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“You called for me, Cap’n?”
As he spoke, Heathcliff inadvertently winced as thunderbolts of pain lanced along the stitches in his side. The lass had better have a bloody good reason to bother him so soon after the Showdown.
“Yes, please come in,” answered a tired voice from behind the shoji doors in front of him.
Heathcliff slid open the doors and was met with the sight of his ginger-haired Captain sitting behind her desk, fixing the ornamental sticks in her hair. Though she often did a good job of hiding it, he could tell from her slouched posture and haggard face that the lass was absolutely knackered. Heathcliff hadn’t been able to witness the Showdown himself, considering the fact that he had maybe sort of almost kicked the bucket beforehand, but from what others had told him, his Captain had been a proper monster with the blade. Even so, having to face three Syndicate bosses at once must’ve taken a toll on her.
“You sure this couldn’t have waited till tomorrow?” asked Heathcliff, plopping himself down in the seat across from her, “You look like crap, if I’m bein’ honest.”
Ishmael arched a brow. “I could have your head for that comment, you know?”
“Wouldn’t benefit you much, I’m afraid. It’s a known fact that my head’s completely empty. Or full of rocks, I forgot which.”
The lass simply scoffed in response, but Heathcliff didn’t miss the ghost of a smile that flickered across her lips.
“Anyways, mind tellin’ me why I’m here, Cap’n?” he asked, “We’re not havin’ another Showdown, are we?”
“God no, one was already bad enough,” grumbled Ishmael, massaging her temples, “Redistribution of territory, inter-Syndicate relationships, the Thumb’s response… haah, but I didn’t call you here just to complain to you.”
“So why did you call me here then?”
Rather than answer, Ishmael bent down and pulled at the handle on one of her desk cabinets, which actually turned out to be a sleek mini-fridge that was almost definitely outside of Heathcliff’s pay grade. Reaching a hand inside, the lass pulled out a beige ceramic sake bottle, an intricate pattern of rolling waves painted along the body of the bottle.
Heathcliff let out a low whistle at the sight of it. “I knew there was a reason you’re my favourite Cap’n!”
“You’ve only had one other Captain besides me, idiot.”
As Ishmael spoke, she slid open another one of her desk cabinets and withdrew two sake cups, likely from the same set as the bottle.
“Oi, it’s not a lie then, innit?”
“Keep up that tone and the only thing you’ll be drinking is your own blood.”
“... Pfft, this is just like the old days, eh?” laughed Heathcliff, taking the sake bottle and pouring a cup for his Captain before filling his own.
“The old days…” Ishmael muttered, a nostalgic look coming over her face as she sipped her drink, “I still remember the first time you and I were put in the same team together. Never in all my time with the Kurokumo had I ever seen a Wakashu with such poor sword form. I mean, did you think we were playing baseball or something?”
“S-shut up, I’ve gotten better since then! Besides, I seem to recall you bein’ the uptight bird that kept on givin’ lip to the rest of the team. Hell, me and the lads were so ticked off, we were plannin’ your bloody assassination by the end of the first day!”
“Funny then how that same ‘uptight bird’ now outranks all of you, hm?”
“Tch, just you wait, I reckon it won’t even take me a year to surpass you!”
“That long, huh?” smirked Ishmael, before downing the rest of her cup, “... And then?”
Heathcliff furrowed his brow. “And then?”
“What’ll you do after you surpass me? Any plans for the future?”
As she spoke, the lass rested her chin on her palm, staring at Heathcliff with piercing hazel eyes. She took a moment to brush a bang of sunset-coloured hair away from her face, and in that moment, Heathcliff wasn’t sure if it was because of the alcohol or the blood loss from his wounds or maybe a bit of both, but in that moment, Ishmael… God, she looked absolutely stunning . So much so that he almost forgot she had asked him a question.
“Uh, n-nah, ain’t got the brains for plannin’,” Heathcliff quickly replied, “What about you, Cap’n? Didn’t you tell me you had a debt to settle with your ol’ boss?”
“Captain Ahab…” growled Ishmael, before she blinked and suddenly barked out a singular dry laugh, “Sorry, I just realized the irony of the situation. I hated Captain Ahab for leading her crew to their deaths, and then what do I do but become a Captain myself?”
“Eh? What kind of rubbish is that? You and her are completely different,” said Heathcliff, moving to refill his Captain's cup, “I dunno the exact numbers, but from what I heard, we had minimal casualties during the last Showdown. That was ‘cause of you, lass. The only thing you’re leadin’ our crew to is victory.”
Ishmael’s eyes widened slightly at Heathcliff’s unexpected praise. “... Thank you.”
A companionable silence followed her comment as the two simply enjoyed their drinks. The lass held her cup in one hand, gently rocking it side to side, seemingly entranced by the subtle motion of the sake within the cup. Heathcliff couldn’t help but notice how it almost resembled the swaying of a ship in the ocean.
