Disclaimer: Suikoden IV belongs to Konami.
Notes: Second half.
Warnings: Same as before. BL pairing.

Haunt 2

"They sell very good apple pie there," said Helmut, pointing to a little corner shop with a vividly painted canopy and a colorful window display. "Would you like to try some?"

"No, thank you," said Troy, smiling as a pair of children chased each other across the street. They seemed to pass a Very Good Place every few seconds. Inwardly, Troy was of the opinion that Helmut wanted to stuff his mouth as often as possible, as to avoid conversation.

"Ah, okay." They passed a string of clothing stores, decorated with displays of foreign pattern textiles, and a small trio of girls ran up to them, straw baskets hanging on their arms. "Good day, Miss McConnell, Miss Sternway, Miss Hill," greeted Helmut politely, as they curtsied and batted their long eyelashes flirtatiously. "How are you all today?"

"Hello, Sir Helmut!" said Sternway, her voice high and light. "We're very well, thank you! We were wondering if you could introduce us to your friend! We haven't seen him since the time at the marketplace, and he wasn't capable of speech then!" Hill and McConnell bobbed their heads in agreement, ruffling their auburn curls while they cast surreptitious glances at the tall stranger.

"Of course," said Helmut affably. "Ladies, this is Troy. Troy, this is Miss McConnell, Miss Sternway and Miss Hill. They live in the boarding house up Saunders Street."

"A pleasure to meet you, ladies," said Troy with a dashing low bow at the waist.

The girls tittered happily and blushed rosy pink. "Is he an old friend of yours, Sir Helmut?"

Troy gauged Helmut's face he pressed his lips together and sighed. Helmut could not reply because he did not know the answer. "Yes," said Troy firmly, before Helmut could offer any excuse, answering the question they were asked and the question in the thin, quivering line of Helmut's mouth. Helmut gawked. "We are good friends."

"Oh, that's lovely!" said Miss Hill, clapping her gloved hands together. "Sir Helmut's always such a loner, but now he has someone to talk to! I'm glad you have a friend here, Sir Helmut!"

Helmut scuffed the cobbled street with the heel of his worn black boot and with a shy smile said, "Yes, me too." Troy's hand rested comfortably on his shoulder.

"Oh, fuck!" yelled Hervey in wonder. He had never been an eloquent person, and while that was somewhat charming, at times it fell a little short. He and Troy blinked at each other from across the small table, cheap porcelain cups and half-finished coffeecake between them. "When Helmut said he had a special guest I didn't think that it would be you! You're that Kooluk guy! I can't believe that you aren't dead!"

Sigurd coughed politely into his hand while elbowing Hervey roughly in the ribs. "It's very nice to see you," he offered neutrally, since Helmut was about to keel over with exasperation.

"I was expecting a woman or something, since Helmut was so hyper when…"

"I was not hyper, Hervey!" interrupted Helmut in an attractive shade of red.

"Hervey, shut up," scolded Sigurd. Hervey did, after his friend kicked him twice under the table and dug his fingers into his wrist. Helmut flashed him a thankful smile as he began to clear the table, sweeping the cake crumbs into his hands and depositing them outside while the pigeons flocked to the feast. "Anyway, it's very nice to meet you, sir. This is Hervey, and I am Sigurd."

"Likewise," said Troy cordially, reaching out to shake hands. He found Sigurd much easier to talk to than his louder, more boisterous partner. "My name is Troy."

"So you guys are even sleeping in the same room?" asked Hervey suddenly, and Helmut almost dropped the teapot in his arms, except Troy reached out to steady him. The brown-haired pirate looked from one man to the other and raised his brows. "Hmm."

Later, Helmut apologized sheepishly after closing the door behind the two pirates as they returned to the Grishend. "Sorry about that," he said, "Hervey gets out of hand sometimes."

Troy, resting his chin in the cup of his hand, shrugged as he finished his tea and returned the white cup to its saucer. "I didn't mind."

"Hervey?" clarified Helmut.

Troy smiled. "I meant what Hervey was teasing about, but no, I didn't mind him either."

Troy followed him the next morning to the empty plot of land where young teenagers were lounging and poking each other with brittle branches. As they padded across the sandy floor, the boys sorted themselves into an uneven line and straightened their backs with comical sternness. "Good morning," said Helmut as they bowed. "This is my friend, Sir Troy. He's come to help today, and he's very talented with the sword."

