Archive of Our Own ^beta

On the day the Red Force is due to set sail, Shanks wakes lazily with the dawn, his wife curled against his side with her head resting on his chest. It rises with each of his breath, hers still slow and steady - she sleeps, and for a little while he closes his eyes again and lets himself listen, trying to match her. In, hold, out. Soothing and familiar. Moments like this, when he feels like the only one awake in the world, are some of his favourites.

It's even quiet outside, the bustle of the streets not up to its usual volume yet. Shanks smiles to himself and begins the process of extracting himself from his wife's arms, pausing to press a kiss to the top of her head before he's completely out of bed.

"Good morning," he says under his breath; and that's how his last morning ashore for the foreseeable future begins begins. Until they get to Stromness, he supposes - but that won't be for more than a day or two, and they'll be back out on the water as soon as the ship's ready.

Makino wakes shortly after him and is a vision, perfectly put-together even so early, so soon after waking. She rests a hand on his shoulder gently for a second, eyes flicking to the window and outside it, past the streets, the houses, and the factories, down to where they both know the water to be. Shanks has been looking in that direction for the better part of fifteen minutes now, and he reaches to cover Makino's hand with his own.

"I'll miss you," she says.

"Naw," Shanks says. "You'll be fine, same's always. Why would you miss an old man like me?"

"How queer, a woman missing her husband."

"There'll be plenty to keep you occupied, my love."

"Oh?"

"Oh, aye. Weren't you just telling me about that new friend of yours - what's her name again, Dolly? Dell...?"

"Doll...? Ah, well."

"You'll not hear a word from me," Shanks grins. "If you enjoy her company, fine by me. I'm hardly about to say you can't do things. What kind of man would I be if I had you waiting at home for the next -"

"Three years," Makino sighs. "I know. It's... I'll still miss you. Your daughter'll miss you."

"Ach, no."

"Aye, Shanks."

Said daughter is still asleep, having stayed up as late as she was able the night before, curled up in Shanks's lap even though she's a little big for it these days. He hadn't minded - certainly hadn't complained - had let her spend as much time there as she liked, before he carried her to bed, tucked her in, and kissed her goodnight. She's a sweet girl really, and she always misses him something fierce when he's away up north.

He smiles slightly, and looks to the clock on the other side of the room.

"Soon," Makino says.

"I'll go and wake her," Shanks says.

"If I didn't get seasick..."

"I'd bring you," he says. "I swear it. But you'd hate it, love. And it's not - it's not a pretty sight. It's messy."

"I'm no' afraid of mess."

Shanks shakes his head. "Naw. Trust me. But don't you worry, sweetheart. I'll be home before you know it, and I'll be sending presents down from Stromness. Hopefully it'll be something she likes, but..."

His daughter is demanding and has discerning tastes. He's not sure where she got those from, because it certainly wasn't him. Shanks is, and always has been, easily pleased. Maybe it's from her uncle.

"She'll love anything you get her," Makino says. "I'll get your bits - go and wake her, then."

He stands, kisses her once, and turns for the stairs. Uta's bedroom is small but she says she adores it, her window looking out and over the city. Shanks has seen her look out over the roofs and streets before, sitting at the windowsill and watching the people below.

When he wakes her she looks excited for a moment before she must remember what day it is and her face falls. She doesn't quite tear up but it's a near thing, eyes watery as she wraps her arms around him and buries her face in his shirt.

"I don't want you to go," she mumbles, muffled by the starched fabric. "What if something bad happens?"

"It won't, sweetheart."

"But what if it does?"

"How long have I been doing this? I promise you, I'll be fine - you've met some of the crew, love, you know they'll keep us all safe."

"Uncle Beck?"

"Aye, Uncle Beck."

Uta sniffs. "I like him," she says. She sounds younger than her actual nine years like this, snotty and petulant. Shanks wants to hold her for hours and make sure she never sounds like that again; he kisses her forehead, combs a hand through her hair.

"You're comin' down to see us off, aren't you? It's good luck to say goodbye to us."

"I'm coming!"

Shanks laughs and hugs her a little tighter. "Get dressed, then. I'm going to go and make sure I have everything afore we go down the docks."

It's almost unseasonably warm as the three of them walk down together. Uta's clinging to one of Shanks's hands, Makino watching with a soft smile from a few steps behind.

"Is your doctor friend coming down to see you off today?" Makino asks, when Uta takes a break in her storytelling to catch her breath. Shanks frowns, brows furrowed for a seconds as he turns to her. He takes a second to think before - oh - he realises who she must mean.

"I don't know," he says. He and Marco hadn't parted their best meeting on the best of terms, necessarily, on account of his extending an invitation to the other man: join me, he said, our surgeon, our doctor, you'd be a grand fit - and my surgeon would be happy to work as an assistant to a man like you. Same as he had every other time he'd so much as hinted at Marco coming along, he'd been turned down, another point-blank refusal.

