[summary] — Frank/Alice [Pirate(ish)!AU] His mother's warm hand pushes his sweaty hair from his eyes, resting gently on his forehead. But he can hear the sea calling.
A/N — This is written for Dean [deant33].
The lyrics are from the song The Sea is Calling by The Temper Trap.
And thank you Liza and FF for beta'ing.
[2033 words]
Tucked in the corner of Earth
Naked in light we are born
.oOo.
His mother's warm hand pushes his sweaty hair from his eyes, resting gently on his forehead.
"Isn't there something else we can do?" he hears her ask, but the words sound distant, muffled, as though she is speaking through layers of fabric. Distantly, he knows he should be scared, but everything is blurry and he's too cold; he just wants to sleep.
"Just try to keep his temperature down," another voice says. "There's not much else we can do for him right now."
"Mum?" Frank whispers, reaching out for her, his fingers brushing uselessly against her wrist. "Mum, I'm tired," he croaks, his forehead furrowing.
"Try to drink this first," she says. Frank screws his eyes shut, and turns his head into the damp pillow.
"I'm tired," he groans.
"I know." She lifts his head slightly and holds a straw to his lips. Frank manages a few small swallows before he's turning his face away once more. He hears a faint rustle as she leans over and places the glass on the bedside table, and then she returns to his line of sight.
His eyes can't focus properly, and so she's a little hazy, and he closes his eyes again with a groan.
"It's okay," she whispers, her hand back to running through his hair. "I'm here. Everything's going to be okay."
"Can I have a story?" he asks, his mouth barely moving and his voice so quiet for a moment he thinks she hasn't heard. "Mum," he begins, but a wet cough forces him to stop.
She rubs his back until it passes, and brings the straw to his lips once more. When he's taken a few swallows, she sets the glass to the side.
Her voice is low and raspy, not pretty but it fills him with comfort as she sings:
"At night when it's quiet and the waves come rolling in."
.oOo.
The gentle rocking brings him to consciousness, and he opens his eyes slowly.
He is faced with a girl, close in age to himself, wearing leather and stripes and a hat that is several sizes too large for her head. Her blonde hair falls in messy strands around her round face, and her smile is the kindest he has ever seen.
"Hello," she says, stepping back so that he can sit up. "I'm Alice."
"Frank," he says. "Where am I?"
"My ship," she says happily. "The Galleon." He stands. She is nearly a head taller than him, but she's also wearing a pair of boots — again, a few sizes too big — that are adding a few inches to her height. "D'you want to look around?" she asks. "But you can only stay a little while. You're not supposed to be here yet."
He's confused, but smiles and nods. Alice takes his hand and pulls him to his feet, leading him above deck, her boots thud loudly on the deck with each step. Her hand is cold.
As soon as they're above deck, he rushes to the railing, bracing his hands shoulder width apart, and leans over the edge. The ocean stretches as far as the eye can see, as the breeze ruffles his hair.
He doesn't know how long he stands there, just taking it all in, but Alice is pulling at his arm before he is ready.
"You have to go now," she says with a sad smile. "You're not meant to be here yet."
She leads him back below deck, pushing him gently until he is lying in one of the bunks. He closes his eyes, and drifts off to the gentle swaying of the ship.
.oOo.
He opens his eyes, and immediately regrets the decision. The lights are too bright, the walls too white, and there are too many people bustling about. He just wants to sleep.
"Frank," his mother whispers, and he can hear the despair clear in her voice. "You're awake."
"Yeah," he croaks, the sound more an exhalation than a word. His eyes fall closed again, and he hears his mother make a small sound of protest, but he doesn't open his eyes.
The noises around him are making him feel worse than he already does; they're not particularly loud — there's a strange sort of hush to the room that in itself is unnerving — but he has a headache and his ears seem to be more sensitive than usual.
"He should rest," he hears a stranger say, and he feels his mother's fingers comb through his hair. He finds comfort in the gesture, bringing with it memories of his childhood, and he leans into her touch.
"Of course, of course," she says, but Frank knows she is disappointed.
"Mum?" he asks, voice faint. He coughs, the sound dry, and it hurts his throat. "Mum," he tries again. He cracks an eye open slightly, just barely letting in a narrow strip of light. It's not enough to see her face, but he can hear the smile in her voice as she says:
"Of course." And, despite it being years since she had last sung him to sleep, he knows she has understood. And, as his senses dull and sleep draws him closer, he hears the beginnings of his song.
"The merchant ship's light paints the dark as we sing hymns."
.oOo.
