A/N: Even though this is a missing scene from a longer work, it can be read as a stand-alone one shot. The story so far: seven South Parkers (Stan, Kyle, Kenny, Butters, Cartman, Wendy, and Tweek) have gone on a New Year's cruise across the Atlantic into the Mediterranean Sea, where their ship is struck by a tidal wave and capsized. 23-year old Craig has turned into a raging alcoholic, threatening to destroy his relationship with Tweek, and sending him on the cruise alone. This is the events from Craig's point of view.
000
The sound of his ringtone finally penetrated Craig's drunken sleep. He fumbled around the nightstand, knocking over the alarm clock before his fingers found the phone and curled around it. He squinted at its display, a headache already beginning to build behind his eyes like ice picks through the temples: Incoming call from: Token
He pressed 'talk' and groaned "What?" It was pitch black outside the window of his uncle's New Hampshire hunting lodge, and the tipped over clock was showing 12:04 AM. Craig's headache ramped up sharply when he realized he'd slept through midnight. He thought he might throw his phone against the wall if this call was to wish him 'Happy New Year'.
"Craig! Are you watching the news?" Token's voice was both urgent and distant over the poor connection; this was not what Craig was expecting.
"Huh?" he replied, trying to make sense out of the question. "I never watch the news. What-"
"Go turn on CNN, now!" Token interrupted. "You need to see this."
Something in the tone in Token's disembodied voice got through to Craig enough that he sat up in bed and put his feet on the floor. The room began spinning, and his stomach churned as if it would revolt if he smelled food or even a whiff of the bourbon he had started drinking at 2:00 that afternoon. He slowly stood, hanging on to a bedpost for support.
"Okay, I'm up. Now what?"
"Dude, are you drunk? Go turn on a TV!"
"God damn it," he muttered irritably. He took two steps toward the door and staggered, holding onto the door frame now to stay upright. There was only one person in the huge living area, and Craig scowled. The man (Craig thought his name was Dave or Dean or something) was in the kitchen, stirring a steaming pot of something on the stove. Craig hoped the smell of whatever it was didn't reach him.
"Where's everyone else?" Craig asked, managing to keep his revulsion, but not the annoyance, out of his voice. When they met four days ago, the man had at first been overly friendly and finally outright propositioned Craig when he was on his way back to the bonfire after taking a piss behind the house that night. Craig had told him he was with someone and the man had replied "but they're not here now." Craig had been trying to avoid being alone with him ever since, which would be hard now because there was usually at least half a dozen people in the cabin at any given time.
"There's a few diehards still outside by the fire," Dave (or Dean) replied. It didn't help that he was practically the spitting image of Craig's father, only twenty years younger; some cousin or something. "Everyone else has already passed out. I didn't figure you'd be awake for at least a few more hours. Happy New Year."
Craig took a few slow steps into the room. "My friend said I need to watch the news." He picked the remote up from the coffee table and turned on the flatscreen TV mounted to the wall. The TV came to life: some cooking show. Craig recognized it as 'Giada At Home' because Tweek sometimes watched it. "What channel is CNN?" He sat down on the couch.
"Two hundred," the man replied, and Craig punched in the numbers, still holding his phone to his ear with his other hand. He half-expected to see continuing coverage of New Year's celebrations, but an aerial view of an ocean, probably coming from a helicopter, appeared on the screen instead; and in the center was an object Craig couldn't identify, something long and rust-colored, floating in the waves. Because it was the only object in the picture beside the blue-gray water, it was impossible to tell the scale of whatever it was.
"What...what is that?" he asked.
"That's the S.S. Poseidon!" Token replied. "There was an earthquake in the Mediterranean Sea a few hours ago; it got hit by a tidal wave and capsized!"
Huh? That was impossible...because Tweek was on board the Poseidon, along with six more of their friends, and what Token had just said couldn't be right.
Except a moment later it became impossible to deny any longer. A red banner appeared at the bottom of the screen: DISASTER AT SEA. He began reading the subtitles that began scrolling underneath: 7.8 magnitude subsea earthquake strikes Mediterranean Sea, epicenter 130 miles northwest of Crete...tsunami warnings in effect in Southern Italy, Greece, and Crete...An ocean liner, the S.S. Poseidon with over 1,700 passengers and crew on board has capsized...rescue efforts are underway...as yet there is no word on any survivors...
