A/N - So I just remembered that this story exists - thanks to BrittanyTheGreat for pointing out the long wait since the last update! The reason I ask for reviews is not just for motivation, but also because I genuinely forget what I am writing unless I get a message in my inbox saying 'A new review blablabla.'
What I'm trying to say, in a long and convoluted manner, is sorry for the long wait. Hope the chapter doesn't disappoint!
Francis had been avoiding Arthur for weeks.
It wasn't the kind of glaringly obvious childish avoidance that was so often fleeting. It was the courtesy and manners that drew a line – hell, built a freaking wall – in between him and Arthur: the kind of awful limbo that lasts indefinitely.
Arthur had thought it was because of Jeanne, but Francis had made it clear that it wasn't that at all, that he'd forgiven Arthur for it (which, to some extent, had enabled Arthur to begin to forgive himself). Which left him with absolutely nothing by way of reasons.
Since the incident, Gil had apparently taken on the role of mother hen – a role that he was almost disturbingly good at. He'd been on Arthur's side since the beginning, without knowing what the fight was about, and it had been Gil that nagged Arthur about everything from dressing his wound to brushing his teeth.
Recently, Gil seemed to have forgiven Francis for having shot Arthur, and the two of them were as close as ever. Arthur tried to ignore the pang of jealousy that twisted his gut whenever he saw the two of them together – not to mention the bitter taste of guilt when he recognised what he was feeling.
He didn't mind what Francis had done, any of it. He had been angry for a reason, and to be honest Arthur still didn't quite understand why Francis hadn't just shot him dead then and there.
What he did mind was this. The studied avoidance, the stilted tone when he had to address Arthur – 'Monsieur Kirkland', as he now was.
Part of him wanted to confront Francis. At least then he'd know what had happened. But at the same time, Arthur wasn't sure that he wanted to know the answer. He sighed.
When would things return to normal?
Avoiding someone when you're on the same tiny ship in the middle of the ocean is no easy feat.
As Francis discovered, it's even harder when you happen to be in love with that person and trying desperately to fight your heart and every urge telling you to just go for it.
As it turned out, it's impossible when you're surrounded by people like Gilbert Beilschmidt.
Once he'd forgiven Francis, Gil had returned to his usual self except a lot more meddling. He'd made it his mission to force Arthur and Francis back into friendship, mainly because "it's difficult splittin' time between both of ya, an' there ain't no point in splittin' when ya know ya wanna see him."
It had been almost a month since Gil had started scheming, and Francis had lasted impressively.
"Ya know Bonfoy, you're gonna hafta stop avoidin' him eventually." Gil said out of the blue.
Francis adjusted his train of thought to the non-sequitur and waited for Gil to go on.
"You ain't gonna avoid him forever, so what about stoppin' now?"
Francis shook his head. "I have to try. I'm not going to risk hurting him again."
Gil snorted. "He ain't made of glass. He can take it."
"Gil, I shot him."
Gil looked at him guilelessly. "Your point?"
"I –"
"See that's where you're goin' wrong."
"But I –"
"Yeah, again. Bonfoy, ya shouldn't be thinkin' in 'I' if it's Arthur you're talkin' about. If you're thinkin' in 'I' you're just bein' selfish."
Francis was silent, and Gil went on. "You're bein' selfish, an' I'm stuck with both of you mopin' around. Fuck, Bonfoy, it's drivin' me mad! So you're gonna take your French arse over there and fuckin' tell him you're a retard – an' that he is too, really, but not as much as you – and then the two of ya are gonna hug or cry or whatever the fuck ya want but ya sure as fuck ain't gonna mope. Savvy?"
Francis shook his head. "If it's my selfishness, it's my selfishness. Either way I can't, Gil."
Muttering under his breath in German, Gil stalked off.
Gil had never been very good at lying – part of the reason why he was pretty much permanently in trouble with various members of the crew.
The flipside of this was that when Gil told Arthur that both he and Francis were idiots and proceeded to explain exactly why, Arthur believed him.
And that was the reason Arthur was standing outside Francis' cabin in the middle of the night, feeling rather foolish.
It was the third time Arthur had broken into Francis' cabin, and he was beginning to wonder why Francis still had such lax security. He opened the unlocked door in the way that meant it didn't complain and weaved across the floor, avoiding the boards that he knew would creak.
