Work Text:
Ebb by Edna St. Vincent Millay
“I know what my heart is like
Since your love died:
It is like a hollow ledge
Holding a little pool
Left there by the tide,
A little tepid pool,
Drying inward from the edge.”
Jean-Pierre Polnareff hates the rain.
More specifically, he hates what comes with the rain. It had been storming that day when Sherry had been ripped from him, watching the water droplets roll down the window and tap, tap, tap into a little pool that slowly rotted away the wood of the windowpane.
The rain bothered him because he knew that once the clouds cleared and the sun came out he would be the only thing left behind, a cold pool of water built up by the constant tap, tap, tapping of his own swirling emotions eating away at him, left to sink inward into himself with nowhere else to go.
Mohammed Avdol is the opposite of the rain, and Jean-Pierre thinks that’s what draws him to him. Mohammed is the setting sun on a warm summer day, he is the flame from a lighter lit under whispered conversations and the warmth of an embrace from a loved one you haven’t seen in ages. At first it intimidates him. Jean felt as if he would evaporate if he got any closer, yet Mohammed had welcomed him with so much adoration in his heart. He had that ripped away from him once again, only able to watch in horror as his love was snuffed out of existence like a candle flame that had been burning for too long.
So that’s why he’s here now, in the alley of a shitty dive bar in France cursing to himself while trying to light a cigarette with a lighter he would need to replace and the awning above him not doing very much to keep him from getting soaked in the pelting rain. His hands shook uncontrollably and tears ran hot down his face in frustration. Maybe it was the alcohol or the too-loud music in the bar, or, you know - the reality of Mohammed’s death still fresh in his mind and heart and trying to drink his sorrows away maybe wasn’t the best idea. He’s ready to storm back off into the bar when he notices a hand emerging from the darkness that offers him a lighter. He hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone. He’s too drunk to bother taking a proper look at his face and takes it.
“...Thank you.” He says, his voice cracking. Jean can’t see him well but he notices the man has deep brown eyes that seem to pierce directly through him.
“It’s no problem.” The man responds. His voice is deep and almost intimidating, yet contains no malice. His self preservation instincts told him maybe he shouldn’t be accepting things from a stranger in a dark alley, yet his mind is too clouded with grief and alcohol to care. And, oddly, he doesn’t feel a sense of danger from this man. He has almost a warm, familiar essence. They don’t speak for a minute while Polnareff lights his cigarette and lets the feeling wash over him.
“What’s your name?” Polnareff asks, still eyeing him with a bit of caution.
“Don’t see why that’s your business.” The man replies. Polnareff shrugs.
“Fair enough. I just feel like I’ve met you before.” The man tilts his head slightly in curiosity.
“That so?”
“I dunno. Is that weird to say? Maybe that’s weird. It doesn’t matter anyway.” Polnareff takes another drag off the cigarette and watches the smoke float upward.
“Is everything alright? You look upset.” The man still contains himself to the shadows. Jean laughs, but it’s not funny.
“Oh yeah. Everything that’s ever happened to me has been great.” He chokes on his own tears as he halfheartedly attempts to fix his wet hair.
“I’m just so tired. Tired of everything.” He manages to speak between sobs. Jean felt like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He felt pathetic sobbing about his life story to a stranger, but humility was the least of his worries right now. The man offers his support with an empathetic look.
“I don’t mind listening.” The man says, his voice feeling like a calming tide in the torrential waves in Polnareff’s mind. It was an eerie feeling Polnareff couldn’t explain, but not exactly unwelcome. Polnareff sighs and takes a second to collect himself before speaking.
“I was on a trip – I don’t really wanna get into the reasons right now. But I met this man, yeah? I thought he was obnoxious and stuck-up. I hated him. But you know, I didn’t really have a choice but to work with him. He and I found we had a lot more in common than I thought. I really liked him. He had so much confidence in himself and just seemed to do everything so effortlessly… I really admired him.” He wondered if he should mention the next part, unsure of how a stranger would react.
“The more and more we talked the more I started to notice little things about him. Like, you know, what he found funny and what he didn’t. Or the subtle changes on his face when he smiled. Stuff like that. It’s like he was all I could think about.” He examined the stranger’s face again, and only saw concern and an open heart. A strange feeling of deja vu hit him. Polnareff continued.
“...On the night before the last day, we were on a hotel balcony together. I really wanted to tell him… well… I wanted to tell him I loved him. He was a beautiful man.” Polnareff braced himself for some kind of hateful onslaught of curses or a violent reaction, but the man only watched him with the same expression he’d had for their whole interaction. “And then what happened?” the man asked.
“I don’t really wanna go into the details, but he died the last night on that trip. Murdered, more like it. And I just… I hate both of us for it, you know? Both me and him. I felt so fucking pathetic that I couldn’t have just spat it out earlier. And he told me that he wouldn’t save me if I got hurt, and asked me not to save him. And of course he just had to break that promise. It’s fucked up, isn’t it? I can’t help but resent him a little bit for it. I don’t want to, he meant the world to me. But how could he just leave me behind like that? Because that’s who he was. He was that kind of person to give someone the moon if they asked. And I fucking hate that I just stood there. I felt like I’ve never had a break from something happening to me. Everybody important to me ends up getting ripped away from me. I wish I could’ve done something, if I could’ve just told him-” Polnareff doesn’t finish his sentence because he sputters through full sobs.
His sobs turn into quiet sniffs and he runs a tired hand through his hair as he leans against the brick wall in defeat. “Sorry, you didn’t have to sit through that. I appreciate it a lot.” He stares at the stranger, who only nods in response. His vision starts to clear and he starts to see features that are all too familiar, and his heart drops. Polnareff opens his mouth to say something, but his cigarettes fall out his pocket and directly into a puddle of muddy water. Polnareff shouts a curse loud enough to alert a passing couple that avoid eye contact and walk a bit faster. He scoops them up and throws them in the trash defeatedly. He turns to say something to the stranger, but any trace anybody had ever been there was gone. When he stepped closer to where the man had been standing, the only thing left behind was a single gold bangle.