The world swam out of focus. A loud humming filled the room and the image on the TV disappeared behind a growing pink mist (those three things, sticking up from the end of that object in the water, Craig's mind gibbered. Those are its propellers) and the last thing he felt before the world went dark was his phone slipping from his hand.
000
A disembodied voice came from the darkness: "Okay, he's waking up now."
Craig opened his eyes. Dave (or Dean) was sitting on the couch next to him, holding Craig's phone to his ear. Their eyes met and the man asked, "Are you all right now?"
Craig wasn't sure if he was, but he nodded anyhow and immediately regretted it as his vision momentarily doubled and the room began spinning again. He knew he'd fainted, and remembered why a second later when he once again spotted the TV, and the frightening, live images it was showing.
The other man once again spoke into Craig's phone. "All right then...Token; yeah, here he is." He handed Craig his phone back.
"Token?" Craig could barely speak; he shook his head, more carefully this time, trying to clear it.
"Craig?" Token replied. "Your friend Dave said you fainted when you saw the TV."
So it is Dave, but he's not my friend, Craig thought idly. He turned to look at the TV again. The helicopter where the view was coming from had drawn closer, the underside of the capsized ship filling half the screen now and making it painfully obvious what it was. "This is..." he whispered and could find nothing to finish the thought with. His mind began racing, at a loss for words to say or things to do. He tried to stand and gave up before he'd gotten halfway there. His legs wouldn't be able to support him yet. "I...I need to go there. I..."
"Craig!" Token's voice was sharp. "No, you don't. There's nothing you can do by going anywhere right now, and if you do, you might not be around to see the outcome. Just sit tight."
"I...I can't." But in Craig's current state, even standing up was out of the question; he couldn't possibly make it to the airport, which would be his first destination, on his way to...where? Greece, half way around the world?
"Hey," Dave said, speaking carefully, having figured out most of the situation. "Your friend's right: You should stay here and see what happens..."
Craig nodded and thought: Okay, but if you so much as touch me, asshole, I'm going to flatten you. Token told him he would call if anything developed and they ended their call. He sent a text to Tweek's phone (call me). Then he settled in for a long period of anxious waiting, watching the images unfold on the TV while exchanging a few words once in awhile with Dave. Eventually the camera shot changed again, a wide view this time showing three smaller boats approaching the overturned hull of the ship. Craig recognized one as a Greek Coast Guard vessel and the other two as smaller, rag-tag looking fishing vessels. It brought home the size and scale of the disaster in a way the previous images hadn't; that thing in the water was an enormous ship, floating upside down, and Craig's mind began to wander.
How many people were on board? 1,700 according to the scrolling caption. How many were already dead, and how many were going to die before this was over? And Tweek? Was he dead already? Or was he injured, and thought that Craig didn't care about him (was he dying, alone and terrified right now, believing that?) Craig felt his gorge rise and looked around for something to be sick in in case he couldn't get up and make it to the bathroom in time; there was a large bowl with a few potato chip crumbs on the coffee table, and he decided to use that if he needed.
The three smaller boats approached the capsized ship with agonizing slowness; Craig began obsessively texting the same message to Tweek every few minutes. Each one that went unanswered made him feel even less hopeful.
A new message began scrolling across the bottom of the screen: Reports from the scene indicate the bow of the ship is beginning to sink, leading to fears that the ship may not float for much longer
Craig looked away; sometime in the last minute, Dave had gone back to the kitchen. He called into the living room, holding up a half-full bottle of Jack Daniel's, "Hey, you want a drink?"
Craig looked at the offered bottle and realized that he did indeed want a drink, several of them in fact, enough to blot out this nightmare. Another part of his mind realized that if he ever saw Tweek again and had the chance to tell him how sorry he was...that he would never touch another drop of alcohol ever again. In that moment, it became a vow.
"Is there any coffee?"
Dave's annoyance was almost palpable. "I could make some."
"Thanks." Craig turned his attention back to the TV, dismissing whatever was happening in the kitchen. Dave would either make coffee, or he wouldn't; Craig didn't care. All that mattered was what was happening on the other side of the world.
Things were happening much too slowly. The Coast Guard ship stopped a hundred yards from the overturned ship. A few minutes later, two orange inflatable rafts were lowered from its side and three men on board each began paddling toward the Poseidon. A second helicopter came into view and settled slowly onto the rusted hull of the overturned ship. At some point, Dave handed Craig a cup of coffee. He took a swallow of bitter black and unsweetened swill and set it on the table; it was nothing remotely like the coffee Tweek made.
