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It had been a long day.
A long week, in fact, one that had dragged through difficult negotiations, broken promises, tantrums on both sides, and a swift punch from Ace to end it all. Normally, Deuce wouldn't have supported the smashing-in of a civilian's face from anyone, least of all his captain, but in this case the attack had been justified—or as justified as physical violence ever could be. What was Ace supposed to have done? Smiled and walked away when the man had cleared off with their money and the boat they'd spent many an hour and frustration haggling for?
No, in this particular case, Deuce had said nothing when Ace had trotted back to their little crew, carrying both the wad of cash they had graciously parted with and the bloody-faced man, all bright smiles and little flashes of fire along his shoulders at a job well done.
Skull had objected, of course, pursing his lips in discomfort. Mihal had taken the money from Ace, counted it out, and neatly tucked half back into the man's hand where Ace deposited him on the floor, pocketing the rest. “To cover the undue stress you've caused us,” he'd said by way of explanation, giving the man's blood-covered cheek a sardonic little pat with the back of a palm. “Word of advice: next time you manage to sell a boat to pirates who are willing to pay rather than rob you blind, don't try to double-cross them.”
The man had nodded, and they had left, and Deuce's headache had surged rather than abated as Ace and Skull launched into excited chatter about their new home.
It wasn't all that big, and certainly wasn't going to last very long once more people joined their band of four lost souls... but it was their home for now, a fact that seemed to sink into their very bones as they emptied out the two-roomed fishing boat they'd been using and filled the new boat, Ace busying himself with tying the Striker to the stern. This one had three separate rooms clearly intended as bedrooms; a little room lined with cupboards that locked; a functional kitchen and small mess hall; a bathroom complete with a working shower and dedicated water filter system; more storage than they could have hoped for.
A glance at Ace before voicing the decision he'd made the first time they'd seen the interior—then Deuce grit his teeth, said, “The room with the cupboards will make a good infirmary; I can lock up everything so things don't get smashed in rough seas, or misused.”
The others agreed, a murmur of ascent rippling through them at the idea of having an infirmary at all, so Deuce pushed on to his main point – the one that made his face flush, made looking Ace in the eye impossible, settling on addressing Mihal instead.
“I think it should double up as my room,” he said quickly, as if doing so would make it less painful. “It makes sense to be on hand for emergencies, and it frees up more space for everyone else.”
“Space isn't an issue,” Ace said at once – Deuce wasn't sure if he even tried to keep the angry, defensive bite out of his voice, for it was strong and raw, an open wound. “We've all been fine sharing one room for ages, and you've never said anything about it. Don't most crews share quarters anyway? Having three rooms is a hell of a luxury as it is. What's the problem?”
Am I the problem? Ace's tone asked, the question there and painful between his words. Are you sick of waking up to me wrapped around you? Am I a burden?
It had been an ongoing arrangement since their first night as friends on Sixis three months ago—Ace, without fail, would somehow make his way to Deuce either in his sleep or with conscious effort, and fall asleep again curled around him, arms and legs laced with Deuce's and keeping them locked and close. Claim as he may that it was nothing more than a habit left over from comforting his younger brother – a story that Deuce had believed without question for several weeks – neither Mihal or Skull had ever found themselves in Ace's grasp.
Not once.
“Having a room each will be nice, though,” Skull said mildly, arms folded across his chest. “We may as well make the most of it while we can, eh? As we start addin' more to the crew, we'll hafta double up anyways until we get ourselves a proper ship.”
“And concerning what is normal,” Mihal added, “captains of ships usually have their own quarters, regardless of what the rest of the crew do. If you want to be in keeping with trends, Ace-san, you'll find yourself alone and the three of us rooming together instead.”
Ace sniffed pointedly, giving Mihal a cold look, knowing he was right.
“It makes sense for Deuce-san to be with the bandages and pills,” Mihal continued in a placating tone, “but I am not particularly fond of the idea of us all being separated. It seems counterproductive.”
