Come Back to Me
Summary: Drake has never been a believer in hope, has always considered himself too blood soaked to deserve such a luxury. Koby disagrees.
Notes: For Mel.
It was the slow steady beeping that roused him. A strange noise, an odd noise. Artificial, yet the cadence was familiar. Beep...beep...beep… the world began to come back to him. The feeling of laying in one position for too long. The stiffness in his muscles, the dull ache. Then the peculiar prickling, the ache morphing into something else. The feeling of healing skin, of muscles trying to reconnect. Every small movement a new jolt of irritation.
The grogginess associated with painkillers, the disconcerting sort of in-and-out thoughts, his head too empty and too full at once. The way pain was both heightened and deadened. The astringent scent of disinfectant, the starchy cloud of bleached sheets and floors constantly swabbed with harsh antiseptic soap.
More sounds reached his ears, the muted thuds of footsteps and distant doors opening and closing. Muffled voices and the drone of machinery. Beep...beep...beep . The sheets beneath him were rough against his skin, too warm. The pull on his right arm, a strange disconcerting feeling. A needle. An IV. It wasn't unfamiliar.
His mouth was dry, his throat patchy, every swallow a slow and sticky process. Above the beeping and the slow thudding of his heartbeat, above the rasping of his own breath was another sound.
Steady, easy breathing. A deeper rhythm, not affected by swallowing or by stimuli. A quiet sound, calm. The sound of someone asleep. With the realization, Drake became aware of a warmth next to his side, a small and slight pressure on his left arm.
Opening his eyes took so much energy. The light was too sharp and made the pounding in his skull worsen. Everything was fuzzy, shapes too hard to understand at first. The dry cracked feeling of moving his eyes back and forth. The gray of the ceiling, the shadows in the corners of the room. On the far wall was a painting of a tree by a riverbank, innocent and boring, only there to make the room feel less like what it was and failing miserably.
As the room came into focus, a color, leached of its normal vividness, registered off to his left. A person was resting their head on the side of his hospital bed. A person with pink hair. Like it was coming through a long tunnel, recognition washed over him.
Koby.
As the world solidified around him, so did his thoughts. The fogginess of painkillers and unconsciousness cleared away. Drake looked away from the sleeping man and back at the ceiling. Why was he in the hospital? He shouldn't be.
He should be dead.
Flashes of color, searing pain, and yelling. Someone had been yelling... His head was pounding, and he took a deep breath, letting out a groan as his chest expanded, pulling on stitches beneath bandages. Koby shifted slightly, but stayed asleep. A few locks of hair hung down over the side of his face, his headband nowhere to be seen.
He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, and his hair shone like it hadn't been washed in a few days. Drake's eyes roved over him slowly, unsure of the feelings bubbling up inside him. What was Koby doing here? He hadn't expected to see him again.
Had gone to meet his maker with the thoughts of his smile guiding him there.
He watched the rise and fall of the younger man's shoulders. His white jacket was stained with dirt and the rust color of dried blood. Drake pulled his eyes away and blinked slowly at the ceiling. All hospitals looked the same, with the same gray walls and white ceilings. He could be anywhere, in any sea, but this had the air of a navy hospital, of polished boots and the acrid scent of gunpowder. Not the smell of soft newborns or the cucumber scent of the elderly.
A place he should not be.
He turned his head to look at Koby again, the creaking slow response of his muscles telling him he had a long road ahead. Drake breathed out, then breathed in, adjusting to match the rise and fall of Koby's shoulders. The sound of the hospital and the beeping of the heart rate monitor faded to near nothingness, breathing taking its place. In a way, this had all started with Koby.
Well, no, it had started long, long before Koby entered his life. His father, eyes stormy and red, rage under his skin, coming for him in the night. Twisted love and fear making Drake follow after him. If Drake had known that he would spend his life atoning for that, maybe he wouldn't have followed. Would have watched the stolen ship disappear into the darkness of the night.
But this, this… feeling. It had begun with Koby, at their very first meeting. His contacts were not supposed to be bright and smiley. They were supposed to look at him as a necessary evil. But not Koby, no, the idiot had shaken his hand firmly and given him the warmest smile Drake could remember for a long time.
