Work Text:
"Roy, just… come and stay at my place for a few days. It will be safer," Johnny argued. They were standing in the engine bay with the door wide open, staring at the sky. It looked calm now, blue and clear. But the weather forecast said there was trouble ahead.
This was the third time Johnny had brought it up.
"My place is just fine. I've been living there for years and I'm not dead yet," Roy smiled lightly. He'd weathered plenty of storms on the water. It was his first home and he felt safe regardless of some tropical storm that was making a rare trip over to California.
He'd be lying if he didn't enjoy Johnny's concern, misplaced as it was.
Johnny squinted off in the distance. "They're saying this thing is coming in hard. Rain, wind, flooding, the whole works. You live on the water."
"I know where I live," Roy laughed. "I'll be fine."
By the next morning, the end of shift, the sky had gone gray-green and the wind had picked up. Most of their last calls had been people panicking about the incoming weather.
Johnny hesitated before stepping out into the parking lot. He turned to Roy with his mouth pulled tight from worry.
"You sure?" He asked one last time.
Roy's face softened just a little. "I'm sure, Johnny. I'll see you in a couple days."
By the time Roy finished bringing in the folding lawn chairs from the deck, the rain was coming sideways.
The cove had lost its usual gentle sounds. Water slapped hard against the side of the houseboat. Lines creaked. Wind shoved at the windows and then eased back, only to hit again from a different angle. Roy moved through it efficiently, checking knots, latches, windows, anything that could shift or bang loose in the night.
The little radio on the counter was comfortable background noise, played some mix of country and pop music in between an announcer giving updates on the weather.
He wasn't worried.
The cove was sheltered. The houseboat was secured to the dock. He had seen worse weather farther out, colder weather, stranger weather, storms that had rolled over the North Atlantic during seasons spent with one pod or another. There were no apartments to shelter in when the ocean was all around.
This was noisy. And inconvenient. This wasn't scary. Not to Roy.
He shoved the folding chairs into the hall closet and tossed his wet shirt through the open door to the bedroom. Then he shook his hair, sending a spray of rainwater to the floor and onto the walls nearby.
He was about to tug his pants off as well, when he heard a bang on the door.
Roy froze. For one second, he thought it had been the wind. Then the knock came again, harder, insistent.
Roy leaned back so he could see the door. Johnny was on the other side, standing on the deck and looking like a drowned cat. Just about as happy as one as well. His hair was plastered dark and wet to his forehead. His jacket was soaked through and water ran down his face and off his chin.
Roy crossed the open area quickly and opened the door.
"What are you doing?"
Johnny pushed past Roy, inside with a gust of wet wind. "I came to drag you to my place."
Roy stared at him. Johnny swiped rain out of his eyes and glared at the room, the storm, the floor, and possibly the entire concept of water. "Don't look at me like that. You wouldn't come, so I came to get you anyway."
'You drove all the way out here in this?"
"Yes."
"To drag me away from my own home?"
"Yes, come on."
Roy shut the door behind them, blocking out the wind. "You're soaked."
"I notic—you're not wearing a shirt."
"I'm at home." Roy laughed.
"Well… get dressed and pack an overnight bag. We gotta—"
The radio cut him off as the soft music gave way to a crackling announcer. "—county officials are reporting flooding along the lower access road near Santa Marina turnoff. Drivers are advised to avoid the area until crews can assess conditions after daybreak. Again, the lower access road is currently closed due to flooding—"
Johnny slowly turned to the offending radio on the counter. Roy bit his lip.
"That's… the only way out of here."
Roy tried very hard not to smile. "Yeah…"
"But… I came to get you." Johnny closed his eyes out of frustration.
"That didn't work out well for you, did it?"
"This isn't funny." Johnny opened his eyes and started peeling off his wet jacket. He turned in circles, trying to find a place to put it that wouldn't be a wet, messy bother.
"It's a little funny." Roy took the jacket and draped it over one dining chair. The wind whistled outside and the houseboat shifted under their feet, a long slow up and down as the water moved. Johnny's eyes widened in panic.
"Johnny, no. That's fine. It's okay."
"The house moved." Johnny was looking out the windows now with something akin to fear on his face.
"It does that. You know the house moves with the water," Roy tried to soothe.
"No, that wasn't normal."
"Right… because there is a storm. It's still okay."
Johnny swallowed, "Right."
Roy sighed with a sympathetic smile. "Come on, let's get you out of those wet clothes. I know how much you hate being wet. And cold. And wet and cold at the same time."
As if Roy's reminder of his physical state finally distracted Johnny from the wind and the motion, he shivered bodily and looked down at himself. Then nodded pathetically.
Roy found dry pajamas in the bedroom, the soft blue pair he rarely wore because they were too warm. They were a little baggy on Johnny, but dry. Roy got a pot of coffee going while Johnny changed in the bathroom and left his wet clothes in a heap that Roy would deal with later.
When Johnny came back out, barefoot and damp-haired, he looked younger than he had any right to.
Roy handed him a mug, which Johnny wrapped both hands around immediately.
"Better?"
Johnny took a drink and nodded. "A little."
The wind hit again. The houseboat gave another slow, rolling shift. Johnny’s face tightened, and he took a deep breath, attempting to be calm.
"Well, since we're stuck… what's for dinner?" Johnny asked.
Roy's mouth opened and shut again. He hadn't thought about that. There were plenty of fish in the cove that he'd gotten his fill of earlier. Johnny's eyebrows shot up at Roy's silence. He took a few steps into the kitchen area and started opening cabinet doors and cupboards. Finally the fridge and freezer.
Roy watched in quiet horror and embarrassment as Johnny frowned.
A half-empty box of crackers from the last time Johnny had visited. Coffee, Sugar, a tin of cocoa powder, two cans of soup… also leftover from a Johnny visit. Peanut butter, a tub of plain oats, and some seasoning containers. Ice, a couple of tv dinners, some cans of soda, and a carton of milk.
"Roy."
"What?"
"This is beyond pathetic. This isn't even bachelor pad level… do you actually eat here?"
"Of course."
"When?"
"Sometimes. I mostly eat at the station."
"Oh, I know you eat at the station. But that's not every day."
"I go fishing." Roy shrugged.
"Every single day? Because there's nothing here. Like… not even butter for cooking the fish."
Roy leaned up against the counter, his arms braced on the ledge behind him. He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a few seconds, unsure of how to get out of this one. He was just going to have to lie and take a hit.
"Okay, so I can't cook. And I get takeout. A lot. That's not a crime. I have coffee."
"You can't live on coffee, Roy! What if we get stuck here for days!"
"I didn't ask you to come over!" Roy yelled back. He regretted it as soon as he said it. Not because it wasn’t true, exactly, but because Johnny had come here worried about him, wet and miserable and stupidly loyal, and Roy had just thrown it back in his face.
Then the wind shifted. The houseboat jerked hard enough that Johnny grabbed the edge of the table.
Roy paused, his annoyance gone. "You okay?"
"Fine." Johnny's voice was quiet, breathy. Roy knew that tone from patients.
"Johnny."
"I'm fine."
The boat rose, dropped, and rolled sideways as water slapped against the hull. Johnny’s face went gray around the mouth.
"I'll be right back." And Johnny booked it for the bathroom, barely remembering to slam the door behind him. Roy grimaced at the gagging sounds that made it through the walls. It was going to be a long night.
But at least Johnny might not complain about being hungry anymore.
Roy gave him a minute before he knocked on the bathroom door.
"Johnny?"
"Go away."
Roy leaned his forehead briefly against the door. "I'm getting a bowl and some water."
"Get a new house. One that doesn't move."