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In late autumn, a group of shipwrights was quickly assembled to throw together a temporary stage in the plaza for the Mayor’s Annual Address. A rag-tag team was scraped together from anyone Galley-La could afford to excuse from the docks for a few days. Newbies and stragglers cut their teeth serving time on the stage construction team in the shortening daylight.
Every shipwright had put in their public service duty at some point in their employment. Paulie was no exception, and moaned throughout at being taken off a much more interesting rigging job to string up a pair of ceremonial stage curtains. He didn't give a shit about some stuffy speech, not when the Mayor was a dull prick that didn't give a rat's ass about revitalising the city's wavering shipbuilding industry.
For Iceburg’s first year at Water 7's helm, Paulie obnoxiously boasted his Galley-La credentials to push to the front of the audience. He had to shove a guy or two to claim his space at the front, but a week-long black eye was worth it for a prime spot just behind the barrier. He gripped the rails as Iceburg made the speech that marked a turning point towards massive change.
The audience looks so far away from his new, privileged spot at the side of the stage. The loud speakers boom the Mayor's annual speech into the crowd, but making out Iceburg's words through the transponder snail's distortion is difficult behind the scenes. Paulie replays their rehearsals over the muffled rhythm, body tensed in anticipation of the moments Iceburg had stumbled in practice.
When the crowd erupts with applause to signal an ending, Paulie is still returning to his surroundings. Iceburg steps back from the lectern and walks offstage to greet him.
Iceburg strokes his chin in thought. “How was it?”
After the confident tone of public speaking, Iceburg's voice is mumbling and unsure. Paulie hardly hears him over the cheers.
He leans slightly closer. “You did great,” Paulie insists with deliberate volume. “I mean, d'you hear that?”
He gestures to the rowdy audience with pride.
Iceburg's eyes shift in thought. “Mm, I messed up the same part as always, though. Why do I keep tripping over my words there?”
Paulie realises he'd been so deep in recall of Iceburg's draft after pained redraft, that he'd missed the slip-up completely.
“Didn't notice.” He flushes. He was always rapt from the audience. He scratches his neck. “Pretty sure no one would’ve caught that.”
Iceburg blinks. “You didn't?”
He reaches for Iceburg. The backstage privacy grants him a moment of blushed, apologetic touch.
“Ok, so, the acoustics were pretty bad back here. I could hardly make out anything. Started thinking about how much you were suffering trying to prepare.”
“Hm-” Iceburg's lips purse. “I'm glad you were honest.”
Paulie pulls back. “But that reaction says everything you need to know. Sounds like a festival out there. They love you.”
Iceburg's expression eases as his gaze finally settles on Paulie.
Paulie struggles to hold it. “That’s usually me, out there. And the reaction’s never been… this.”
“Oh, I actually never noticed you in the crowd,” Iceburg admits, slightly awkward as he tucks his flashcards away into the inner pocket of his blazer.
“Never?” Paulie's face scrunches in brief offence. He contains it, and stumbles on to his next question. “Does that mean… you were looking for me?”
Iceburg laughs dismissively, but a shy glance keeps Paulie guessing.
“Well, I can't make out anyone's face in a crowd that size without my glasses.”
Iceburg begins to lead them towards the exit, and Paulie trails just behind.
Paulie nods. “That's why you don't wear them up there.”
Iceburg pulls open the door. “It's much easier to give a speech to a blurred mass of colour than to know everyone watching you by name.”
He holds it open for Paulie and they continue down a small flight of stairs.
“Makes sense. You'd only start overthinking it.”
“Mm, I save that for afterwards.”
Security has seen Paulie at Iceburg's side at other public events often enough not to rubberneck as they slip out the gated zone behind the temporary stage. There's a route cleared out in advance that leads them to the canals, with a private yagara stationed for a discreet escape back to headquarters.
Paulie glances behind him to the back seat of the yagara's carriage. Iceburg, hands clasped on his lap, still looks caught up in his thoughts.
“You always like this after?” Paulie asks.
“Hm?” Iceburg's glazed eyes shift back into focus. “I guess. Probably. It takes a while. I’ll be fine in a few hours or so.”
