Damn you Deadliest Catch, look at what you made me do. I blame that show for this entire circus of a fic.
Grantaire had just finished grinding up the new batch of bait for their next line of pots when the loud speaker crackled.
"The Orbit went down a few miles from here. Leave the pots and grab the rescue gear. I want all eyes to port looking for red. Debris, life-rafts, anything. We're looking for men, not bodies. We've got time on our side for this one."
Grantaire could feel the Liberté shifting course beneath his feet.
"What's going on?" he inquired, following his cousin's lead of snatching up the life rings.
"A ship's epirb must have gone off," Courfeyrac panted, threading three rings over his arm and starting toward the side of the rig, "The Coast Guard calls on all surrounding ships to help look when a ship sends out a mayday. The more eyes, the more chance there is to find them."
"Are we going to the wreck?"
"E's probably putting us down flow of it," he set the life savers by his feet, keeping one hand on the rail, "If we're heading off point hat means someone's already at the scene."
"Do you think they're...?" Grantaire swallowed, choking on the word dead.
"Maybe," Éponine replied gravely.
"Not if we can help it," Combeferre growled, hood off and hat pushed back to get the best view, "Look for contrast and movement."
And so they did. All hands on deck, every eye on the sharp waves of the Bering sea. Together they searched and hoped, those who prayed wishing for the safety of their brother fishermen. In a moment of disconnect from the horror, Grantaire awed at the strong bonds that this job created.
Courfeyrac grabbed his shoulder and gave it a shake, "Is that a guy? Tell me I'm not seeing things."
Grantaire followed his cousin's pointing finger. At first eh didn't see anything but after a few seconds, after the crest of a wave, he spotted it. An arm, a head, all covered in one of those slim survival suits.
Marius, who was at the top of the wheelhouse steps to get a better vantage point, bellowed, "Man overboard!"
The Liberté powered forward, the waves carrying their stolen bundle right into the side of her metal hip. Keeping themselves latched firmly onto the railing, the crew tried to urge the man closer by sheer will alone. Joly came up from below with wool blankets and waited nearby, a med kit already tucked under one arm. Before their greenhorn could blink twice, the fisherman was in front of them.
Combeferre dared to stretch out, nearly falling himself on the rock of the ship as his fingers caught on the back of the fallen man's suit.
" 'Ferre!" Courfeyrac curled his arms around the blonde's hips, dragging him back over, "If you fall, so help me God-"
"I got him!" Combeferre hauled the man in on pure strength, manhandling him over and flat on the deck. They could only watch as their deck boss unzipped the man's hood and exposed his slack face.
"Can you hear me?" he slapped the man's cheek, "Fuck. He's unresponsive. Jol, get the adrenaline."
The medic chewed on the inside of his cheek as the older man started CPR, "I don't think..."
Combeferre tilted the man's head back and started pouring air into his lungs. Realization started to dawn on the crew, several sets of teeth grit so tight their jaws ached.
" 'Ferre," Courfeyrac pleaded, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder to stop him. Their deck boss shrugged him off, piling his hands over one another to pump at the fisherman's chest. Breathy counts of one, two, three escaped him before he pushed another breath down the man's throat.
"Oh God," Marius covered his mouth, turning away with a new greenish tint to his freckles.
Grantaire could feel his own stomach starting to churn. He'd never seen a dead body before.
"Christ, man, stop!" Feuilly grabbed him under one harm, hand digging into his shoulder so he could haul him back. Combeferre tried to struggle but when he spotted the blue of the fisherman's blue lips and still eyelashes, he went limp.
"He was moving," the older blonde panted out, one hand bone-white and clawed into his friend's arm, "Y-You saw him. He was moving. He was alive."
Joly could see the panic welling up in their deck boss, "Hey, man-"
"He was just alive!" Combeferre's face pulled in a sob, chest shuddering under Feuilly's grip, "I had him! He was fucking moving, you saw it! God damn it!"
Grantaire turned away, tears burning his eyes and bile searing the back of his throat. The sight of the corpse was too much for him. His cousin grabbed his shoulder, bringing him into a hug.
"It's okay, R, it's okay," Courfeyrac promised in his ear, "That's not going to be us. That'll never happen to you, I swear it."
Combeferre was still cursing and crying when Enjolras came on deck. He looked just as shaken as the rest of them. He walked over and knelt beside his friend, laying his hand next to Feuilly's on the younger man's chest. Their captain took a deep breath before raising his voice to be heard over the wind.
"The Orbit went down," Enjolras declared, "She took five good men with her. There's...there's nothing more we can do. I'm going to call the Coast Guard to collect him. 'Feyrac, Marius, set the anchor. Everybody else head inside and say a prayer. I think we all need a minute."