Koby's chapped lips twisted in his sleep, and Drake wondered what he was dreaming of. Anger and dismay didn't belong on the same face that had such a gentle smile.
His contacts in the past had kept their distance, like they were supposed to. Short, terse messages. Eyes devoid of interest in him beyond what he had to report. They weren't supposed to ask him how he was, or what he thought of flowers or islands he'd been to.
They weren't supposed to give him news about the people he'd left behind. News that made Drake both hate the role he played and endeavor to succeed. He knew he had become attached when he snuck into the hospital where Koby was recovering from the Rocky Port Incident. Had despised that he couldn't be one of the visitors crowding around his bed, and could only look in from the window. Like a ghost.
He'd known the way Koby lingered in his thoughts was not a good sign. Knew that he focused too intently on the smell of him when they met in person. Like the sea, like sweet flowers in late summer, like the first glimpse of the sun after a long winter. Knew that the last time he'd seen him was his undoing. The moonlight had played off Koby's skin, and the shorter man had stepped close. Too close in the cold night air.
Koby shifted again, a few stray locks of his hair settling over the back of Drake's hand. His fingers longed to gently grab hold. But he couldn't. He wouldn't. Koby was the sun. Too bright for him, and too kind.
Drake couldn't taint him with his touch. He was too covered in blood, too jaded, too angry to allow room in his heart for hope.
Still too much his father's son.
So he'd taken additional risks, acted more and more the pirate. So he could finally let it end, his death cleanse him of his sins. Let him finally atone.
The temptation was too strong, and he turned his palm over. Slowly, achingly, shakily, to grasp a lock of hair between his fingers. In that moment, Koby shifted, lifting his head off of his arms, the thin hospital blanket sticking to the side of his face as he looked up.
Their eyes met, pale blue to coffee brown.
"You're awake," Koby whispered, his voice was soft like it always was, but laced with something Drake couldn't, no, wouldn't identify. Drake held his gaze for as long as one could look upon the sun before looking away.
"What...what am I doing here Koby?" his voice was cracked, rough and scratchy. Too hoarse and too loud in his skull.
Koby folded his hands in his lap, but kept his piercing gaze on Drake. "Because I brought you here…" he trailed off as Drake hardened his gaze. Koby's eyebrows drew down. "If you're about to say that I shouldn't have done that, then don't waste your breath, because I- I don't care!" there was fire in those coffee brown eyes now.
Drake stayed silent, unsure how to handle Koby's unexpected anger. "You nearly died out there! If I hadn't gone after you, you would be!" Koby's hands had tightened into fists. Drake blinked slowly at him.
"Spies die Koby, that's in the job description," he wondered if the callousness in his voice had always been there. Koby glared at him.
"Don't...don't give me that. You're not stupid! There was no need for you to engage with the remaining members of the Beast Pirates! There was only death waiting for you!" Drake almost winced at the sharp tone to Koby's voice.
"Why...why would you do that Drake?" Koby's voice went low, a tremble in the way he said his name. It made the pain in his chest feel fresh.
Because he had no way back and no way forward. He'd chosen to be a spy because that was the best way to make up for the blood in his veins. He wasn't supposed to have been given hope. He wasn't supposed to feel anymore, hadn't wanted to feel anymore! "Because what else was I supposed to do?" he whispered.
The fire went out in Koby's eyes. He uncurled his fists, now looking at Drake with an expression Drake dared not name or it would break him.
"You were supposed to come back," he whispered, his voice was so soft, so gentle. Too close to him. Like a siren's call, Drake slowly turned to look at him.
"Come back to what?" he breathed. His voice hitched, pain with every word.
Koby reached out, his smaller hands, calloused despite his age touching his face, thumb delicately pressed to his eyebrow. "Me," he said softly and pressed his lips to Drake's forehead. Drake couldn't breathe, his chest was too tight, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
He heard Koby settle back in his chair. "Rest," he murmured. Biting his lip, Drake just nodded. The beep...beep...beep of his heart monitor slowly retook his senses, the sounds of the hospital returning and fading.
But his hand was warm, where their fingers intertwined.
Notes:
Need more DraKoby fluff angst. They hurt me. I hope you like it Mel!
Let me know your thoughts!
As always, thank you for reading and you can find me on twitter at buggyisbest!