"Better than you, sir?" asked a short, plump child with freckle-mottled cheeks.
"Yes," Helmut said while Troy shook his head. Helmut laughed. "Yes, he is."

"Show us!" said a lanky redhead, and the others began to cheer in agreement. Two of the boys ran off to the shed in the corner and returned with an old but usable sword, shoving it relentlessly into Troy's hands despite his protests. "Please show us!" they said excitedly, "We've never seen a real swordfight before."

While Helmut sighed exaggeratedly, Troy laughed at their enthusiasm, stepping back and drawing the worn weapon from its leather sheath. "Draw your sword, Helmut!" he called good-naturedly, earning himself a sharp, reprimanding glare. "Let us show them a 'real' swordfight, then – one worth of our reputations!"

Outnumbered, Helmut drew his Officer's Sword. "Are you sure you haven't gotten rusty over the years, Troy?" he asked flightily.

The last time they dueled, Helmut was still in naval school, and he had lost spectacularly to the prodigy. Now, in the cool morning air, they circled and clashed until their limbs creaked in protest and in one last lunge, Helmut charged, dodged Troy's rapid parry and let the sharp blade of his sword hover near his friend's adam's apple.

The boys, having grown silent in attention, burst into cheering, rushing to the two men. Helmut set down his weapon and fell wearily to the floor, closing his eyes against the too-bright sun. His heart trumpeted in his ears and his laughter escaped from him in short, breathless bursts. "I told you that I wasn't better at this," he heard Troy shout, surprisingly close to his ear.

"You're just out of practice!" he shot back, feeling light-headed and once again young.

Placing his boots beside him, he stretched his bare feet in front of him before burrowing them underneath the warm sand. Troy watched, amused, but kept his shoes on. Together, they looked out at the far-stretching sea, and the children playing at the shore while their parents watched with a careful eye. Wrapping his arms around his knees, Troy said, "I want apple pie." Ultimately, the Very Good Apple Pie Place really did have very good apple pie.

Helmut laughed, elbowing his friend in the arm. "I asked you if you wanted some while passing by, but you said no. So this is what you get for not listening to me."

"Fine, fine," Troy conceded, with a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He faced forward again, breathing in the air that smelled of seawater. "I like that apple pie," he said quietly. Helmut glanced at him discreetly, but did not respond. "I like this town, and its people; they are the kindest people I have ever met."

"Even the Saunders Street girls?" chuckled Helmut.

Troy smiled, but it was tense. "Even the Saunders Street girls," he clarified. "There are people here…that make me want to stay for the rest of my life, however long it may be."

They did not speak for a while, and Helmut was the one to break the silence. "A confession?" he joked, painting an uneasy smile on to his uneasy face.

Troy turned to him. "Yes," he answered seriously. The expression dropped off of Helmut's face. He looked, instead, accepting but somewhat scared, like a lone man standing at the edge of a great wave, threatening to encompass him, though he had no way to resist. Tentatively, he reached out, but Troy took his hand and returned it to his side, placing it lightly on the sand. "But," added the black-haired man, tearing his gaze away, back to the unwavering sea that could not give him raw look like that. "I cannot stay here."

He stood up and walked back.

Troy heard the footsteps advance, felt the other's presence in the candlelit room and smelled the mugs of warm milk in Helmut's hands. "Are you planning to leave soon?" asked Helmut lightly, as if the thought had just cropped up, but he had caught Troy looking wistfully out the window at the cerulean distance many times. Troy was a child of the sea.

Without turning, Troy traced senseless patterns on the cool glass and gratefully accepted the cup Helmut handed to him. "I wanted to visit all the Island Nations," he confessed. "I figured, they must look different when I'm not trying to destroy their fleets. I went to Iluya. We destroyed it, but they're slowly rebuilding. I wanted to go to Nay, but there was a storm." There was a storm that destroyed his ship and a group of fishermen found him.

"No one recognized you?" asked Helmut carefully. Their shoulders brushed and the warmth from their cups seeped into their hands, welcome respites from the evening chill.

"People," said Troy, "try to forget about the details of war as soon as they can."

