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Everytime he closes his eyes, Ilya sees the faces of the crew members he lost in the wreck.
The only way he can sleep is in Shane’s bed, and even then, only if Shane is there too.
Hollander has this ridiculous idea that if they keep watches posted on the shore, that they’ll be able to see and flag down a passing ship. Ilya is fairly certain this is a waste of time; if they couldn’t maneuver the rocks just off shore that destroyed their ships, what chance did a passing merchant ship have?
These two problems, what they will do next and what he can do to keep his eyes from closing and his mind from wandering to dark places, have driven Ilya to his current position.
“Where are you going?” Shane asks, and Ilya silently curses to himself. He’d hoped to time his leaving between the changing of the beach watch, where Shane insisted on taking a turn himself. Ilya may only have a small handful of surviving crewmates, men that had washed up further downshore than he and Marleau had, but he was still a Captain.
“Out.” Ilya replies, shrugging his shoulders and ignoring the stiffness in them, waving his hand at the tangle of jungle and greenery that surrounds their sad little camp.
Shane just stares at him, pretty dark eyes narrowed just slightly as he clearly tries to puzzle out what Ilya is up to. It’s the stillness to him when he gets like this, assessing, that makes him so feared on the seas.
Good thing Ilya isn’t scared by much.
“Why?” Shane finally asks, apparently stumped by Ilya’s intentions. Since the only earthly possessions he has now are the clothes that he washed up with and the weird sling bag that Marleau had made and been immediately ordered to give up, it wasn’t hard to be mysterious.
“To explore.” Ilya sniffs, wiping at his nose and avoiding Shane’s eyes.
Eyes that are narrowing as understanding dawns.
“I know you think that the other side of the island might be a better bet for flagging down a passing ship, but you shouldn’t be moving around this much yet. It’s only been two days, Ilya, you need rest.” Shane insists, stepping closer to Ilya despite there being crew members nearby.
There were only fourteen of them, total; Ilya and five of his crew, the rest were Hollander's men.
Whether it was because his men already knew about Shane’s secret, or maybe because they were all trapped together on this damned island anyway, Ilya did not know; but Shane did not have the same fear here that he carried in port. He would even talk to Ilya without brandishing a sword in public now, which was a significant improvement over their usual ‘display’.
But today, the vulnerability that Shane wore so openly and normally only for Ilya, rubbed him the wrong way.
“Am a grown man, Captain Hollander.” Ilya points out, hiking his makeshift sack higher onto his shoulder and trying not to wince at the subsequent painful pull. The emphasis on his rank as a reminder to Shane that he’s a Captain too isn’t missed, if the tiny twist of chagrin to Shane’s lips is any indicator. “I think I know when I can walk and when to rest.”
Pointing up at the rising landscape that makes up the center of the island, Ilya adds, “Besides, higher vantage point lets us see what we are working with, yes?”
“We don’t need to get a look at the island Ilya, because we’re leaving it.” Shane insists, pointing back towards the beach in an echo of Ilya’s own pose. “Just as soon as we flag down the next passing ship-”
Ilya refrains from rolling his eyes, letting his pointing arm drop because he’s feeling dramatic, and not at all because it was starting to really hurt to hold it aloft.
“Hollander, we had best helmsmen on the sea and we could not beat those rocks, there is no ship coming-”
Shane talks over him, eyes darting towards his remaining crew and lending strength to his resolve. “It’s our best plan for getting off of the island. We play it safe, stick close to the shore-”
“Then play it fucking safe, Hollander!” Ilya barks. “No one is stopping you. And you are not stopping me from thinking that maybe I don’t want to wait and rot when there could be other option on this fucking rock!”
The activity on the outskirts of the camp has gone quiet. A mix of their crew members were trying to weave or braid something, and now they’re staring at the two captains instead. They’re looking at each other too, like the truce that’s let them work together for the last two days might end any second now, if the Captain’s disagreement escalates.
Tension is thick in the air; until it’s broken, strangely enough, by Marleau. He has always had more balls than sense.
“Uh oh. Looks like Ma and Pa are fighting.” Marley grins, loud as fuck for no good reason.
This draws a few nervous titters from their unwanted audience, but when Shane slowly turns his cold expression on them, crewmen from both ships snap their mouths shut and return to looking as busy as they can.
Ilya licks his lips. He will not let Shane distract him from this, even if it is incredibly sexy, the way he wears his authority with such ease.
A sharp hiss slips past his lips a moment later, as Shane steps into his personal space and grips his elbow; jarring his shoulder and drawing a strange look from Shane as he drags him towards the relative privacy of Hollander’s tent. The look is one that he’s only ever seen Shane pull off; vindication mixed with genuine concern, because he was right about Ilya still being hurt but he’s not happy that he was right about it.
