Chapter Text
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Billy screams.
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“He doesn’t deserve you,” Charles says.
Billy snorts, says, “Neither do you.”
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Billy screams and Charles feels the pull of it deep down in his gut.
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“Then why do you stay?” Charles asks, watching the way the muscles of Billy’s bare back work as he pulls on his boots.
“Who says I stay?” Billy asks, turning to Charles – his tone accusatory even as his eyes dance with mischief.
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Billy screams and Charles feels the pull of it deep down in his gut and he doesn’t hesitate to turn to his quartermaster and shout, “Hard starboard! Full sail!”
“Captain, what about the prize—”
“Now!”
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“Stay,” Charles orders, trying to pull Billy back into bed.
“You’re not my captain,” Billy says, moving in just enough to press one quick kiss to Charles’s lips, and another to the curve of Charles’s wing. Then Billy pulls back, smirking, and adds, “You can’t order me around.”
“We could change that,” Charles tries – not for the first time, not for the last time. And just like every time, Billy shakes his head and pulls away.
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Finding the Walrus isn’t the hard part – the hard part is getting onboard.
“The fuck are you doing here?” Flint demands.
Flint who’s covered in blood with fresh towels in hand. Whose hawk’s wings are curled tight against his shoulders – the feathers ruffled and dirty; whose eyes won’t stay locked on Charles, but keep darting back below decks.
Before Charles can answer – Billy screams again.
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Charles runs his hands over Billy’s back – wondering not for the first time why the man had yet to Manifest.
“My parents were ducks,” Billy says, his eyes still closed as he answers Charles’s unasked question. “If I don’t Manifest at all, I’ll be just as happy.”
“You’ve never stricken me as a duck,” Charles says, stretching himself over Billy and pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck. The Walrus was just back in from the account and Billy was tired – otherwise Charles knows he’d have hardly tolerated Charles’s gentleness.
Billy makes a soft noise in the back of his throat – something between a “hm” and “ugh” that makes Charles smile against Billy’s skin. He stays where he is, feeling the exact moment when Billy’s breath deepens and evens out with sleep.
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“I’m here,” Charles says and he’s cradling Billy’s head as the Walrus’s surgeon struggles to stop the bleeding as Billy’s wings just keep growing. “I’m here, Billy, you stupid fuck. I’m here.”
“We’re going to talk when this is over,” Flint growls.
Charles wants to tell the man to go fuck himself – but he sees the way Flint’s bloodied hands are shaking, the way his eyes are too wet, the way he can’t quite summon his normal amount of vitriol for Charles.
Billy digs his fingers into Charles’s arms, pushes his face into Charles’s chest, and he keeps screaming.
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“I love you,” Charles says, hooking his finger into Billy’s belt and pulling him close. “You know that don’t you?”
Billy hesitates, just like he always does. “I don’t think you know the meaning of the word,” Billy finally says, his eyebrows knitted together as he looks down at Charles – studying him. It’s a look Charles will never quite get used to – it makes him feel as if he’s being picked apart, like he’s being weighed against some unknown standard and found wanting.
“I’ll show you,” Charles says, handing Billy a piece of folded cloth. “Open it when, or if, you decide you miss me.”
“Charles—,” Billy starts, but Charles hushes him with a deep kiss.
Charles pulls back but keeps their foreheads touching as he says, “We’re headed out on the account, too. I’ll see you when I get back.”
Then he’s pulling back completely and leaving Billy alone in their tent.
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“I’ve done all I can,” the surgeon says. He jerks his head towards the unconscious Billy, “The rest is up to him.”
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Charles washes Billy’s feathers carefully as he waits for the man to wake up.
It’s not long before he notices.
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“Good news,” Charles says when he sees Billy’s eyes finally open. “You’re not a duck.”
“What are you doing here?” Billy asks, his voice hoarse.
Charles hands him a glass of water and answers, “I heard you – I don’t know how – but I heard you screaming. I got here as fast as I could.”
Billy sips carefully at his water. He doesn’t try to move as he watches Charles carefully. “I missed you,” he finally says, looking down at his cup.
Charles gives him a smile as he picks up the bloody cloth he’d given to Billy more than a week ago. “I can see that,” he says. He looks down at the cloth and unfolds it. “If I had known one of my flight feathers was going to make you Manifest – I would have given it to you months ago.”
Billy reaches out, careful not to jostle his new wings too much, and puts his hand over Charles’s and the feather – long and gleaming and so, so blue – and says, “It wouldn’t have worked months ago. I didn’t—. A flight feather from you—Charles, I wouldn’t have understood.”
“But you do now?” Charles asks. He knows what Billy’s trying to say – a flight feather from a swallow was never a gift to be taken lightly.
“I do now,” Billy says, his smile soft, tired.
“I’m glad,” Charles says, leaning over and pressing a gentle kiss to Billy’s chapped lips. Then he smirks and says, “I love you, my albatross.”
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End.