscles and tendons under his skin were not used to killing and handling weapons they had not dreamed of knowing when they first met. To him, the sight of Nicolò asleep was comparable to the great stained glass windows he seen in the magnificent cathedrals Nicolò had dragged him to where colours and light danced and painted new patterns and pictures with every passing hour, something downright beautiful to be worshipped and venerated.
Movement caught his eye, drawing it from Nicolò’s sleeping form to his lap. There, tucked away between his chest and his legs, lay the cat, her pale fur blending into the cloth. Yusuf tutted, tempted to shoo her away from the peacefully sleeping man but she moved a little more, rolling over and exposing her soft belly and yawned, claws peeking through the fur, careful not to touch or scratch Nicolò.
‘You really have him wrapped around your paw,’ he nodded, ‘what a cunning little creature you are. Don’t think you can steal him from me like that, hm? But what am I saying, of course he would like to keep you, he has a soft heart. What did he call you, Luna? I suppose there is some semblance in colour.’
The cat purred, eyes blinking open within a lazy twitch of her tail. Yusuf leaned forward a little to see whether she would move away from Nicolò.
Instead, he was met with striking blue eyes that observed him cautiously, boring into his soul with a clarity that left him lost sea, adrift and searching for a lighthouse to alter his course. He had felt that way once before, when he realised there was something in Nicolò’s eyes that was familiar to him.
‘Oh no,’ he said softly, fingers reaching for his charcoals and the abandoned sketchbook, ‘we’re going to have to keep you.’
Luna yawned again and nestled back against Nicolò’s chest with a content noise.