A/N: Oh sweet babby Jesus I cannot believe I actually finished this thing. :P I have been writing it off and on for months now and I am just so thoroughly pleased to say that I have written THE last word for it. ^^ This is the longest fic I have ever had the pleasure of working on and I am so thrilled that it is for the fandom that I may or may not love the most.
This, in case you didn't know, is a shameless adaptation of the film Ondine, with some very specific twists. I am hopelessly in love with the story and decided to write out the little things that I didn't like and insert the things I love the most. AKA slash. :P HUGE thanks to kenshincha over on LJ for beta'ing this for me and putting up with the thousand and one self-conscious emails I sent, constantly questioning what the hell I had gotten myself into. Without them, this surely wouldn't exist.
To avoid confusion! When the fic is in third person, it's from Marcus' perspective and when it switched to second person, it's Esca's. ^^ If you asked why I wrote it that way, I would have no idea how to answer. :P
ANYWAYS! I do so hope that y'all enjoy it and I am dying to know what you think! I spent absolutely forever doing this, and positive or not, I'd love some feedback. ^^ Title stolen from The Tempest.
Marcus gets up before the sun has even broken the horizon, bundles in several layers, grabs a meager breakfast with an unhealthy amount of coffee, and heads out into the grey morning. It's the same process every day, and it's been like that for nearly three years. Three long years he's been working to put himself back together, and though it can seem tedious at times he is actually quite thankful for the routine. Having such a demanding schedule- a job that commands the whole of his attention day in and day out has given him the strength and structure needed to get his life out of the gutter. Many might not think much of a fisherman's life, especially in this day and age, but he could hardly imagine anything more he needed to be content.
Well, maybe hauling in a catch that brought a profit instead of a loss, but still. It is the one thing he allows himself to grouse over each morning as he makes the short walk to the docks, feet dragging in the ever present puddles that pepper the gravelly paths. The cold tries its damnedest to seep into his skin as he pulls his hat down lower over his ears and fishes his gloves out of the back of his coveralls. Once the shore is in sight, a slew of familiar faces greet him- the majority of breadwinners in the small seaside town up before dawn, a morning prayer on their lips for good fortune or healthy family. Some of them look at him with barely concealed contempt, others with bored acceptance, and a special few spit at his feet. No matter how hostile they are on the spectrum, all of them still see him as an outsider.
He shrugs their stares off just like every morning and makes his way down the craggy cliffs, because he may not have been born here, raised here, molded by the environment, the people, the church, but he has earned his place. He's worked just as hard, given just as much, so he stays to prove it to them, to himself. And though their refusal to accept him is always a dour subject for him, when she comes into view it all fades away. She is his most prized possession, his closest confidant, truly something he could not live without. The Eagle is moored in her own private little cove and though her paint is peeling, her metals rusting, her every surface covered in grime, she is his. The single-man trawler looks to all the world like your ordinary, run-of-the-mill fishing vessel with the grimy nets and pulleys on the back, and the cramped captain's booth up front. But she has character and meaning more than he can describe and he supposes it really doesn't matter what others think of her, as long as he knows just how special she is.
The grey waves maker her bob and sway, lapping up against her sides and setting the beat for the tune that the sea sings. The crash of the breaking tides, the creaks and groans of his ship, the cry of the birds, the bark of the seals, all work into a symphony so calming he forgets everything else while he is out on the waves. He works quickly to unfasten The Eagle from her lonely docking, eager to be out there, leaving everything behind, just for a few hours, and hoping that today might finally be the day his luck turns. The rope is coarse on his fingertips, the metal rough, the wood smooth from years of use. He steers her out to sea, engine chugging contentedly and finally he is happy to see the start of another day.
Marcus waits diligently until noon each day to fish his sandwich out of the rumpled brown paper bag that accompanies him to the ship and as he peels back the tin foil to bite at the smashed bologna on white, he fondly remembers back to the days when the overwhelming stench of fish still staved off his appetite. He chuckles, thinking about how many lobsters had gotten the best of him and then promptly been thrown back over the side in his anger at their fondness for pinching him in only the most tender of places. The damned things were smart and he'd had to learn it the hard way- along with everything else.