He hadn't told her all the details, largely because he hadn't wanted to see her delicately raising an eyebrow and pursing her lips instead of commenting. The broad strokes, certainly; which had been more than enough for Beck to guffaw, buy him another drink, and call him a sad, sorry bastard.

"Oh," Makino says. Nods. "I see."

She quite likes Marco, from what she's said in the past. Shanks bites his tongue and pretends not to notice Uta's wide eyes flicking between the two of them, and resigns himself to the fact that she'll be seeing him for tea at some point soon. He's sure, even, that Makino will come up with some kind of reasonable excuse for going to see him; a cough that she's worried about, maybe, and she simply couldn't bear to leave her little girl for even a minute.

Sometimes Shanks regrets getting married.

"I'll write to him," Shanks says. "If you're so concerned 'bout us making good."

"You're always so happy after you see him, is all."

He scoffs. She's right, but she doesn't need to know that - Shanks suspects she does anyway. Makino's far too smart for her own good.

"He might be waiting, anyway," Makino says. Pauses before she starts walking again, a half-step behind Shanks and Uta. "We're almost there."

They are. They're on the last little downhill stretch, and Shanks swears he can smell the sea already. Salt in the air, on the breeze. Hell, he'd swear he can almost smell fish from the ships docked there waiting for their crews. Like the markets when they're full, packed with people.

A small bag of personal goods slung over his shoulder; Shanks takes a deep breath and lets it out again slowly, looking behind him. Makino catches his eye and smiles, something about it a little melancholy. Uta's grip on his hand tightens, a tiny squeeze.

The masts all reach up to the sky. Black towers, from this far away, a mess of rope and rigging dangling from each. Some still have their sails up, like billowing clouds of white in the morning air. Shanks feels suddenly more at ease, more settled in his own body. Inhale, exhale. He holds back a smile.

"Come on," he says, squeezing Uta's hand in response. "Let's go see Uncle Beck 'afore we set off, aye?"

Beck's leaning against fencing on the dock when they get to him, pipe in his mouth and hat pulled low on his brow. He looks over and even from as far away as they are, Shanks can tell he's smiling.

"Mornin', Captain," he says, nodding his head. He shifts and half-bows to Makino and Uta both, taking off his hat to rest it against his heart. "Ladies."

"Uncle Beck!" Uta exclaims, breaking away from Shanks so she can fling herself towards him. Beck laughs and holds his pipe out to Shanks - who takes it - so he can pick the girl up, hoisting her up onto his hip. One hand holding her up and steady, he sets his hat on her head with the other, undoubtedly messing up her hair. She doesn't seem to care all that much, laughing and tossing her head so her braids fall down her back, ribbons loosening around the bottom of them.

"Little lady, you've got awful big," Beck says, scrunching up her nose as he studies her. "I won't be able to pick you up like this soon!"

Uta pouts, bottom lip sticking out for a second before she wraps her arms around Beck's neck and clings to him.

"Miss you, Uncle Beck."

"We 'ent gone yet," he laughs.

"But you'll be gone for so long..."

"Aye, and we'll come back successful and famous," Beck says. Looks up and catches his Shanks's eye, offers him a lopsided and familiar grin. "Isn't that right, captain?"

"That it is," Shanks says, trying to inject an air of solemnity into his words. It's not hard, when he thinks of leaving Makino and Uta alone for so long. "Our time to make a real name for ourselves."

"You think so?" Makino asks. Her voice is soft and she manages not to sound doubtful enough that Uta might notice. Shanks can't exactly blame her, not since she's the one who's been listening to him talk about the worries of the whaling fleet; not since she's heard his conversations with others about the number of sightings, the way the catches are growing smaller and smaller every year. She knows how, sometimes, he lies awake at night with worries rushing through his mind; how sleeplessness hounds him, a dog constantly at his heels.

She knows that, these days, they're more sealers than whalers, but Shanks was crowned a whaleship captain, and that's what he'll die as. He will call himself and his men part of a whaling fleet until the day none of them are breathing.

"Aye," he says. "This is our time, my love, I swear it."

Makino smiles now, and Shanks reaches to take her hand between both of his own. Her fingers are cool and smooth and slender against his skin, rougher and warmer. Shanks rests his cheek against their clasped hands for a second, before his eyes catch a glimpse of something back towards the city proper. For a moment he stiffens before he turns his head to kiss the back of her hand - lifting one of his away - and exchanges a nod with Beck, before he steps away from the scene.

"I've tae go and check we're all set," he says. "You can stay here and mind the girls, Beck?"

"It'd be my honour."