Paulie allows him space to decompress and turns back to watch the path of the canals, twisting into the empty backstreets. They pass the bars and gambling houses he’d stumble to after the Mayor's speech, blowing his latest pay check and enthusing about Iceburg until he could no longer string together a sentence.
The after-party was fun, until the debt spiralled. A hard slam out onto the sharp cobbles, followed by the staggered walk of shame back home. Or, if he was really unlucky, threats to reclaim his debt in a disturbingly specific number of fingers. He glances at his hands on the yagara's reins, and a deep scar into his left pointer is a messy reminder.
Instead, he's taking Iceburg home with his baggage in tow; the intangible hopes of the entire city piled high on the Mayor's shoulders.
“Proud of you,” Paulie says, staring forwards at their path ahead.
“What was that?” Iceburg replies behind him.
And Paulie turns back, with a shout. “Proud, I said.”
Iceburg gives him a quick smile, slightly forced, and definitely still distracted. “Hm. Thanks.”
After a celebratory meal, they blow off Iceburg's last remaining post-speech tension. Iceburg finally settles, relaxing in the afterglow with a book in hand. Paulie chases sleep that doesn't want to come. One too many glasses of fancy champagne. He doesn't drink as much as he used to.
Paulie rolls over in the bed towards Iceburg.
“Indulge me, a minute.” His tongue trips. “You really never saw me at one of your speeches?”
Iceburg focuses on flipping the page, a deliberate avoidance of eye contact. “Mm no, never.” He adjusts his frames. “Like I said, I don't wear my-”
“I was always front and centre,” Paulie interrupts, hand prying on Iceburg's body for attention.
Iceburg indulges him by setting his book down onto the nightstand, but doesn't indulge his stretch of the truth. “Always?”
“Ok, not always, but near enough.” Paulie sulks. He drops his hand back to his side. “Ack. You know, just forget it.”
Iceburg shifts from the headboard and crawls under the covers, fishing beneath to get tangled up in Paulie's fingers.
He peers at Paulie through his lenses with an unexpected intensity. A surprise barrage of problem-solving questions suggests he wasn't quite finished overthinking for the day.
“What is it, hm? Did we focus on me too much? Were you not fully satisfied? I can give you a blow job, or I can do something else for you instead?”
Paulie squirms. Iceburg had already ridden him to the point of overstimulation.
“You did nothing wrong, ok? I was just being needy,” he confesses to the ceiling. “Slightly drunk, so I couldn't sleep. Got frustrated.”
He tries to ease a creek in his neck, still niggling from an ambitious position he’d tried out with questionable success.
“You can go back to your book.”
As if fully committing, Iceburg pulls off his glasses and reaches to set them aside.
“You're still offended I didn't notice you?” He runs a sympathetic hand over Paulie's head.
Paulie's boozed flush turns crimson under Iceburg's attentive touch. “Eh, no. It's ok, I get it.”
“Ah-” Iceburg announces his realisation, “It’s because I never thanked you.”
Paulie was sure he probably had, at some point. But he wouldn't mind taking it again.
“It means a lot that you filled in for Alice. It's more comforting than just bringing an assistant anyway. Having my partner by my side. It put me at ease.”
Paulie's face tenses against a stroke of Iceburg's fingertips that trail down the side of his stubbled cheek.
“I'm very grateful for your support. I know it's not easy.”
Paulie's eyes shut. “I'm not easy either. It's your big day and I'm the one digging for reassurance?”
Iceburg's fingers reach his chin, and pulls him in for a kiss pressed to his lips.
“Do you feel reassured now?”
Paulie's expression blends validation and the shame of needing it. “Yes.”
“Good.” Iceburg reaches back for the nightstand. His fingers trace his book with impatience. “Is it alright?”
Paulie nods and pulls up the covers. “Yeah. I've had my tantrum, so I'll probably be able to sleep now.”
“Then I'll pick back up where I left off.” Iceburg pulls back on his frames.
Paulie closes his eyes. “Night.”
“Sleep,” Iceburg runs a hand on Paulie's chest. “Sleep, sleep.”
A repetitive chant, like a calming spell and Paulie gradually finds rest.