He taught himself what was worth the effort to catch, the best way to snare them, where to sell them. He'd spent many a frustrating hour in the small public library, doing his best to make his way while the townspeople peered in frequently as though he were some kind of exotic oddity. Even then, when their curiosity was still strong, none actually dared to speak with him, sit with him. But it was no great tragedy in his mind. He had always been a somewhat solitary soul and he was used to loneliness. Even if he hadn't been so inclined earlier in his life, his choices had brought him down a path that taught him quite quickly that he was the only person he could truly rely on, and even then- . Everyone he had had the misfortune to become close with in his formative years had only been looking out for one person. He'd tried it himself at one point, just foolish and selfish enough to figure if others could do it, so could he. It hadn't ended well.
He shakes himself out of his somber thoughts when the gears begin to groan, the trawl needing to be brought up and he crosses to the back of the boat- taking care not to trip over the many trappings on the deck. Again. He stands next to the rigging while the pulleys creak and he can't help but smile at the sound of it. It's been a while since they squealed like that and he hopes that it signals a hefty catch instead of pulling up another bundle of crap someone has decided to dump into the water. It happens far more often than you might think and much, much too often for his tastes. It near drives him mad every time the net breaks the water, only to have a truly grotesque pile of garbage be tangled inside.
But this time, this time it will be different. He can sense it. And when he catches glimpses of something that is most assuredly not garbage through the waters, his heart clenches from excitement. He can hardly contain it as the trawl finally starts to emerge, water pouring out the sides and momentarily obscuring his catch. Finally it all clears, and his heart clenches in an entirely different manner when he makes out just what he has caught. He hesitates for a few seconds, caught off guard, body still for that moment of indecision, but then everything snaps back into place and he is moving.
He grabs at the net and heaves it over the side, ripping at it to get the stupid thing open. His hands scrabble in his panic and he has to try and slow himself enough to actually be of use. He tears the net open and out topples a naked boy, looking only just into manhood, soaked completely through, skin sickly pale and turning a sort of green as though he'd actually taken on the pigment of the sea. Marcus desperately tries to remember any of the things about resuscitation he might have gleaned from school, or TV, anything. He lays the kid flat and pounds on his chest, hard, before pinching his nose and leaning down to blow air into his lungs. He repeats it again and again, unaware that he is screaming himself hoarse. "C'mon! Breathe! Breathe!"
He pounds on the fragile form with increasing frustration and hot tears are spilling down his cheeks, making him gurgle. And just when he is about to give in, a sickly retching sound grabs his attention and the boy spasms. Marcus hurries to prop him up, make sure the fluids get out instead of sticking in his throat, and watches in abject horror as water and bile spews out of the boy's mouth. For the next little while he is just coughing and spluttering, writhing in Marcus' firm grip. His chest heaves, shuddering, raspy breaths being drawn in and his eyes are wide with terror. Marcus has no idea what to do so he just keeps holding on, running a hand through the kid's hair, turned a muddy auburn from the water, and calling out what he hopes are encouraging words.
When the boy finally seems to grasp that he is still living, he wrenches himself from Marcus' grasp and scrabbles back until he hits the side of the boat. He pulls his knees up against his chest and his mouth opens and closes, gaping much like a fish out of water. He looks frightened beyond belief and Marcus doubts that he could speak even if he wanted to so soon after the trauma. He holds his hands out in what he hopes to be a non-threatening manner and attempts to get up. The kid watches him with wary eyes as Marcus gives him a wide berth and makes his way towards the captain's booth. It all looks as though it's going to go over well enough so he starts talking to the kid, making sure that he knows each move that Marcus is going to make before he does it- if he understands English that is. "I'm walking…. to the booth… big thing with glass." He gestures towards the box, feeling like an idiot, but noticing the way the kid focuses on his articulating hands. Once he makes it to the door he stops and straightens out his posture. He tries to give his best smile and gestures inside. "I'm going to radio for some help- get you to the hospital okay?"
Marcus turns his back, not thinking he would actually need to wait for an answer, but there's the sound of a scuffle behind him and as he looks back there is suddenly a mass of angry half-dead person hurtling at him. The boy hits him hard and he falls over, not at all prepared to be attacked. The boy is making raspy sounds at him, gibberish or a foreign language, he's not quite sure, but the message is clear. The fear on his face has intensified and he is flailing his arms wildly. Marcus puts his hands on the too skinny shoulders and tries to be soothing, "Okay, no help! No hospital."
