Safe Harbor

| 12 |

"Alex, come with me to grab some more crackers, will you?" Marco's voice commands. I look up at him, standing in the doorway, confused.

"They're only crackers. Why do you need me to come with you--" I start, only to be cut off by a pointed look. "Coming," I mumble, making Keda promise me she won't leave the room until we come back. She hates being confined to the room for most of the day, I know, but she almost broke her stitches twice, just in her sleep. I don't want to put her through any more pain than I have to for the rest of the time we're on the HMS Cromie.

I follow him out, feeling apprehensive and confused, to say the least. Marco doesn't say anything, he just keeps walking straight ahead; not even bothering to check that I'm even with him, at least. He walks out towards the railing, gripping it with his hands and just staring out into the water, eyes focused straight forward. Finally, I can't take the awkward silence anymore.

"Marco, what the hell is going on?" I ask, eyes wide. "Are you cross with me? What did I do?" I continue, feeling flabbergasted and a little worried. I don't recall saying anything or doing anything that could've offended him.

Marco looks me in the eyes, and I can tell he senses my utter confusion, because his eyes soften slightly. But there's still some anger there. "I'm not cross with you," he tells me, in all seriousness.

"Then what--"

"I'm cross at what you're doing," he continues, before I can even finish asking my question. "Something is up with you; you've been aloof and distant all morning, and I know you well enough to know what that means," he explains. "Mate, I thought we agreed we'd both stop worrying about everything and let the cards fall where they may. What's got you so anxious?" He asks, concerned.

My eyes take a sudden interest in my shoes as my cheeks go red; knowing he's right. "I know," I answer, feeling a bit ashamed. "But I just can't help it," I defend, weakly. "Worrying seems to be in my blood."

Marco snorts at that. "Rubbish," he declares. "Worry is not a natural state of mind; it's one the human brain creates, in response to stimuli; most commonly, stress." He rattles off the words all at once, sounding sophisticated and intelligent.

"Did... Did you memorize that?"

He looks dumbfounded, himself. "Well, I guess if there was one class I ever paid attention in, it was Biology," he jokes. He looks pleased with himself for a second more, before shaking his head, as it to clear it. "That's not what I was trying to get at. Come on, Alex. You know you can tell me anything," he assures me, his voice low and honest.

Realization hits me like a lightning bolt. He's right. He's right. Marco has been there for me through all the ups and the downs; has seen me at my best, and at my worst. I don't need to be afraid of what he might think of me, or have to question his input because, put simply, he was my best mate. If I couldn't confide in him, what did I have?

Everything I've been bottling up these last few days I can finally let out. I can expel all of the fear, anxiety, and nervousness that has been churning inside of me, threatening to blow. "We're almost there, Marco," I tell him, the words flooding out of my mouth, racing to be released. "We're almost there, wherever the hell 'there' is. And as much as I try to push it away, to ignore it, I'm nervous, Marco; I'm afraid," I confess, looking him in the eyes. Shame floods my veins. No boy in his right mind admits he's afraid-- no one. Men are supposed to be brave, courageous, always ready for anything. I was nothing of the sort; I never have been. "What... What if it's just like back home? What if it's worse?" I ask, spewing out question after question. "What if things don't get better?"

Marco looks at me for a long while before answering. "I think your answer is right in your questions," he responds, finally.

"What do you mean?" I inquire.