Half a dozen men began fanning out along the keel of the ship. Even from this perspective, Craig could see that the bow was beginning to sink, and that it was only a matter of time before the entire ship was pulled under.
Dave sat down on the other end of the couch and they watched and waited.
Eventually, something interesting finally did happen: Several men moved rapidly toward the stern of the ship, the part that was beginning to rise higher above the ocean's surface as the Poseidon was pulled under. Two other people were dragging a piece of heavy equipment toward where men were crouching near one of the three propellors. Another message began scrolling across the bottom of the screen:
...reports from rescuers that banging sounds have been heard coming from inside the ship...
"Shit, Craig..." Dave's voice echoed Craig's thoughts as, for the first time, he felt a faint ray of hope.
The helicopter had flown in close and was giving the world an excellent view. Several men were gathered around a single place on the hull, and a moment later a single spot of light appeared, too bright for the camera to render as anything but a brilliant over-pixelated image, bleaching out any details in a white burst of digitalized static.
...rescuers are cutting through the hull of the ship...
Craig sat forward, watching intently. After an agonizing two minutes, the brilliant glow faded, and he could again see details; someone was pounding a sledgehammer against the keel of the ship, and a moment later a dark hole opened up in her hull as the section the men had cut through fell away.
People were gathering around the square opening that had been cut into the ship's keel. Craig leaned forward, and a moment later someone emerged from it. It looked like a teenaged boy, one of his hands wrapped in a white bandage, followed by a girl who looked a couple years older. An elderly couple emerged next...and then the view changed to a wider shot, making it impossible to see who else was coming from the hole in the ship.
"God damn it!" Craig shouted, leaping to his feet, his hangover long forgotten. Over a dozen people eventually climbed from the hole, but it was impossible to make out if any of them was Tweek.
Another banner began scrolling: Eighteen survivors have been removed from a hole that was cut into the ship moments ago... "No shit, assholes," Craig muttered, pacing now. "How about giving us their names?" He continued walking back and forth across the room, too restless to sit still. The TV began showing several different, wider shots of the capsized ship and the three smaller boats near it. None of them showed a closeup of the survivors, even after they had all climbed into the two rafts and returned to the Coast Guard vessel.
Dave returned from the kitchen carrying a fresh cup of coffee, and Craig altered his pace to avoid walking near him. Craig's attention was on the antlers of the deer head mounted over the door when he heard Dave whisper two words behind him, his voice filled with horror.
"Oh...fuck."
Craig whirled around to look at the TV. Sometime in the last twenty seconds, the Poseidon's bow had been pulled under and the three propellers were quickly rising higher into the air. One of the two fishing boats was struck by a large wave the sinking ship had thrown and rocked alarmingly. Craig's mouth was open as if his jaw had come unhinged; over the next minute the ship was pulled down and vanished beneath the waves, leaving only an oily debris field.
He couldn't take being in this room another moment. He turned and hurried out the door, still holding his phone, and leaned against the porch railing taking deep breaths of cold night air. He looked at his phone and entered Tweek's number again, and this time listened intently to Tweek's voice mail message ("Hey it's me, you know what to do!") and at the beep, Craig took a shuddering breath and held it for a long moment.
"Tweek…" He released the air he was holding all at once, trying to forget what he had just seen on the TV, and what might still be happening to Tweek right now, half-way around the world. "I swear to you, if you just come home I'll never drink again. I…" He completely lost it, having just enough presence of mind to end the call before slamming his forehead against one of the wood posts holding up the porch roof, barely biting back a primal shriek of loss and pain. He sank to the wood deck, forcing himself to stay quiet when all he wanted to do was scream, hoping no one came around from the other side of the house and saw him like this.
In the midst of it, his phone rang; Craig looked at it, lying on the porch a few feet away where he'd dropped it when he sat down. He already knew who it was, and he already knew why he was calling. He picked up his phone and read what he expected to see: Incoming call from: Token.
"Token," he whispered into the phone, dreading whatever his friend was going to say next. Whatever it was, it would be added confirmation of what Craig was beginning to realize was an unbearable loss.
"Craig!" He was shouting, and there was a lot of commotion in the background. "They're okay! All seven of them! They were part of the group that got taken out from near the propellers!"
Craig's eyes widened and he shot to his feet. "What?" He was hoping he'd hadn't somehow misheard what Token had just said.