“Just admit you'll miss us, and we'll stick with ya,” Skull grinned, to which Mihal gave a look of mild disgust.
“Quite the opposite,” he said coolly. “I should like to be alone if I can, but otherwise the idea of the crew being cut off from one-another makes me think we will be more vulnerable in the event of a stealth attack.”
But as Skull rounded on Mihal with teasing and jabs at his unwillingness to suffer through his snores anymore, Deuce's attention was caught and held by Ace, finally finding the strength to look at him. Hurt reigned across his freckled features, though indifference was working hard to take control. His eyes, usually so bright, were dark with self-loathing, downcast and hating and hating. The same look as when Deuce had cared about Ace's relation to Roger; the same look that had haunted Ace not so long ago when the Pirate King's name had been blurted out in a tavern, raucous laughter following.
An overreaction? Maybe, but then again, maybe not, with Ace equal parts expecting and unaccustomed to rejection – perceived or otherwise – from Deuce. A minor thing this would have been to some, but to him it had to be a major declaration of hidden, longstanding dislike spilling out from the one person who had made it clear (had lied?) that his life was for Ace and not for himself.
And so it wasn't surprising when Ace excused himself to carry on unpacking, agreeing with everyone and ruling that they should do what they like. “Whatever makes you happy,” he said, directing this to Deuce's shoulder, avoiding his eyes. Whatever you, personally, are comfortable with.
It wasn't a matter of comfort, Deuce wanted to say, wanted to snatch Ace's wrist and make him understand. It wasn't because of him. It was pragmatic, and logical, and a little selfish, and had nothing to do with ill feelings towards Ace or to anyone else, for that matter. He was not a doctor - never a doctor - but he could at least be seen in the role of one, acting and begging for their belief when his time to perform came, when he had to pretend he knew what to do with the bleeding, the sick, the hurt.
How tragic, then, that this time he fell short of his resolve, watching Ace leave and still broken, dripping rejection and pain to bloody the floor with footprints that only Deuce could see.
Night drew in slowly, the sky streaking with pink and gold hues before settling into purple. It was truly dark by the time they finished up and set sail, the move from tiny boat to less-tiny boat itself taking very little time.
Skull had proven himself to be surprisingly proficient with repurposing and refashioning wood, deconstructing parts of their old home to build beds, tables, and cupboards for their new home, Ace helping where he could.
Somehow, mattresses had appeared not long after – ones that had definitely not been on the old boat and had definitely come from somewhere in the town they had anchored at. With a finger to his lips, Mihal had smiled that eerie smile of his at Deuce's raised eyebrow, warning him away from asking too many questions about how he had come to be in possession of them, or how they had arrived at the docks at all, Mihal having barely left the boat all afternoon.
It was strange to have a proper bed again. Even more strange to have one on a boat, Deuce thought, as Skull had fixed his single frame to the walls and floor of the infirmary, nails glinting between his teeth while he hummed. Though the futons in the old boat had been fine enough – and certainly preferred to hammocks, something which Skull had once suggested – this was better. This was more normal to Deuce, to Mihal, to Skull.
Dinner was had, loud on Ace and Skull's part, enjoyed by all. Drinks flowed, bottles of wine appearing in Skull's hands from nowhere, making Ace laugh and Deuce sputter in confusion. A job well done today, their move celebrated through bottles knocked together and too much food consumed, the meal moving out onto the deck and threatening to turn into a full-blown party when Skull took up the guitar, taking his first request for a song from Mihal.
And yet through it all – the booze, the food, the shrieks of laughter and good-natured slaps to thighs, backs – that good mood did not reach Ace's eyes once, did not stop him from deflating when the attention shifted and he had a moment to think, to feel.
And though he must have drunk as much as Mihal and Skull – and though he swayed and giggled - the flush that rose in the others' cheeks didn't afflict Ace at all. His gaze was alert and sober when Deuce suggested they call it a night, watching him rise to his feet with something not unlike trepidation, the hurt and the exclusion still bleeding out of him.