He isn't really surprised when he wakes up to the rocking of the ocean once more. It has been years since he was last on this ship — and it was only the one time, really — but he remembers it so vividly that it is like no time at all has passed.
Stretching, he distantly registers that the bunk in smaller — or, rather, that he is bigger. He opens his eyes, blinking slowly, and takes in the room. It is much the same as his last visit; rows of beds attached to the walls, and not many personal effects. It's a little darker than he remembers, though, but he supposed he hadn't lingered below deck for long.
The sound of heavy boots on the stairs draws his attention, and he watches as she draws nearer. She is older now, but he is too, and her hat and boots almost fit her perfectly.
"You're still early," she says, and her words sound a little harsh, but she accompanies them with a smile, a dimple forming in her right cheek, and he finds himself smiling in return.
"Sorry," he says. "I don't really know when I'm supposed to be here."
"No one does." She takes his hand and pulls him to his feet.
"Why do I come here?" he asks as they ascend the stairs. It's a tighter fit than last time, too, and he would feel vaguely claustrophobic if not for her presence and the gentle rocking of the sea. "Do other people come here, too?"
"You need to be more careful," she says, not really answering his question, but he lets it pass. "And it looks different for everyone, I think."
"What does? The Galleon?"
"Yeah." She turns to smile at him, the sun creating a halo around her head. "I think so, anyway. It's always been this for me, but other people have to go somewhere, too." She pauses for a moment. "Right?" she asks, frowning. He finds himself nodding, despite not really understanding what she's talking about.
"Of course," he says, giving her a reassuring smile. She releases a soft sigh and smiles in return.
"That's good. I'd hate for it to just be this," she says, and he realises that she is just as confused as he is.
"But how do you know I'm not supposed to be here yet?" he asks.
"You don't look quite real," she says. "Sort of faded. Like a piece of paper held up to the sun."
"Not like a ghost?" he asks.
"No." She smiles at him, and pulls him towards the bow of the ship. "But I think that might be the problem." She shakes her head, her hair falling into her face. She brushes it away, tucking a few strands underneath her hat. "You can only stay for a little while," she says, abruptly changing topic.
Like last time?" he asks. She nods in response, and steps back, watching as he walks slowly down the length of the ship, trailing the tops of his fingers along the worn wood. It only feels like a few minutes later when she starts to lead him back below deck.
.oOo.
He hasn't had this job for very long, but he finds that he is good at it. He's not massively athletic, and he would never have described himself as brave before, but he likes that he is helping people. That brings a certain level of comfort that he hadn't achieved since his mother's passing.
And, he supposes, that is why this happens now.
He is running, chasing the suspect, focussing more on his destination than his surroundings, and that is his biggest mistake. He trips, and can't catch himself in time; he falls.
Frank hits the water hard enough that he draws in a large gulp of air, a natural reflex, and his lungs are filling with dirty water before he's even registered that his head is now below the surface. He's coughing and choking and struggling, trying to push himself to the surface, but something that feels a lot like wire has wrapped around his ankle and he can't move. It digs into his flesh, and the pain is enough that he thinks it must have torn through skin.
He tries to untangle himself from it, but his fingers are numb enough that he struggles to grip the wire, and he is fast losing consciousness. As his vision fades, he imagines hears the words to an old song, sung in his mother's low voice:
"To the one who is great, whom but words cannot be seen
When all left is love, there is no in between."
.oOo.
He gasps, sitting up quickly, and his head hits the surface above him. It is another bed, and, looking around, he sees that he is back on the ship. Alice is sitting in the bunk opposite, watching him patently.
"I'm … not dead?" he asks. His clothes are dry, but he doesn't know how long he's been here. Maybe—
She shakes her head, a sad smile on her face.
"You're on time for once," she says. "I'm sorry."
He can hear movement above deck, heavy footfalls and loud voices. He doesn't remember seeing anyone other than Alice here before, and he wonders who these people might be. So, he asks.
"You didn't think I was here all alone, did you?" She laughs, pulling him to his feet. "What sort of captain would I be if I didn't have a crew?"
"What sort of captain does a child make?" he asks. She pouts a little, but he can tell that she isn't offended, that she's joking.
"I wasn't ready," she says. "You were early." She smiles again, pulling him over to the stairs. "But you're on time now. And we're all ready." She leads him up the stairs, and the difference is astounding.
Once, the ship had been calm, a sanctuary. A dream that he'd had as a child, and returned to as a young adult. Now, though, bubbling with activity … it feels like home.
.oOo.
Oh, can you hear the sea calling?
Calling us into the world