He does need to do a few last-minute things, but if he's right about what he saw... well, it's important. Back to the gathering crowd he goes, grateful that excitement won't fully come until he's on board the Red Force, slipping between people until he feels a tug on his cuff.

When Shanks turns, he meets Marco's blue eyes easily, instinctively; he smiles, despite the other man's face still being set as if in stone. His glasses do nothing to diminish the severity of his gaze, nor do the lines at the corners of his eyes make him look any kinder, in this moment.

"Marco," Shanks says. "Good morning, Doctor."

"You'll be leaving soon," Marco says. He's never been one to beat around the bush. He's direct, straight to the point.

"Aye, we will."

"Why did you ask me to come with you, Shanks?"

Shanks pauses. He'd have thought that obvious by now.

"Because," he says, "you're a good man, and a better doctor. Because I want you on my crew, as one of my men. Because I'm selfish enough to want my friends beside me."

"I won't join you."

The truth is - Shanks knows that, and he always has. He's never expected Marco to actually say yes to him. He asks because, to him, it's become part of their routine, an integral part of their relationship: he asks for something he wants, desperately wants, and Marco easily dismisses him and turns him down.

"I know," he says. "I'm selfish, but not that much. You'll do more good back here."

"So why do you -"

"Why do I ask?" Shanks tilts his head slightly to one side before he sighs, scratching his jaw. "To remind you, if you ever wanted to leave all this, come away up north - you've always got a place with me."

What he doesn't say is, I'd do anything for you. What he doesn't say is, don't you know that?

He steps back, nods to Marco, and glances back at his ship.

"I've got to go," he says. "I'll send a letter down from Stromness for you."

Marco makes no move to stop him. Shanks leaves him behind to disappear amidst other people; on their way to work, to school, to watch them set off. Their goodbye ends at just that - the promise of a letter, and the knowledge that there won't be any sort of reply forthcoming. Marco's used to that, as is Shanks. Communication is hard when at sea, when in the frozen north, when heat comes from new-fitted steam engines, boilers, and flickering candle-warmth.

Back to his ship: Lucky slings an arm over his shoulders as he rattles off a list of things Shanks needs to know before departure; passes him off to Hongo, with his reading-glasses sitting atop his head, passing him a list of the supplies he's prepared for the journey. Then Yasopp, L.J. - their assistant surgeon, which most ships don't have, but Shanks won't deny he's lucky to have him.

And then Beck, once again, Uta now on his back. Makino by their side, looking pale and slightly ill-at-ease just from being on the deck of the ship.

"I thought you'd want to say goodbye properly," Beck says, voice soft. He bends to let Uta down and takes the papers Shanks offers him readily, waving behind him as he disappears into the bustling mass of the crew.

Uta looks up at him, suddenly solemn once again. Makino takes the opportunity to step forward and rest her forehead against his shoulder, her exhale shaky when he holds her against him.

"I can't believe it'll be..." she trails off.

"I'd have brought you along," Shanks says, "but look at you, darlin'. You'd hate it. All I ask of you is to do right by the girl."

"Of course. Always. She's a good girl."

Noticing they're talking about her, Uta hugs Shanks's leg. He pats her head with one hand.

"And you," he says, "you be good, okay? Keep out of trouble. Work hard, and do well."

"You'll miss my birthday," Uta mumbles.

"I know, love," Shanks says. "I'll send you presents whenever I can, I promise. I'll spoil you rotten, sweet girl. We'll do great things and you'll be a rich man's daughter yet."

"Be careful?"

"Aye, love, of course."

He crouches to hug her properly; kisses her cheek, and tucks a wayward strand of hair away behind her ear. Makino gets a kiss on the cheek too, but the way he touches her is gentler, his thumb brushing over her cheek. She doesn't cry, but her eyes are watery, swimming with tears.

"Don't cry," he murmurs. "Take care of yourself. Go to Marco if you need. And if - if things get really bad..."

"I know," Makino says. A turn of her head, her lips to his palm. "Go to your crew, captain. We'll wave."

And Shanks goes. Everything is ready, all prepared. His men look to him for instruction, as they always do; those he's been with for years, those newer, those who have never sailed before. His men, his boys. The Red Force is a fine ship in the fleet, even if not the most famous - the wind in her sails and the coal in her engines take her out to sea, the noise of the crowd slowly fading away into the distance, to be replaced by the calls of gulls and the hubbub of a working crew.

"Away we go," he says under his breath. Beck catches it and smiles, an old and long-faded scar tugging at the side of his face when he does.

"Away we go," he echoes. "To glory, fame, and fortune."

"Amen," Shanks says, and turns away from the shore after he takes his last look at the distant skyline of the city they're leaving behind.