The boy bites his lip and stops flailing, but continues to stare at Marcus imploringly. He moves his mouth experimentally, his tongue lolling about and his lips contorting for a bit before he seems to get a mite of confidence. He stares at Marcus intently, eyebrows furrowing and says quite seriously, "No people?"
"You can speak?!" Marcus can't keep the astonishment that is clear in his voice, but it doesn't seem to affect the boy at all, who is kneeling just in front of him, gripping Marcus' knees with a surprisingly tight hold and trying desperately to convey a sense of urgency.
"No people?!" He says it again and shakes Marcus' knees. "I can't- No people?!"
Marcus shakes his head back and forth rapidly despite his best instincts telling him this is beyond suspicious behavior. There is just something about this boy- something between them that he can't quite describe yet, but which inspires an oddly fierce kind of trust. It makes him want to do anything for him, and it sends shivers running down his spine. "No people." he says this firmly and is delighted when the boy seems to relax just a hair. "But we have to get you warm or it'll all be for nothing." The boy nods after a moment's hesitation and moves aside, seeming to take stock of himself for the first time. Strangely enough he pays no mind to the fact that he's completely naked, but instead spreads his fingers and toes, twisting them back and forth, marveling at some aspect he must find strange.
Marcus forces himself to look away and starts rooting around below deck for a spare jacket or maybe a blanket. When he finds a coat that's a bit greasy, but will serve his purposes well enough, he turns back to see the boy trying his best to walk on legs that are shaking and jerking. He looks like a brand new colt and for some reason it amuses him to no end. Before he can think to censor himself he lets out a harsh bark of laughter and the boy topples over in surprise. Marcus clamps a hand over his mouth quickly, but can't keep back the snorts that escape while his shoulders shake. The boy props himself up on his elbows and blows his ratty bangs out of his eyes all while glaring at Marcus, and though he acts offended he still accepts the jacket with a thankfulness in his eyes.
For a moment things are quiet and peaceful and Marcus finds himself smiling openly and easily, like he hasn't in quite some time. The boy ducks his head under the focus of it, and peers up at Marcus through his lashes, a bit of a flush finally beginning to tinge his cheeks. Marcus tries to laugh away the electric tension between them and rubs his hand along the back of his neck. "What am I going to do with you?"
Seeming to be content with you for the moment, the large man moves back to the steering wheel for the ship and turns his back to you. The both of you sit in an oddly comfortable silence for a while and you stare out over the choppy grey waves that so recently threatened to swallow you whole. In one direction they are endless, stretching out into eternity; and in the other they are broken by lush, green land spotted with small homes and a hub of activity surrounding the bay.
You find that they are… calming. You think that this should bother you, that you should be frightened, or angry with the opaque waters, but they seem to call you back to their embrace. You shake it off for now and turn around to the man that saved you when he calls back at you, "So what should I call you then? Everybody's got a name, even people fished from the sea." He throws a look over his shoulder, seeming genuinely curious. " 'M Marcus. Most people around this place call me Circus, but I'd really appreciate it if you don't." The last remark seems to come with a certain edge of bitterness that you hadn't seen previously in him. It's very ill-suiting.
You mull things over for a second before answering and it still takes a few seconds to get the words to form right over your tongue, but he doesn't seem bothered by the wait. "Why do they call you Circus?" There is no hiding the thick accent that tinges your words, but you'll take what you can get.
He turns back to you, chewing the inside of his cheek and sniffs loudly, brushing the tip of his nose and turning his gaze towards his feet. "The people here- they think of me as a clown and the name stuck well enough… But the last time I checked we were talking about you."
This time it is your turn to look away and you hope that he does not mistake your shame for secrecy. "I don't remember." You pick at the sleeve of his over-sized jacket, fiddling with the buttons and investigating the pockets. But after a few silent moments, it is his complete and utter lack of response that gives you the courage to meet his gaze again.
"You've lost your memory to the waters. I've heard it happens, people hit their heads, have it all taken… Sometimes it comes back suddenly. Sometimes it doesn't- ever." He looks at you with something in between pity and sympathy before turning his eyes up and waving, "Morning!" You see another boat drift by through the window and throw yourself to the ground, instincts taking over. The sound of your scuffle makes Marcus jump, whipping around to see just what the hell you're doing. "Jesus! You really don't want people seeing you then."