It wasn't until he was hovering over Francis that Arthur realised he had no idea what he was doing. He hadn't thought this through at all; what was he supposed to say? Francis would probably just presume he was trying to kill him again.
He was turning to leave when a noise stopped him.
In his sleep, Francis moaned. At his sides his hands clenched and unclenched, and his flaxen hair clung to a forehead damp with sweat.
He's having a nightmare, Arthur realised. He couldn't leave Francis to suffer, so he reached over and poked him gingerly. He didn't wake.
He shook him, hard, and this time Francis struggled back into consciousness. When his blue eyes flickered open they were blurred with the ghosts of dreams.
He stared at Arthur, wide eyes made wider by thick lashes. Finally he said, "Is this a dream?"
Arthur stared back, deciding what to say.
"No," he said at last.
Francis laughed. "Liar," he said, and then he reached up and pulled Arthur down onto the bed with him. One arm curved round Arthur's waist to hold his hipbone in a gentle but firm grip.
Arthur stiffened in surprise. He debated whether or not to move, but just the thought of leaving the warmth of Francis' arms made him curl closer to the pirate.
Suddenly Arthur felt exhausted, and he yawned widely.
Francis laughed lightly; Arthur felt the huff of breath and the purring vibration and made up his mind.
"Bon nuit."
"'Night," he whispered.
Francis' breathing quickly evened out, and Arthur too was wavering on the edge of sleep when the words slipped out.
It wasn't something he would have said when he was awake. It wasn't something he would have even realised when he was awake – it was one of those things that becomes clear in the hinterland between dreams and reality, one of those things that seems impossible at any other time but that once realised cannot be denied.
One of those things.
"I love you."
Arthur fell asleep.
When Francis woke he was warm and rested. He'd slept the night through for the first time in a while, and the nightmares that plagued him had quickly stopped.
He opened his eyes slowly, unwillingly, and it was then that he noticed Arthur, pressing warm and close to his side. His breathing was still deep and steady in sleep. Francis realised then why he'd slept so well. When he dreamt of Arthur last night it hadn't been a dream – it had been real.
Suddenly panicking, Francis inched out of the bed but Arthur's hand fastened round his wrist like a vice. He turned to Arthur; something in his expression made the question die on his lips. Arthur gently drew him down to sit beside him and held his gaze wordlessly.
"You were having a nightmare," he said quietly.
"Oh."
Arthur rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I woke you up and I think you thought you were still asleep."
"Oh." Francis repeated.
Arthur glared at him furiously. "You need to stop this, Francis!" He snapped. "Maybe he was lying, I don't know, but Gil told me that you're blaming yourself for everything, and I don't know if he was right but if he is, don't! Just –" Arthur sighed. "Just, tell me. Was Gil right?"
"Kirkland -"
Arthur rolled his eyes and lunged forwards. He threw a solid punch at Francis' jaw, sparking a starburst of pain.
"Is that better?" Arthur snapped. "Because if you want I can shoot you too. Francis, I don't give a shit what you did, especially considering what I have done!"
"But you've done nothing!"
"Neither have you!" Arthur shot back.
Francis glanced away.
Arthur growled and grabbed Francis, yanking him close enough that their noses nearly touched. He paused for a few moments, as if gathering his nerve, and then brushed their lips together in a kiss, fleeting as the brush of a butterfly's wings.
When he pulled back his face was on fire. "Now that we're equal, will you let it go?" he muttered.
Francis laughed, and as he did so he felt something uncurl inside him, a knot of guilt that he hadn't even realised was there. Arthur smiled and loosened his grip. Softly, he brushed the pads of his fingers over the pulse at Francis' wrist.
Francis caught his breath. Arthur's fingers traced over Francis' hand, along to the tips of his fingers; lightly, as if he was expecting Francis to startle and pull away. Francis didn't move. For a moment there was a tension between them, a stillness as if of waiting – and then Arthur let go, and it was as if nothing had happened.
"I'm sorry."
Arthur grinned wryly. "What for?"
And that was the end of it.
This is the part where I ask for reviews, and you (hopefully) oblige? :3
(Concrit is my best friend, btw.)