Grantaire's hand shot out and he clenched a fist in his cousin's oil slick, "Let me help."
Enjolras seemed to roll his reply around on his tongue for a moment, "Take your cousin inside."
Courfeyrac obeyed, leading the artist off deck without letting him go. Grantaire glanced back in time to see his captain moving to stand on the hydraulics, shouting at Marius to set the chain. His heart lurched in affection, the urge to please the captain doubling up within him.
Thank you, he wanted to say.
There was a shoot on the side of the ship where they often threw juveniles and female crab back into the ocean. It was about half the size of a fridge, smooth, and would sometimes get a little stuffed if they had a bad pot. When the sorting table was locked down, whoever was on that side would take up the task of shoving their useless catch down it.
They pulled a pot that was chock-full, crabs practically bursting from the steel seams. But they'd hit a string of female and with heavy hearts, they had to throw them back.
"For Christ's own sake," Courfeyrac braced himself on the table, using his feet to kick the crab down, "This is breaking my heart, and my wallet."
"It's illegal," Éponine shrugged, plucking a finely built male out of the pile and tossing him in the pot, "R, get ready to tell the captain we've got single digit keepers."
"Oh yeah, send the new guy," Grantaire laughed, holding a crab smaller than his fist up to a caliber, "I'm sure that will go over well."
"He takes bad news better from you," Combeferre nodded toward their old greenhorn, the color back in his face since the day before when they'd lost a man, "And Marius. Every time someone else tells him, he seems to push us harder. Wonder why that is?"
It was an obvious tease that only Feuilly laughed at, "Maybe the captain's got a sweet spot."
Grantaire blushed and kept his eyes on the crab, trying to hide his pleased smile. Those words set his heart a-flutter but he didn't dare let the other sea-hardened fisherman see that.
"I would sell my soul for a full pot of keepers like this," the second mate declared, jumping before slamming both heels onto the pile of crab, "Get down there, you little suckers. Go back to the sea so we can catch your boyfriends and-"
Courfeyrac slipped out of their view, disappearing behind the table.
Grantaire and Combeferre froze in the same moment, standing side-by-side on the opposite end of the table. There was a scream and Feuilly was the one to jump to action, unhitching the brake and kicking the entire table aside. Hundreds of pounds of metal rolled away, revealing the flailing ravenette clinging to the pinboards. His body was stretched along the shoot but his legs...his legs were in the ocean.
" 'Rac!" Grantaire rushed forward with his deck boss, each grabbing an arm and yanking the man up. Courfeyrac was babbling, begging them to bring him up and not to let him die. With a great heave, they managed to drag the man up on deck and out of the lick of the waves. Grantaire felt his cousin start to tremble under his hands and the moment he touched his pants he knew why. They were frozen, ever droplet biting into his finger like ice. It was different from the spray he got in the face while working.
"What the hell was that?!" Enjolras screamed over the bullhorn, "Get him inside this instant!"
In the galley, Courfeyrac stripped off his gear and was shoved into warmer wool clothing. His legs were trembling, thighs jumping under the force of his shivers as he tried to calm down his comatose cousin. Grantaire couldn't think past a nod or a head shake, unable to do anything else but stare at the older boy. Combeferre was the opposite, fussing over wrapping the man in a blanket and scrubbing his damp curls and neck with a dry towel. He sounded like Joly, trying to tell him what to do to keep warm in hurried breaths.
"Combeferre."
It was Enjolras, standing at the bottom of the stairs.
"Take him to his room, I think he could use a rest after that," the captain instructed, nodding toward the bedrooms.
"I-I-I'm okay," Courfeyrac's smile didn't quite reach his eyes, "I just fell for a second."
"You've been working hard all morning, take an hour."
"Come on," Combeferre pulled the younger to his feet, pushing him by both shoulders down the hall. Enjolras watched them leave, and once they were secure in their shared room he hurried over to their greenhorn. He grabbed Grantaire's jacket and pushed him against the wall, putting his free hand on his forehead and forcing the boy to look at him.
"Hey!" Enjolras caught his attention in an instant, "Stop it. Stop it right now! There's nothing you could have done. You grabbed him, you pulled him out."
"But that man," he clenched his jaw down hard, fighting back tears, "We pulled him out too. We had to cover him in a sheet and put him in a basket! He went home like that!"
"I watch you all too closely. I've never lost a man. That won't happen."
"What? Do you think that man's captain didn't care?" Grantaire's laugh was on the line of hysterical, "You think he just let it happen? That man was someone's cousin too! If the Bering wants us, she'll take us. And she almost took him from me."
