The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Shipbound

The wind had died. The sea subsided to ripples, the horizon glittering like shattered glass. High above, the Wave Walker's crew crawled along the sheets in futile search of a gust that might keep the ship from stalling. Able closed his eyes and took in a long breath.

An easy breath. Perhaps the first since they'd left the Burrows. Maybe even before. The Resistance questioning his loyalties and Red's hookblade anywhere near his person were now worries he'd left on the docks in Pearlshore. And he found himself in no hurry to pick up all the worries that awaited him in Bridgebay. Instead, he trotted up to the bow.

Lark had scarcely left this spot since they'd set out, not even when they passed through storms. To be fair, the storms only made his condition worse, while gripping the railing and facing into the wind was the only thing that provided him a modicum of relief. Able approached him cautiously, as even seeming to join the chorus of people wondering how Lark could possibly handle this particular cocktail of seasickness, traumatic flashbacks, and anxiety over returning to Larbantry would only aggravate him.

"Hey." Able slid his hand up Lark's back, under his tangled hair, and rubbed his neck. He leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the red-rimmed eyes and was heartened when they tracked directly to his face instead of wincing and fluttering at the motion. "The sea will be calm a while. Come below with me?"

This approach seemed to work, as Lark turned and accepted Able's proffered arm. Able led him towards the stairs belowdecks. Chessie and Flower Hawking were standing with the captain outside his quarters inquiring how the still air might affect their progress. The lawyer Darkshoal was nowhere to be seen, but seeing as he was taking the voyage little better than Lark was, he was probably not missing the chance to rest. Able only nodded to them as he passed them but still caught Chessie's approving smile.

The air below was thick with tar and mildew, but Able had managed to keep the cabin they'd been granted clean. He closed their door against it then spotted Lark while he clambered into the bed—needlessly, as weak for Lark would still pass as strong for others. Able's hand lingered on Lark's hip. Did he even want to be touched in his sorry state?

Lark grabbed Able's hand and slid it around to his belly. "I call little spoon!" A twinkle had returned to his sunken eyes.

Able chuckled and slipped into the bed behind him. With Lark pulled into a semblance of Able's lap, his face only reached Lark's shoulder. He curled his arm under his head, pulled Lark closer, then kissed said shoulder. The sourness of sickness assaulted his nose, and Lark seemed frightfully bony in his arms, but still, he wanted to hold Lark while he could.

"It's a shame," Lark murmured. "We don't have much on this rickety rig other than this room to ourselves, and we've scarcely used it."

Able closed his eyes and set his forehead against the base of Lark's neck. "I'd trade it away to make you well again."

"That's what'll do it, in the end. You'll see."

"Well, if you get some sleep, maybe you'll be up for something after?" Able suggested gently.

"...do you even want me like this?"

"The stale vomit smell is a bit off-putting," Able admitted wryly. "And...I'd be worried about making more, but you know best what you can handle."

"Actually..." Lark hesitated, "I was hoping for the chance to take you inside me."

"Oh, uh..."Able thought he'd need time to consider that, but his lower down already had ideas. "Huh."

"Yeah, I felt that." Lark sounded pleased.

"Of course I want you," Able chided then underlined his point against Lark's backside. "But I have some concerns about bug—...er, it, given that, uh, there appear some obvious complications?"