Forty Years of This [Monster Hunter World]

Chapter 14

Everyone who joined the research commission was either running from something or running towards something. The bright eyed of the First Fleet were charging forward to a new land ripe with discovery and the promise of doing something for the history books. The tired and wary were fleeing, and whatever dangers the new world brought paled in comparison to what they'd leave behind.

The Commander was a part of the first group. The Quartermaster belonged to the second. His life was not yet on the line, but his happiness was. In his mid-twenties, he was eager and willing to throw away whatever foundation he had to start new where no one could touch him. He was one of many former criminals (who's crimes ranged from things as minor as theft to as grand as manslaughter) who sought to free themselves from the cycle of crime and imprisonment. The Quartermaster just hadn't been caught yet.

No one asked about criminal backgrounds, and no one told. There wasn't a soul on the ship who cared if you'd committed tax fraud or happened to be a part of a large and powerful crime family and wanted out. If you did your job and did it well, that was all that mattered.

That was the first appeal to the Quartermaster. He knew how to manage inventory-- he knew how to manage people. He had been chosen as the inevitable replacement for his great aunt in managing the resources of their family and business when the time came, but her job was so steeped in blood that he fled.

The second appeal to joining the commission was a foolish and transient thing, but it was powerful enough in the moment that he forgot himself.

The Commander.

The man took the Quartermaster's breath away. The first time he saw him, he nearly dropped what he was holding, as never had he seen a man made out of gold. It was, of course, through rose tinted glass, but with his broad shoulders, wide jaw, pale-brown eyes, easy grin, dark skin, and golden hair, he stood out among the rest of the commission. The giant Admiral, the wiry Wyverian hunter, these people were covered in a fog and outshined by the sunlight radiating from the Commander himself. He was a lion and the sun, and the Quartermaster's heart fluttered in his chest like he'd been hit with lightning.

When the ship had sailed, the Quartermaster had packed fewer personal effects than a few changes of clothing and his grooming tools. He was immediately in charge of the inventory that was to remain in the new world, but as he'd already prepared it before the voyage, he found himself with little to do.

He found the Commander on the deck, and after psyching himself up, he approached him.

"I never thought this would be an easy journey, but I didn't expect a storm to blow up before the second day." The Commander spoke without looking at him. The Quartermaster hadn't expected to be addressed so casually, and he immediately locked up. Whatever words he wanted to say were trapped within him.

He forced a sound out when the Commander turned to look at him. A sharp and uncomfortable "No." No, he wanted to say. I don't think any of us did.

The Commander's grin faded. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked over the Quartermaster as if appraising him. "Is there a problem? I advise that you air any grievances you have now."

"No." It came out sharp and harsh like he was heaving it out. "I came to stand beside you in the interest of knowing you." Words like vomit. He couldn't stop them now. "Do you take issue with me? Speak plainly, for I will not know it otherwise."

The Commander eased up. Chuckled even, but the Quartermaster still felt like he was on fire. His skin was tingling and his stomach churning. Whatever else he said was superfluous and counterproductive. A byproduct of his nerves and failed attempt to socialize.

He chose to avoid the Commander after that. How could he face someone so warm and beautiful after offending them like that?

The storms seemed to push them closer to their destination faster than expected, but the crew viewed this both favorably and with suspicion. If something was helping them, why was it helping? Or were they caught up in something they didn't understand? The answers to either wouldn't change their current reality, and when the new world was finally in sight, the greatest of the storms hit the vessel and her crew.

It was all hands on deck, and in the past week even those who'd known nothing before had some sense of what to do. The Quartermaster knew enough to follow one of the sailor's leads, but when a wave rocked the ship and sent another commissioner rolling into him, he was knocked off deck like a child kicking a pebble.

Panic hit first, then dissociation. Calm and detached, he found himself bobbing to avoid being slammed by waves but popping up for air, but in the middle of a bob, when he was below and waiting to go back for breath, an arm wrapped around him and dragged him to the surface. He was limp and indifferent in the embrace. The ship disappeared, but he couldn't summon the emotion to react. It was only later when they'd washed up on a strange network of vines did his mind and his heart return to one another.

The Commander. The beautiful man he'd irritated with his words, helped him stagger to a shelter out of the rain. He wanted to remember it like it had been some beautiful romantic gesture, but the first words out of his mouth had been criticism. Criticism for saving his life the way he did while the beautiful man looked over his swollen leg.

"Throw. Don't go."

Irritation blossomed over the Commander's face, and immediately the Quartermaster regretted it, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop explaining why he was criticising him even then. It was only when the Commander stood up and stalked off could he knock his head against the tree behind him and regret ever speaking.

A small part of him worried that the Commander had abandoned him. He held quiet and still as he waited for him to return, a wandering swarm of glowing bugs landed on him and wandered about as if seeking the salt from the ocean water. In pain and exhausted, he couldn't bring himself to care about the gentle little fireflies. But the Commander, when he returned, looked horrified.

"They're not biting," the Quartermaster murmured. He was almost jealous when some of them abandoned him for the Commander, but the man's care in helping him fabricate a brace and the closeness of leaning on him as they limped towards the shipwreck pushed his envy away.

When they were safe and the Quartermaster's leg properly braced, his infatuation exploded. He knew he struggled with his words and intentions, but he had to at least try, yet every chance he got, he squandered. When the Commander praised him, said he was proud of him, the Quartermaster faltered.

He practiced what he'd say the next time he saw him. He wanted it to be clear with no confusion how he felt, but he needed to give the Commander a way to say no without ever being put on the spot. He crafted his statement carefully, and when the Commander next arrived, he had it ready.

"When you come to check on me, it is as if the sun has risen and briefly drifted over to my patch of the sky." He couldn't bear to meet the Commander's eyes. He feared the rejection he expected, but he needed to say it. He needed to know where they stood and where they would stand.

"Please." He finally turned towards the Commander. "Know that I will always welcome your company."

"I'm not the sun, Quartermaster, but I'm glad I could bring a little warmth to this frosty station." The man was filled with confidence, and even in his neutral rejection, he still managed to soften the blow. "It's my job to make sure everyone is taken care of, and you're a part of everyone."

Rejection early on hurt, but it was more of a pain akin to stubbing his toe or bruising his arm. It was far from world ending, but it was still very real. He no longer pursued his crush, but when the Commander began to join him for the occasional breakfast, he found a very satisfying friendship.

But gods, the Commander was still the most beautiful man he'd ever seen.