After a moment, the lass finally broke the silence. “To answer your question, I did want to repay Captain Ahab for what she did to me and the Pequod crew. That’s why I joined the Kurokumo Clan in the first place, so I could train to get stronger and eventually kill that bastard with my own two hands. But as I got more involved in the Syndicate and continued rising up the ranks, I began thinking about my revenge less and less. And now that I’m the 34th Captain…”
Ishmael paused as she furrowed her brow, before raising her cup and finishing off the rest of her sake.
“Now that I’m Captain, my life’s been completely overtaken by the Kurokumo Clan. I’m sure if I returned to Captain Ahab as I am now, I could easily kill her with a single swing, but what if she’s not even alive anymore? What if I’ve just been chasing a ghost this entire time? This burning hatred I thought I would keep with me for the rest of my life, it's now… I- I don’t know anymore…”
As she spoke, Ishmael’s cheeks had grown steadily redder and her words increasingly slurred, clear indications for Heathcliff not to pour her another cup. He had always suspected that the lass was a lightweight, considering how she only stuck to beer whenever they went out to drink. But to think she’d be done in by a couple licks of sake…
“A sailor who can’t drink,” Heathcliff scoffed, though there wasn't any malice to it.
“Oh shut up…” mumbled Ishmael, slumping forward and burying her face in her arms, “Can’t you see I’m pouring my heart out here? Idiot…”
At that, Heathcliff paused and simply stared at the plastered lass. Now that he thought about it, why had his Captain called him to her room to share a drink despite the fact that she obviously couldn't handle her liquor? The Ishmael he knew always made sure to never show any signs of weakness, so how could he explain the groaning mess sitting right before him? Unless…
“Blimey, you really trust me that much, lass?” Heathcliff scratched the back of his head confusedly.
“You're the only one… the only one who'll give it to me straight,” slurred Ishmael, “Everyone else… they either hate me or fear me…”
“... Haah, which door’s your bedroom again? You clearly aren’t in a proper state to be continuin’ this talk,” said Heathcliff, before standing up and walking around the desk towards the lass.
Hesitating for a moment, he leaned down and gently lifted Ishmael up out of her seat. As he held the lass in a princess carry, Heathcliff became distinctly aware of several things at once: the close proximity of their bodies, the tickling sensation of her hair brushing against his arms, the warm air exhaled from her mouth against his chest, the softness of her skin as his hands-
He shook his head. Now the alcohol was getting to him too.
“... Heathcliff?” Ishmael’s voice was barely above a whisper, though for him, it couldn’t have been any louder, “What… what should I do? I- I feel so lost…”
… Now how the bloody hell was he supposed to respond to that? Heathcliff didn't know, so instead, he simply drew the lass closer in until her cheek rested against the crook of his neck. Unexpectedly, Ishmael then looped her arms around Heathcliff's neck and squeezed him in a tight hug, causing his brain to temporarily short-circuit.
“Wha- You- I-” sputtered Heathcliff, before clearing his throat and averting his eyes, “Your bed, have to get you to your bed.”
As he began actively searching for Ishmael’s bedroom, he could feel her lips tingle against his neck. “You’re a… you’re a good man, Heathcliff.”
“Lass, I swear to God, if you don’t zip it, I’m droppin’ you.”
“Heheh, you smell pretty good too.”
“Right, that’s it, I’m killin’ you after this is over.”
Thus began Heathcliff’s slow and painful process of finding Ishmael’s bedroom in the labyrinth that was the Kurokumo Clan’s headquarters. Seriously, whose bright idea was it to make the shoji doors and walls the exact same pattern? Not to mention the effect that carrying around a full-grown adult woman had on his poor stitches. Oh, and he obviously couldn’t forget how whenever he tried asking a passing Kurokumo Clan member for directions, they’d just stare at him with a funny look. After a while, Heathcliff gave up on opening doors and simply began kicking his way directly through the walls. After all, they were made of paper, so they couldn’t possibly be that expensive, right? And even if they were, he figured tonight’s services rendered to the 34th Captain more than made up for the cost of a little property damage.
And so, after a few more impromptu renovations, Heathcliff finally arrived at Ishmael’s bedroom.
“Phew, bloody hell…” groaned Heathcliff, his injured body aching with every step he took.
Taking a cursory glance around the bedroom, Heathcliff’s eyebrows rose at what he saw. Or rather, what he didn’t see. He expected a lavish bed, ornate furniture, and other posh doodads befitting someone of a higher rank like the Captain. Instead, all he saw was a simple futon, a single closet, and a small desk and chair setup in the corner. Hell, even his own room wasn’t as empty as this one!
“... Oi, lass, I reckon they got the nametags on the doors mixed up. This is clearly some other poor bloke’s room.”
“Nope, it’s mine alright…” Ishmael hiccuped out a laugh, “See that bracelet by the pillow? Tied it myself… to remember my… well, to remember.”
Now that she mentioned it, Heathcliff did notice a small bracelet made of rope lying right beside the futon’s pillow. Considering how it was the only remotely unique object in the lass’ room, it must’ve been pretty damn important to her, though Heathcliff knew better than to pry about it. The two had shared drinks enough times that bits and pieces of their pasts had been brought up in conversation, so Heathcliff felt like he had a pretty good idea as to what, or who, the rope was supposed to be a remembrance for. Still, he respected Ishmael’s privacy, and if the lass didn’t want to open up about some things, he wasn’t going to go bothering her about it. Besides, Heathcliff felt like she had already opened up way too much tonight anyways.