"Grantaire, you need to calm down-"
The ravenette ripped away from his captain, escaping the warmth of his touch, "I'm going back out."
"Not until I know you're stable!" Enjolras grabbed at him but the boy thrashed his arm, throwing him off, "Grantaire!"
"You're not my father!" Grantaire shouted suddenly, startling the other, "You don't get to decide how 'stable' I am! If you think I'm so mad, kick me off this boat. But don't you dare think you know what's best for me! I'm going back out to earn you money and make myself forget that I almost lost the one person in the world who gives a shit about me!"
The first thing he did was strip off those sweatpants, the material too rough on his limbs.
"You stupid idiot," Combeferre shoved his friend into the bed, pulling the blanket up over him, "You better keep this in mind next time you decide to jump down a fucking shoot."
"Yeah, yeah," Courfeyrac laughed, tired now that his heart had stopped racing, "For a second, I really thought I was gone. How long was I laying there?"
"Thirty seconds, maybe."
"It felt a lot longer," Courfeyrac curled his legs up, the skin there chilled, "Fuck, it's hard to get warm after that. I've never really taken a dip before."
"Consider it your first and last," Combeferre took off the fingerless gloves he used to keep his grip strong beneath the more rubbery ones they wore on deck, "Here, let me."
"Let you what?" Courfeyrac sighed as his friend's hands disappeared under the blanket, strong fingers wrapping around one of his calves and rubbing. The friction sparked little tingles of warmth at first but they quickly spread, seeping into his muscle. He rested his head on the pillow, closing his eyes as he let the older man run his palms up and down the length of both his legs. He tried not to think about it too hard. It was just to help, nothing more. Just a guy helping another guy out.
"Oh," Courfeyrac let out as rough fingers started up the bottom of his thighs, thumbs pressing down in a way that sent a jolt of pleasure through his cock.
"You okay?"
Was it him or did his deck boss sound hoarser?
"Your hands are just warm," Courfeyrac pushed the blanket up to hide his reddened cheeks.
"Is this okay?" the touch turned bold, skimming past the line of his boxers to run over goosebumped flesh. The flesh grew undeniably hotter, life itself seeming to flow from the older man's fingers into his very cells. Soon enough he was shivering for a whole different reason. There was no way Combeferre didn't feel the pull of his boxers from his growing erections. It was only a matter of seconds before he discovered his problem and then who knew what the fuck was going to happen and-
"I'm going to head back on deck," Combeferre pulled back, standing up and starting to latch back on his gloves, "Do you think you can manage to stay laying down for an hour?"
"Like E won't have my balls if I get back up," Courfeyrac laughed, the sound high-pitched to his ears, "I'll be back out before you know it."
"Just get some rest, and try to be more careful," the blonde scolded lightly, lips quirking in a kind of smirk, "Between you and your cousin, we're all going to need pacemakers by the end of this trip."
Courfeyrac didn't dare breathe again until the man was gone and the door was shut between them. He waited another full minute with his ears tuned for any more disturbances. Once he was sure he would be left alone, he shoved his hand down the front of his underwear.
If he thought about hay-colored hair and a hoarse whisper, that was his business and no one else's.
Even the deck couldn't clear Grantaire's mind. It was just as cold, slick, and numbing as before but now he had to sort crab and take out bait cups with the image of his cousin panicked face burned into the back of his eyelids. An hour later, Courfeyrac came out with a big grin and a fresh attitude. He picked up the darkened spirits, laughing loud enough to echo from bow to stern.
Everyone managed to shake off the almost-travesty.
Everyone except for their greenhorn, who's mouth was dry and hands shaking.
They had an hour break, a rare treat for the entire crew. Éponine finally had time to brush her teeth and take a proper shower, and Joly was blending up protein shakes packed with everything they needed to keep going. He could be heard from the kitchen ranting about their recent inattentiveness to their health, and everyone just nodded along like he could see them. Marius was in a good humor, as always, and was telling a funny story about college where Enjolras and a couple of their friends got chased up a tree by a pack of police dogs.
"You should've seen him when he came down. He had longer hair then and there were leaves and twigs sticking in it. He'd ripped his pants from knee to ass but he was the only one who could climb. The others kind of just fell down."
"Shut up! I was one of them!" Combeferre's retort followed Grantaire to the bedroom, the rest of the crew's laughter echoing off the walls. The artist shut the door behind him, going straight for his duffel. He hurriedly ripped it open, shoving his hands inside and pushing around all his clothes and hairbrush and razors he hadn't used to find what he was looking for.