There was an infuriating delay and more commotion from the other end, then Token's voice. "Stan Marsh just called his mother; he said all seven of them made it out, and asked her to call everyone's families. She called Kyle's mom, and she started calling everyone. I just got a call from Mrs. Tweak...Eric Cartman's on his way to the hospital because he might have a concussion...but they all got out!"
"Are you sure?" Craig still couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Did she say anything about...Tweek...?"
"Craig...she said 'all seven of them'. If anyone hadn't made it, she would have said so."
Craig nodded, realizing as he did that Token wouldn't see it. He made his way back to the door and went inside. Dave looked up from the couch.
"Hey." His voice didn't sound hopeful. "They just said on the TV that they're going to have a list of survivors soon..."
"My friend just told me-" Craig nodded at his phone. "That all my friends got out." He gave a half-hearted nod in acknowledgement of Dave's thumbs up sign, and went back into the bedroom he'd been sleeping in earlier and shut the door. His legs were shaking. "Hey Token...I'll call you back later, okay?"
They said their goodbyes, and Craig collapsed onto the bed, suddenly exhausted. With the bottom no longer falling out of his world and both his hangover and the mad adrenaline rush of the past hour completely gone, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. When his phone chimed a couple hours later, it was still dark outside the window. He grabbed it instantly, and for a split second misread the last word of the display as 'Token'.
Incoming call from: Tweek
Craig stabbed 'talk' and stood up. "Tweek!"
There was a long moment of almost silence; Craig thought he could hear wind in the background. Then the sweetest sound he ever heard came from his phone, just one word, coming from the only voice that mattered.
"Craig."
"Oh man, are you okay?" He had a million questions he wanted to ask as he began pacing again: Are you hurt? Are you going to be okay after this? "I mean…" Do you still love me?
From the phone: "Yeah, I'm fine. We all made it out, all seven of us, about a half hour before the ship went down."
"I heard on the news there were eighteen survivors. Jesus Tweek, I was hoping you were one of them." He closed his eyes and waited for Tweek to say something, and when the only sound over the phone was wind, he asked the question he dreaded hearing the answer to. "You hate me now, don't you?"
A pause, then: "No, Craig. I don't hate you. But I can't go back to how things were before either."
"Oh Christ, I know it. Tweek, come home to me. I'll stop drinking." It was pouring from him, everything he wanted to say since the moment he realized he might never see Tweek again. "I'll...I swear I'm going to fix this, okay? I've been thinking for hours that you might have died believing I didn't care." He wiped his cheeks with the fingers of his free hand and looked curiously at the moisture on them. "If you want me to, I'll check myself into rehab; or whatever I have to do, I'll do it, okay?"
"Okay…" Craig closed his eyes gratefully. "Ah, I gather we're flying to New York tonight, and then flying back to Colorado tomorrow. We'll talk about it when you get back from your uncle's."
Craig said the first thing that came to mind: "I have a better idea: How about I meet you in New York and you come to New Hampshire with me for a few days, and we'll fly home together."
There was only wind from the phone for a moment, then Tweek's voice: "You really want us to do that?"
"Of course I do." Craig wiped his eyes again. " I have a lot of shit I need to fix with you. Call me when you find out when you'll be getting to New York. Tweek…I can't wait to see you again."
This time there was no pause. "I love you too, Craig. I'll see you tomorrow."
The call ended, and Craig stared at his phone for a long moment, then looked up at the window; he could see light flickering in the trees outside from the bonfire. Craig suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here.
He walked back out into the living room; the TV was still showing coverage of the Poseidon disaster. Dave had fallen asleep on the couch. He awoke when Craig loudly cleared his throat.
"I need a ride to the airport." It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't know which airport, JFK or LaGuardia, but it didn't matter; either one would put him closer to Tweek, and farther away from this place.
"Um..." Dave replied, blinking several times as he woke up. Craig wondered if he was going to have to offer sexual favors in payment for a ride, and hoped it wouldn't come to that. He could also bash Dave in the head with his coffee cup and take his keys...
"I don't want to be here anymore," Craig said hopefully. "I need to go meet...my fiance when he gets home."
Ball's in your court asshole, Craig thought as he waited for a reply. He would do anything for that ride, and fortunately Dave turned out to be not as big of a dickhead as Craig thought he was. "Okay," he said. "I'll drive you...and I'm sorry about the other night. I was pretty drunk." He stood up, looking around the room presumably for his wallet and keys. "To tell you the truth, I never really wanted to come here at all."
000
To be continued...Craig meets Robin Shelby's friend, Pete McCafferty, at the airport ;)