My friend,

Although brief, I am glad we had a moment to talk before we set sail. I hope you understand my intention has never been to overstep with my invitations: more than anything, I offer only so that if your situation ever became dire enough you might require my help, you know that a helping hand has always been extended. I am sure you would do the same, should I or my family ever need it, although I pray they never do.

We haven't exactly been away long, and so I find there is little to report back to you. The crew work well together so far, with the boys taking well to instruction and any and all learning. Their knots are almost neat already, and the redhead is a credit to the one teaching him (not myself, although I wish I could claim the praise for how readily he takes to it. Were I to speculate I'd guess at his father being a sailor, but of course I couldn't say for certain.)

How goes the practice? Up the hill where you are, I imagine a great many families have already begun to come to you, and that you must be kept busy - I can imagine you in your coat, with your bag and glasses, going to visit a house with some sick infant or another. I remember your mentioning talk of some developments down in London and across in Edinburgh? I confess that while I might not know a great deal about these things, I wish you were here for me to learn some more about it. (Some mention of wound-cleaning, and other techniques? I know you keep up on recent publications. I admit to not finding much interest in them, but my surgeon speaks highly of some titles I recall seeing on your shelves.)

Beckman has brought more tobacco with him than I recall seeing him with before. That is, honestly, the most exciting of the goings-on at present, although I am sure there are some small bits of talk I have likely missed on account of my position as captain, and not of a member of the crew proper.

As I write - almost immediately after we have set off, if I am to be honest with you - I will tell you that Beckman seems to be worried about our voyage. If you will recall from previous conversations, he has sailed for years now, and says he has seen a great deal of change from the trips of his youth. I try to set his mind at ease, but the truth is he is far from incorrect; there are many things that have changed. I will not lie, Marco, and say that the job is easier these days, with the advent of any new or different technologies and methods. In truth the older ways still work better, and it grows harder year by year, with each ship bringing back less whales and seals.

Still, I remain optimistic. I fear what would happen if the men were to see pessimism in me. My good lady wife knows of my concerns - she is, these days, my closest confidant, and knows many of my worries that friends are oft not privy to - as necessary, as sometimes worry invades and leaves me unable to sleep. I know you will say I should have come to you, but I feel I should refrain from troubling you with something so trivial. Now I am again at sea, I am certain sleep will come easy after a day hard at work in the fresh air.

Stromness approaches. Or, we approach Stromness. Either or, I think. I will send this letter to you, as well as some to my wife and daughter; I imagine those will be shared with the boys she seems to have befriended nearby, and one of whom seems taken with my being in the Arctic. Sweet of him, really, although we are no heroes or explorers like Ross or Franklin.

I go, now: I imagine I will write you countless more times before I can send them again, and expect that when next we are docked, you will have a delivery of more letters than you think me capable of writing. I say this only to warn you - so you can prepare yourself for hours of reading my mundane reports of life aboard the Red Force.

Write back - I will await a reply eagerly, and imagining all the things you might have to say will come as a comfort on the many days we will likely have with no prize.

I remain,
Your good friend,

Capt. F. Shanks.

Brother,

Your courage and your bravery will come at the cost of your life; I pray only that Rae's words were untrue, and you and yours do not come to the fate he believes Sir John's men did.

F. Shanks.

Dearest,

I will think of you on the long nights to come, and on the days when the water is still around us and there is no movement for miles around. I will see you in the ice and in the curve of waves; I will miss you, constantly.

Adjusting to sleeping alone once again will, I think, be the most difficult thing. I have grown used to your company and your constant presence by my side, and I find that I already miss you painfully. You and Uta both - I miss my dear girls.

I beg of you, tell me everything about your life. All you might consider insignificant; any and all detail that you might come up with. I wish for all of it, my love. I wish to know everything, as though I were still falling asleep beside you every night, waking to the sight of you in the morning. I fear I won't survive this voyage, alone in a tiny bed like the one I have aboard my ship.

I hope you will think of me often; equally, I hope this will not make you sad. You can miss me, my love, but not so much that you find yourself distraught. I will be home and back to you soon enough, and we will be a happy family once again.

The men talk of sweethearts and wives; I consider you both, all in one. You, the keeper of the keys to my heart, to all that I am.

Yours,

Shanks.

My dear girl,

Happy birthday!

Although I think this will get to you late - for which I can only apologise, although I think having to be in charge of my ship while I know you're at home by your mother's side with your friends round for tea - I still needed to wish my best girl a happy tenth birthday.

I've included a gift for you, and some drawings from the men. L.J. has become quite the artist, as it turns out, and he's sketched out the shore and some of the birds we've been seeing of late. Do your old man a favour, darling, and do the same for me? Show me what you see at home?

Don't miss me too much. I promise, little songbird, I'll be home before you know it, and I'll tell you every story I can think of. I'll write down any I come up with while I'm away, and it can become your own little storybook.

I love you, little nightingale,

Pa