A single, clear bottle with a heavy cork in it. Filled halfway with caramel colored liquid. He pulled it off, pushing off a sock that was clinging to the neck before pulling the cork out. He tilted it up and started chugging, fire licking down his throat and filling his chest until his eyes blurred up.
"Get down there, you little suckers. Go back to the sea so we can catch your boyfriends and-"
Grantaire pulled his mouth away long enough to take three desperate breaths before latching onto the lip again.
"Don't let me go, R, oh God, don't let me die."
He coughed, sputtering, lips wet with cognac.
"Get out of my head, fuck, please," Grantaire pressed the heel of his palm into his eyes, trying to force out the words and his cousin's wild look.
Another drink and the world tilted.
Their break ended and everyone rushed to the gear room, donning their jackets and gloves with ease before spilling out onto the deck. All but one.
Grantaire struggled with his jacket, the fasteners too much for his overly warm fingers. He could feel how hot his ears and cheeks were, the tip of his nose. He giggled into his hand for a moment before he tried the coat again, rolling his eyes when he realized that he had it on inside out. He was just starting on his belt when there was a call on deck to watch their heads.
A wave collapsed over starboard, washing straight over the deck and drenching everyone. A few of them stumbled under the froth, their bright orange jackets disappearing long enough beneath the white to have their captain come out of the wheelhouse. Enjolras rushed down the stairs, lips curling around each name as he did a manual head count. Combeferre saw his captain's face overtaken with a look of panic and he felt it on his own, looking around to see who they'd lost.
"Where's Grantaire?" Enjolras demanded, striding onto the deck to scan the ocean, "Did anyone see him? Where the hell is he?"
Before anyone could start to panic, Grantaire stumbled out onto the deck with his coat still stuck on one arm, "Here I am!"
He tripped over his own feet, laughing as he landed on the boards. He was still chuckling when he managed to get up, the others all staring at him.
"Sorry! Sorry," he leaned against the door, waving his head around, "Bit of a spectacle here."
"Thank God," Enjolras raked a hand through his hair, mussing the blonde locks, "I thought you were in the water. Where the fuck were you?"
Grantaire snorted loudly, "You do realize that God's not out here, don't you?"
The older man glanced at Courfeyrac, who looked pale, before glaring at his younger cousin, "What?"
"In fact, God's not anywhere," he gave an exaggerated frown, shaking his head, "You all bow your heads and talk to an imaginary man in the sky for protection from a sea that's right in front of you."
Horror was dawning on the faces of the crew.
"Do you think God's going to save you? Fuck," Grantaire snorted again, this time so hard he actually coughed a little, "If he was up there, he'd start drowning us for fun just to decrease the population to keep the majority alive for a few longer generations."
Enjolras walked right up to him, blue eyes cutting into his own.
"Whoa," the artist tried to step back and lost his coat, "Zoom in, much."
"Are you drunk?" he demanded coldly.
"Me?" Grantaire asked too loudly, "No! No!"
"Damn it, R!" Courfeyrac had a deep scowl cut across his face, "You promised."
"Okay, okay," he flapped his hand, "I'm a little drunk. A little. One small, tiny bottle of cognac. It was the good stuff, I promise."
Enjolras raised a hand, biting back whatever he was going to say and curling his fingers into a fist, "An entire bottle?"
He shrugged, belly still tingling, "I'm used to a lot more than that."
Enjolras whirled on his second mate, "You didn't tell me he was a drunk!"
"Ah, but he didn't tell you I wasn't," Grantaire grinned despite himself, "Unless he did, which is a bold faced lie."
"You little fucker!"
Grantaire couldn't remember a lot after that. His cousin was in his face, there was a punch to the jaw, and then it all got fuzzy.
Every bed on the sea was a water bed. They rocked, and moved, and swayed you like womb. It could keep a man awake or put him to sleep.
Grantaire woke up with a throbbing cheek and old blood in his mouth.
"Oh shit," he groaned, pushing himself up out of bed by the sheer muscle of his arms, "Oh no, oh fuck."
Grantaire still had his boots on and his coat was on the floor, thrown in after him. He felt a little more sore than usual on his shoulders and hip, like he'd been banged around before thrown into bed. Dragging his coat by the sleeve, he started making his way toward the deck. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, changing his mind and heading up to the wheelhouse instead.
Keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible, he eased up the stairs and peered into the room. Enjolras was puffing on a cigarette, the piled ashtray telling him it wasn't the first. He looked furious, though a strained-neck look outside told him they were pulling full pots with a lively host of crab.
"Sir?" Grantaire started, taking the walk of the shame towards the captain's chair, "I have no idea how to apologize for this."