With all the conviction you can muster, you steady your voice and answer back with a simple, "No. Nobody."
He smirks at that before saying, "Well what am I supposed to do then? Just disappear into thin air?"
"I don't mind seeing you," it comes out before you even had time to think about saying it, but you find it to be true all the same.
"Oh ya? And why is that exactly?"
"Because you were the one that fished me from the water," his jaw clenches at that and something in him seems to change, as though he's come to a decision.
"I've got to take you to a hospital. Who knows what kind of damage's been done to ya when you can't even remember your own name. I think you might have actually been dead for a few minutes." The boat makes a clear change of course and it has you panicking.
"If you won't leave me be, let me go then," you dash out of the captain's booth and head to the side of the ship, tossing aside the jacket and preparing yourself.
"Do you really want to drown?" He doesn't run after you, but the set of his shoulders, the line of his body, the glimmer in his eyes all seem to be imploring you not to go.
"I've died before, I can do it again."
"Or you can die once. For real this time."
You can feel your determination melting underneath his words, but somehow you know that only bad things can come from seeing other people. "Please, I don't need a hospital."
He scratches at his face, and shifts from foot to foot and for a few tense moments you don't know which way he is going to go. "I know a place, where you'll be hidden, where people won't see you." He approaches you again and picks up the coat, placing it back on your shoulders. "C'mon."
Seagulls begin to dot the water as you draw closer to shore and slowly the boat is surrounded by the rock formations, a narrow break in the cliffs marking the only way in or out of the secluded cove that Marcus has sailed you into. Your heart clenches at the beauty of it, yellow wildflowers trailing along the dirt paths that wind their way up the shore and over the hills. A diving platform sits in the middle of the bay and a few stray formations make easy to swim to islands. A ramshackle house quietly looks over it all and the place seems as though it has been uninhabited for quite some time. You turn to Marcus, who is focusing on docking his ship, "Whose place is this?"
He grunts as he ties the boat in place and hops up onto the bobbing platform. "It used to be mine, until I moved closer to town." He offers you a hand up, but immediately after you have your footing he draws back and jams his hands in his pockets. "I'm a bit like you- a loner."
"Loner?" you turn the word over a few times in your mouth, but can't decide whether you like the way it tastes, or the way he says it.
"I don't like people…. much." When you enter the home he leaves the door open to air out the mustiness and immediately moves about clearing the modest space. Large windows sit on either side of the door and let the sunlight stream in freely. It is really just a single room, to the right side a couch, a small wood burning fireplace and a shelve of books. To the left sits a gas stove, a deep but narrow sink, a grimy refrigerator, and a table with two mismatched chairs. Directly across from the door an iron bed seems to be on its last leg and Marcus smiles sheepishly at you as he shakes out the not unsurprising amount of dust that has settled within the blankets that cover the mattress.
You offer a small smile in return and move to the only enclosed space, a door beckoning from beside the bookshelf. It creaks on its hinges and sticks a little at first, but when you get it open you can't contain the unexpected amount of happiness that surges through you. Just like the rest of the house, the bathroom is quaint and unassuming, but in the corner sits a large circular tub, looking comically oversized in the room. A shower head rises from the floor of the porcelain and connects to a ring of brass where a curtain would go. Right now it is bare, but that doesn't deter you as you step in and gingerly tweak at the knob that has a red ring around it.
Astonishingly warm water begins to cascade down and you toss the wet jacket off your shoulders and step into the stream, groaning as it runs down the planes of your back and begins to soothe the deep aches inside you. At the sound of it Marcus comes barreling in, but freezes up and flushes an impressive shade of red at the sight of you. "I-ah…. I-I suppose I'll leave you alone for now." He turns around quickly and rubs at the back of his neck again, a gesture that you are finding to be oddly endearing. "Will you be alright if I leave you here alone?"
It is odd to think, but at the suggestion of him leaving your heart falls a little and you are suddenly not as comfortable as before. "If you have to… I can manage." You are surprised at how small your voice sounds and you can tell Marcus noticed it too with the way that he half-turns towards you before taking a few steps away.
"Well, I do. I've got fish to sell- things to do."
"O-okay." At that he nods and begins to make his way out. "Marcus!" He stops just inside the doorway, but doesn't turn. "Thanks."