"So you want to go back to traveling now?"

Troy lowered his eyes. "Yes."

"Oh," said Helmut, biting his lip and staving off selfishness. He had his father, his peaceful town, his relaxing and uneventful, boring life. He did not need the sea like Troy did. He did not thrive on its open air and the eternity in its waves. He would never forget how to kill a man, but he could learn to adapt to this normal setting. He had been learning for the past few years.

"Helmut," called Troy, voice like silk. Rough fingers crept up Helmut's jaw, guiding his head up. He found Troy's face sullen and searching, and his fingers weakened until he had to set the glass mug down on the dusty windowsill. "I wanted to ask you," he said, their faces barely an inch apart, and Helmut could feel his breath on his mouth. "Would you come with me?"

Helmut did not answer questions he didn't know. Instead, he reduced the distance between them because there was no space for words in a kiss. They fell back onto the bed when the wooden post hit the back of his knees and he did not worry until morning.

Colton observed the morning's events over the rim of his cup, half-filled with cooling tea, and grew tired of letting the two skirt around each other by two 'o'clock. When Helmut returned from training, forehead glowing with the sheen of perspiration, Troy was upstairs pretending to read. Their floors were thin and their walls were thinner. Colton set down his mug, folding wrinkled hands together. "Sit down," he commanded.

"Father?" asked Helmut curiously, sliding boneless into a chair.

"Are you going with him?" Colton was an expert in the spoken language, but he knew that if he danced around the words, Helmut would only run away through the spaces that metaphors and lengthy introductions left. In his old age, sound was a sense that had not yet abandoned him, and he heard the rustle of page-turning stop on the second floor.

"With who?" attempted Helmut. He flicked his eyes towards the stairs and fidgeted with the frayed leather bindings around the hilt of his sword. Helmut only knew when he was trapped if it was a matter of war. He remained clueless about the ropes that tied people helplessly together, about the strings that fathers knew how to pull like expert puppeteers. Colton sat amused, feeling as though he were once again looking down into the shy round face of his barely grown child.

"Are you?" Troy asked, appearing in the door with his pretense of a book tucked under his arm.

Colton picked up his cup and sipped lightly. "He is."

"He is?" repeated Troy, somewhat surprised.

"I am?" echoed Helmut, wide-eyed. "Father, I can't just get up and leave you alone here…"

"You don't want to?" said Colton, turning sharp eyes that demanded honesty on the man across the wooden table. "I am fully capable of tending to myself and in the doubtful case that I should need assistance, you know as well as I do that we have wonderful neighbors who would offer in a heartbeat." Helmut started under the intense scrutiny, and ducked his head for refuge, but he did not say a thing, duty and hope warring in his chest, suffocating his voice.

"Are you?" Troy repeated.

"I…" Helmut stuttered, as he was kissed, "I am."

Placing one hand on the back of the chair, Helmut peered at the yellowing map from over Troy's shoulder. In the margin was a list of the Island Nations in small, neat handwriting. The boat lurched as it left the dock, but the line Troy drew across 'Na-Nal' was impeccably straight. The dull clinking of chains echoed from outside as the anchor was drawn. Helmut pointed to a small island off the coast of Gaien, north of Middleport. "Just Razril, then?" Helmut asked. "And then we will have gone to all of them."

Troy nodded, strangely quiet.

Frowning at the back of his head, the other man said, "What's wrong?"

The former captain set down his pen and placed the freed hand over Helmut's loose fist, still resting over the Western side of the sea. He looked at the door, face unreadable and betraying nothing. The floor swayed with the characteristic rocking of open water. It took him three minutes to speak. "After Razril," he began slowly, "Are you going to go home?"

Bending over, Helmut looped his arms around Troy's neck, his right palm resting lightly above the other man's heart. He could feel it beating as he pressed his cheek against the captain's. Surprised, Troy gave him a curious look out of the corner of his eye, further movement obstructed by their position. "After Razril," said Helmut, taking the map and tossing it on to the table, "I will not have to go back to my Father in order to be home."

Troy untangled Helmut's arms and locked their hands together, standing. "A confession?"

Helmut smiled. "An offer."

Troy laughed, leaning forward to put their foreheads together. "I accept."