And Deuce knew he could have fixed it then. He could have explained himself better; could have said out loud that it wasn't because of Ace, could never be because of Ace, that he was splitting them up. All it would take was acknowledging the pain he had caused, soothing the burn he'd inflicted to Ace's self-worth with the truth, and apologizing.
It isn't you. It isn't even me. I've become too comfortable with you. I'm trying to protect you. I'm trying to protect myself. I don't like being apart from you, so I must.
Anything. Anything.
Anything at all would have made Ace relax in that moment, his capacity to understand the emotions of others far outstripping Deuce's. He would understand, and he would either respect Deuce's dilemma or counter it, offer a solution of his own.
Deuce didn't want to entertain what possibilities that might include, though.
“You know where I am if you need me,” Deuce mumbled, and, against his own better judgment, brushed his fingers along the top of Ace's head in gentle affection as he passed. “Sleep well.”
Before he could pull away, he was certain he felt Ace lean into his touch, warmth surging from him, unwittingly admitting to something that he wasn't going to voice through fear of further rejection.
“Night, Deu. Good work today.”
But he hadn't done anything to earn that praise.
Hadn't done anything but be an idiot, and cause drama where drama shouldn't have found a home.
Hours later, Deuce awoke with a violent start, a gasp that transformed into a cough.
At first he wondered if it was purely due to sleeping somewhere different tonight, surrounded by walls unfamiliar and Skull's snores absent, shut away behind two doors and a corridor. It wouldn't have been the first time he couldn't sleep somewhere new; moving into the little fishing boat with Ace had been jarring too, though that had entailed closer companionship and a warm body to cuddle into when he had awoken, shaking with the memories of Sixis.
It became apparent almost instantly that it wasn't the location that had jolted him, but rather the fact that he was no longer alone. Though the room was pitch black, Deuce could feel someone there, barely even at arm's length away, breathing shallowly and seemingly waiting for him to react.
And warmth; that all-consuming warmth that did more than heat his skin surrounded him, made the room feel like home where his possessions had not.
“Ace,” he whispered, reaching out, finding a forearm and gripping it.
“I knew where you were,” Ace said quietly, his voice strung with caution despite the blatant desire for contact in his words. “So I came to find you.”
Deuce took a breath; held it; released it in a long, low exhale. “Couldn't sleep?”
Ace shook his head, the motion picked up in the minute pull of his skin, the almost silent sound of movement above Deuce. “I thought you might not be able to, either.” He paused then, and Deuce got the distinct impression he was trying to stop himself saying, “Doesn't look like it, though.”
It didn't seem kind to point out that before Ace had stolen his horizon when he had been borderline psychotic from exposure and thirst, Deuce had been subjected to the deepest of solitude. There had been no brothers for him to take care of, and no adults who would tuck him in at night if he kicked a blanket off himself. Eighteen years of self-soothing was still able to rule over three months of dependency on another, but Ace didn't need to hear that right now. Vulnerable and laying himself open as he was, Ace needed to be taken care of for a change, to be heard and healed.
So Deuce's grip slipped, gliding down from elbow to hand and tugging gently, coaxing Ace into lifting a knee onto the bed. “I knew you were there, didn't I?” Deuce said, looking where he felt Ace's eyes had to be in the gloom. “Guess I don't sleep so easy without you after all.”
But Ace hesitated, wavering even as Deuce shifted backwards, making as much room for him as he could in the bed built for one. “Is this okay?” Ace asked, and the doubt cut Deuce deep like a blunt blade. “You don't hate having me here?”
It was Deuce's turn to hesitate, stuttering over the words I hate lying cold in your absence. Instead, he choked out, “I'm sorry,” in a rush, swallowing before continuing, “I should have said so earlier. I should have said anything to stop you from assuming the worst.”