"I would say you've been nothing but trouble since you came on board, but I'd be lying," Enjolras stubbed out his cigarette, a thin stream of smoke pouring falling over his lips, "Right now I want to strangle the life out of you for putting everyone in the position you did."
"Drunk on deck," his upper lip drew back in a snarl, "I've never had such insolence on my boat."
"I understand," Grantaire lowered his head, "If you want to leave me at the dock when we go in...I..."
"I'm not leaving you."
Grantaire perked up, thanks spilling from his mouth before they were cut off by a hard look.
"Oh no, you little brat," Enjolras got up and stomped toward him, snatching a fistful of his hood before jabbing a finger toward the window, "You're going to go out there and work your pert little ass off. You're going to earn back every ounce of respect you lost with those men with your blood, sweat, and tears. You're going to go the speed of a seasoned deck hand. And by God, you better be the most helpful thing on this entire boat."
Grantaire was sure this was where he was supposed to rebel and ask If I don't, then what? but he was filled with an unimaginably strong urge to obey. He nodded furiously, feeling the brush of Enjolras's fist through his jacket.
"I gave an order: No drinking on my boat," Enjolras wanted to slam the kid up against the wall and bite his neck, show him who was in charge, but he didn't, "When I give an order, your job is to say 'yes, sir' and follow through."
"Yes, sir," he confirmed, nodding again.
"I'm not trying to drive a wedge between you and the crew," his grip lessened just a little, "I'm not. But I understand why you...why you succumbed."
Blue eyes looked up through his lashes at him, hope shining in them.
"I'm not condoning it," Enjolras shot back, "I'm simply saying I understand."
"Of course."
"I recommend you keep your head down and work to bring in crab," he let the boy go, "And the moment you get below deck, I believe you owe them a sincere apology. You won't get forgiveness but it's how you'll start."
Grantaire chewed the side of his lip, "Do they hate me?"
"They're concerned for you," Enjolras ran a thumb over his forehead, forcing back the starting pangs of a migraine, "We all are. To drink on a boat...you're either suicidal or desperate."
"I know, I know," Grantaire watched his cousin approach the shoot with trepidation, carefully pushing down the excess crab, "It's no excuse but...alcohol and I have a bad relationship, we always have. I see it and I know that if I dump the whole thing down my throat, I'll feel better."
The blonde eyed the boy from the curve of his shoulders to the narrow line of his waist, "You must be torn up something fierce on the inside to need that much self-medication."
"You have no idea."
The words sat heavy in Enjolras's gut. He wanted to wrap the boy up in a hug and kiss the pain out of the corners of his eyes. But he was a strong boy and he was visibly piecing himself back together. Only time would tell if that strength would hold. He was rooting for him, although silently.
"Go," he nodded toward the door, "You have a lot of time to make up for."
The next sit-down dinner was tense. They shoveled food into their mouths and kept their eyes down, some from lingering anger and others from pure tension. It took a couple long minutes before Éponine cleared her throat, putting down her spoon.
"After my first opie season, I cried," she announced, "I almost didn't come back for red crab. Hell, I almost quit fishing all together."
Courfeyrac bumped shoulders with his cousin, "If we're confessing...I threatened to jump ship on a life raft my third week. If Enjolras hadn't slapped me around a little, I would've called the Coast Guard myself."
"Really?" Grantaire inquired, looking at the both of them with new eyes.
"Don't let this one fool you," Feuilly tilted his head toward their deck boss, "He bitched and moaned and E had to drag him back on for three seasons in a row before he decided to stay."
Combeferre jabbed the engineer in the elbow with a fork, "Shut the fuck up, man!"
"The point is," Éponine emphasized, "Stop beating yourself up. Just be a rockstar for us and we'll even buy you a case of beer on dock."
Grantaire's eyes danced from each crew member, getting agreeing shrugs and head-nods, "Guys..."
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph - no chick flick moments!" Joly groaned, "I'm way to tired for this."
Laughter echoed through the galley, carrying through the Liberté and up to her captain.
Unfortunately, guys, this will be the last chapter for a little while. I'm going to get "You Paint What You Can't Have" wrapped up (which will be marathoned this weekend so look for something around next Tuesday) and then it's time for "Saints and Walkers". It's not ending (jeez, we only have like four chapters left) but it's definitely not one of my priorities at the moment (school has taken number one slot again, damn it). I really like this fic, it's fun to write, but it's going on "for fun" backburner. I hope you'll subscribe or follow or whatever and be patient with my weary old bones (21 is ancient in fandom years). So hopefully you'll stick around for the ride and be pleasantly surprised when I pop up a new chapter.
Drop a comment if you feel the need. Drop an idea for a scene (I adore those). See you next time.