“That doesn’t even make any fucking sense.” Shane mutters, fussing at Ilya until he’s shirtless once more on Shane’s bed; facedown, so Shane can rub his thumbs into Ilya’s shoulder to tease out the pain. It’s so fucking Hollander, to be bitching him out while taking such sweet care of him, and it makes Ilya’s resolve to escape the island relax just a touch.
Only a little, though.
“We’re both men. Who do they think is the ‘mom’ in this arrangement?” Shane grumbles, and Ilya’s retort is lost momentarily as Shane’s clever thumbs find a particularly sore spot near his shoulderblade.
“You would look prettiest in dress.” Ilya offers. “Maybe is you.”
“Shut up.” Shane huffs, swinging his leg across Ilya and resting his weight against the back of Ilya’s thighs. It’s a vulnerable position to be in, and if it were anyone else, Ilya would buck them off and possibly run them through for the trespass.
“No no, Marleau has good point; you fuss like- blyat!” Ilya can’t stop the sharp curse from escaping his mouth in a pained gasp as Shane touches something in his back that feels like white hot fire.
“Shit, sorry-” Shane’s hands have retreated from Ilya’s skin entirely. Ilya blinks his eyes open from where they’ve scrunched in pain and feels Shane shift above him. One hand comes down into Ilya’s line of sight, Shane’s body rolling against his back as the softest kiss he’s ever felt is brushed against the sore spot. Lips barely ghosting over the tense muscle, Shane repeats himself. “Sorry.”
Swallowing hard to clear the aching feeling in his throat that crops up sometimes when Shane is being extra gentle with him, Ilya shakes his head. “Is fine. Will not stop me from going further inland, to have a look.”
Shane really must be feeling bad though, because he sighs, the heat of his breath making the skin of Ilya’s back twitch from the moisture.
“Fine.”
“Fine?” Ilya wishes he could see Shane’s face right now. Is it, ‘fine, but I’m going to be upset about it’ or ‘fine, you are so smart and right, Ilya’? Or maybe it’s-
“Fine. But I’m coming with.” Shane says decisively and this time Ilya’s flinch is entirely in surprise, not pain.
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Get up, let’s get this over with.” Shane confirms, pressing another quick kiss to Ilya’s back before hopping to his feet with a grace borne from years at sea.
Ilya grins, but he stifles it down before rolling onto his back and giving Shane his best ‘I’m being reasonable’ face.
“See, this is why you are the Mama, Hollander.” he points out.
Shane’s immediately frowning down at him, an expression that’s very much at odds with the hand that he’s extended to help Ilya stand up.
“Because I’m willing to entertain your plan? The trade routes don’t even run on the other side of the island-”
Ilya interrupts before Shane can talk himself out of coming with him afterall.
“No. Hollander, you are the Mama because your kisses make it better.” he insists, grinning when this immediately sends color blooming in Shane’s cheeks.
“Oh, fuck you.” Shane snaps, hauling Ilya to his feet before stomping his way out of the tent.
“But they do! Hollander! Wait!” Ilya whines playfully, snatching up his shirt and following Shane out of the tent.
They end up racing, somehow, hands batting at each other as they head into the forest beyond the makeshift camp.
🏝
“Anybody else think it’s weird how those two… get along?” Cliff asks, when the sounds of the two captains have faded beyond ear reach.
“Get along?” Hayden snorts. “If you mean ‘fight like an old married couple’, maybe. I think they’re just as sick of being stuck here as the rest of us.”
Cliff eyes the tent that his captain has been sleeping in for the last few nights; he’d never even tried to cobble together a bed in the lean to the Boston Raiders former crew had slapped together. Hollander’s tent was far enough away and there were enough wild fucking animals and bugs on this island to wake the dead, but sometimes…
“You don’t get the feeling that there’s something weird going on there?” Cliff insists. “I mean, they’re practically joined at the fuckin’ hip, and I didn’t even know they really knew eachother, y’know?”
“Marleau, are you married?” Hayden asks, out of the blue.
“What? No.” Cliff snorts. He’s got a different regular gal in a few different ports, but he’s too fucking busy to get married.
“I am. Jackie’s great.” he points out, as if Cliff had any fucks to give about it. “Sometimes, I’ve found, ignorance is bliss.”
Cliff frowns.
Hayden rolls his eyes and tips his head pointedly between Hollander’s tent and the greenery that the two captains just ran off into.
It occurs to him that there’s a very real chance that Hayden touched one of the no-no frogs. He’s acting weird.
After staring at him significantly for a full thirty seconds, Hayden rolls his eyes and gets back to work. “Never mind. You’ll figure it out.”
“You’re fuckin’ weird, Pike.” Cliff announces, shoving at the smaller man and getting an elbow jabbed in his side for his efforts.
“Fuck you too, Marly.”