“Then why didn't you?” Ace asked, but the pressure on the mattress increased, Ace turning, rearranging, sliding in under the covers to bring them close. A distance still yawned between them though, Ace's heat trembling through to Deuce's core despite taking care not to physically touch him. “Why'd you split us up? I get the whole wanting to be available for emergencies thing, but it still feels weird.”
Because it was weird. In a crew of four, it was pointless. On a boat their size, even more so. There was never going to be a situation where injuries occurred and Deuce wouldn't be aware until being awoken to mend and stitch. On a ship - an actual proper, full-scale pirate ship with a crew to match - then yes, absolutely.
And Ace knew this. Of course.
“I'm planning for the future,” Deuce said uselessly. Ace snorted in disbelief, and Deuce protested, “I am! Like Skull said, when we recruit more people we'll be doubling up anyway—”
“So double up with me,” Ace interrupted, sincere and still hurt. “I hate sleeping alone. Like, really hate it.”
Silence spread, turning thick with charged nerves between them, unspoken words curdling. It was too much; it was fantastically tense and taut with emotion, this situation that Deuce had firmly planted them both in. Why bother trying to avoid difficult feelings when you're just going to get hit with different, far more difficult ones later anyway? What a mess he'd made - just him by himself, as usual, causing a problem through decisions made to alleviate pressure when really, he was just delaying them, adding fire to them.
“So do I,” Deuce confessed, breaking, shuffling in to bridge the inches and curl into Ace, breathing in his familiar scent, feeling well-known freckled skin under his fingertips again. “I can't explain what the hell I was thinking earlier.”
“Not much, from the sounds of it,” Ace huffed—yet he reciprocated, winding an arm around Deuce's waist, a knee meeting thighs and sliding between to anchor there.
Not much?
Too much.
The same as you, Ace, but from a totally different angle and frame of mind that I still don't understand.
It was Ace dipping down and butting the top of his head into Deuce's chin to snuggle in closer that got him to reply. “If this is important to you, then we can work something out,” he said in a rush, pressing his nose into Ace's thick hair.
“You know it is; don't try to act all ignorant and clueless,” Ace said, his breath comfortably warm to Deuce's collarbone. “I can't sleep without you with me. You make me feel safe. And when I thought you were taking that away from me and why, it hurt a lot.”
Deuce froze at this, heart slamming into his chest hard enough that Ace had to be able to feel it. “But I can't offer you any kind of protection you can't provide yourself,” he said, dazed.
But Ace pressed his face in closer, until his nose dug painfully into Deuce's skin, his frown palpable. “You're so damn annoying when you're stupid on purpose.”
Deuce snorted a little laugh. “Rude.”
“It's true. Try really listening when someone's telling you they need you.”
How rich of Ace to say such a thing to him—for Ace, of all people, to talk of deliberately sidestepping love and care directed at oneself, waving it off as less than it was, when he consistently allowed the hatred he held secret from the world except Deuce to diminish the shine of genuine affection from his friends, from strangers, from those he stopped to help with his unnaturally kind heart.
“Okay, sorry,” Deuce murmured into Ace's hair, choosing not to bring this up and risk Ace disappearing in cold, brilliant flames, “I hear you. And thank you… the feeling's more than mutual.”
A plan arose as they whispered together then – a plan for them to share the bed in Ace's room instead, taking advantage of the double bed that had been crafted for the substantially bigger room. Little promises that they'd stick together bubbled up, became more and more as words embellished words, as feelings became easier to voice to the point where Deuce was able to articulate, without fear or overthinking, the feeling of loss he had whenever Ace was gone. How in order to protect them both, he had been callous; how even now, he didn't fully know how he was supposed to deal with the knowledge that someone willingly chose to stick with him.
“You and me both,” Ace sighed at this confession, nails skimming along Deuce's back. “Sometimes I wonder if you're insane to stick with me despite knowing what I am.”
Sometimes Deuce wondered the exact same thing about Ace – did so tonight, in fact, long after Ace had fallen asleep against him, relaxed at last – but for completely different reasons to Ace's.