“Golden, let’s get you settled then, yeah?” he said, moving over towards the futon, “Sooner you nod off, sooner I can get outta here. Absolutely knackered, I am.”
As he spoke, Heathcliff knelt down and carefully lowered Ishmael down onto the futon. He then adjusted the pillow so it rested comfortably beneath her head and carefully pulled the blanket over her body. Her body…
The sight was simply too much for his alcohol-addled brain to bear. Without even noticing it, Heathcliff had brought his face close to hers, closer than a subordinate should have any right of being… yet not close enough. He rationalized it in his mind as him making sure that she was okay, but his body knew better. It yearned for the Captain.
But why?
The question gave Heathcliff pause.
After thinking it over for a bit, he realized the reason: the two of them were strangely alike in many ways. Just as she seemed to be slowly losing her desire to take revenge upon her Captain Ahab, he too was slowly losing his urge to return to Wuthering Heights. He remembered promising himself that he'd go back when he was a successful man, and sure, a Wakashu might not have been the highest rank in the Kurokumo Clan, but the amount of dosh he was raking in now was definitely way more than anything he had earned during his time with the Dead Rabbits.
So why not go back?
The question nagged at Heathcliff’s mind every night. However, try as he might, he couldn't seem to remember why he wanted to return so badly in the first place. Oh sure, he supposed he could go back just to punch that nob Linton in his stupid face, but even the idea of that was beginning to lose its lustre. Why had Heathcliff been so pissed off about him anyways? Every time he thought about it, he could vaguely recall something- no, someone who had been very important to him, but every time, the details were just barely out of reach. Sometimes, Heathcliff envied Ishmael because of this, since at least she could remember what she was angry about. Then again, remembering didn't seem to make her any happier than he was.
Maybe that was why Heathcliff was so attracted to the lass. Two poor sods lost in life and burdened by their pasts… but at least they could be lost and burdened together. More than just romantic interest, for the first time in his life, Heathcliff finally felt like he had found someone he could connect with, someone to share with, someone he could spend the rest of his life with.
Opposites may attract, but it was similarities that connected.
“... I'm here for you, lass,” Heathcliff's words came out little more than a whisper, yet they carried a great weight to them, “So if you're feelin’ lost, at least you won't have to go through it alone. Heh, I'll be stickin’ right by your side whether you want me to or not, and that's a promise. You're my Cap’n, after all.”
Feeling like he had said pretty much everything he wanted to say, Heathcliff began getting up to leave, but not before he belatedly noticed the Captain staring right at him with unblinking eyes. The high-pitched yelp that proceeded to sound from the room likely came from some hidden mouse or ghostly spirit. Certainly not from him, at any rate.
“Hmm, not bad, I suppose,” Ishmael said, her voice suddenly a lot more sober than before.
“... Eh?”
“Oh, and the busted walls are coming out of your next paycheck. I understand navigation's never been your strong suit, but seriously, I assumed you’d at least know the layout of our own headquarters.”
“Wha- You- Just wait a tick… what?”
“Tonight was a test, Heathcliff,” the lass explained with a knowing grin, “As the newly appointed 34th Captain of the Kurokumo Clan, I’ve inherited my predecessor’s authority but also her numerous enemies, potentially even some in our own Syndicate. As soon as I came into the position, I knew I needed a loyal ally, someone I could trust to watch my back… and you just so happened to fit that criteria. Oh please, is it really that surprising? Like I said before, you’re the only one who’ll give it to me straight. Plus, loath as I am to admit it, you’re the person I’ve grown closest to in this place. That's why I wanted to test you, to make sure you were someone I could fully place my trust in.”
“Blimey, so when you invited me for a drink tonight…”
“Yes, I pretended to get wasted so that I'd appear completely vulnerable in front of you. If you had made an attempt on my life, I would’ve cut you down on the spot.”
For a moment, Heathcliff could only stare at the lass in stunned silence, unsure whether he should be impressed or absolutely furious. “So everything that happened tonight, was all of it just pretend?”
“... Not everything,” Ishmael replied softly, the tender expression on her face catching him off-guard, “I wasn’t lying when I said you were a good man, Heathcliff.”
A few beats of silence passed between the two as they simply looked into each other’s eyes. Try as he might, Heathcliff couldn’t think of any witty remark or silly banter to say in response. It appeared the time for words had passed, and now all that was left was action.
Heathcliff coughed and looked away before his body could give in to temptation. “W-well, did I pass then?”
“Hm?”
“Your bloody test, did I pass?”
Ishmael seemed to consider the question for a moment, before she suddenly lifted her head and planted a light kiss on Heathcliff's lips.
“I don't know, you tell me.”
But before Heathcliff could even respond, Ishmael had already slung her arms around his neck and pulled him into her bed.
… And if anyone was woken up by some strange noises in the night, well, they could take it up with the Captain.
His Captain.