Harry secured his elbows on his knees and idly bumped his clasped hands against his concentrated frown, staring down at the low table in rapt contemplation. Across from him a wooden chair squeaked under James's shifting weight. He sure is taking awhile, he thought. Albeit with much time to spare, it felt like Harry had been mulling over this problem for over an hour. James folded his arms over his chest and the seat complained again as he slumped against the backing. A short glare held his eyes for a fixed moment, then fell to the important task at hand.

After a millennia, Harry made his choice and confidently drew back. He smiled as he rubbed his knees in self satisfaction. "Heh. B-4."

"Miss."

The smile disappeared. "You're kidding me. No, come on."

James held a shrug. His opponent scoffed. "How did I miss?"

"You guessed wrong."

"You're so full of shit."

"I'd show you, but it's cheating." It was James's turn to lean in and assess his private peg board and plastic ships. Harry assumed a reflection of the slumped posture previous of James, though his folded arms and irritated grimace were unlike James's earlier patient, but smug attitude. James stared down at his options, picked up a couple of the red and blue pegs, and licked his lips. "G.. 7."

"Miss."

The roles reversed again. A cocky smirk warred against a frown. James curled his lip and placed the blue peg in its hole. Back and forth they went, each turn demanding the men to re-evaluate their strategies, and bring them closer and closer to the finish. Ships were attacked and destroyed; the seas are a cruel battleground, but they were dead set on claiming it for their own.

A victor would soon emerge.

"A-1."

".. sunk."

"Ah-HA!" Harry smacked his palms and pumped his fist. "Gotcha! You little shit!"

James rolled his eyes. "You won."

Harry brightened all the more. "Yeah? Damn! You put up a fight!" He laughed good-naturedly and reached to pluck his folding slate clean. "Good game. Whaddya say, best two out of three?"

James didn't immediately budge from the way he was hunched over, elbows on his knees, and hands intertwined over his mouth. They hid a bare smile, watching the veteran prematurely reset the game. He looked down at his game board, then too began to pull the pieces off with one hand. Harry peered hopefully at his stoic face. Uncertainty hung in the air while James was forced to use both hands to complete the task, and didn't let up even as he seemed to be rearranging the ships. Though it seemed like an agreement, he needed actual proof. "So.. best two out of three?"

"Yeah. Sure."

Harry grinned and set right to it. James finished long before Harry did, and used that time to observe him.

Yesterday had been a reminder of how human Harry was. The cruelty of the town center and the church had taken its toll. Despite admiring that 'keep calm and carry on' attitude before, James had to be reminded that Harry was a weak man. Everyone has a breaking point, and yesterday showed that Harry had done a lot more bottling up than he'd thought. Funny, that.

"Okay. You go first."

James sniffed, eyeballing the mock battleground. He dug out two pegs. "F-2."

"Miss."

A blue piece went into the board. At least he was feeling better. James had been relieved when Harry finally came downstairs and detected a bleed of that poisonous life. If he kept that up, it meant that Silent Hill would have a harder time finding the right moment to tap the keg. Good.

"C-8."

James smirked. "Miss."

Harry squinted at him. "You sure about that?"

"It's your opening turn, Harry. How do you expect to hit me on your first try?"

"It's that smirk on your face. Don't get me wrong, James, but that looks like a big fat lie to me."

"Yeah. You were just really close." Harry narrowed his eyes to slits. "Honest."

Slapping his knee, Harry muttered to himself ("Fine, I guess I'll take your word for it this time,") and made the notes. Right after he'd pushed the peg in, rocking the plastic mini briefcase, James said, "G-9."

Harry sighed sharply. "Hit. And sunk."

Laughing softly, James jumbled the little pegs in his hand. Harry glared at him, though it was missing its bite; a smile was beneath it. "You turd."

"It was a lucky guess. Why're you mad?"

"I'm not mad," he replied, the smile becoming a grin. "I was gonna accuse you of having x-ray vision, but then I remembered I did win last time."

James peered back at him. "Maybe I let you win."

He was repaid by a courteous raspberry. "Oh, right, sure. If you win this one, and the next, then maybe I'll start to believe that."

Shrugging with his shoulders and a flare of his hands, James then locked them again and watched his stationary fleet. "Whatever you say."

"Hrmph." Harry pursed his lips thoughtfully. He regarded his own little navy and the map above it, searching for his next move. James seemed to be in good spirits, and Harry couldn't thank him enough for it. This was making him feel worlds better. When he'd brought the game down he expected to get some resistance about it, and in a way he did. It'd manifested as one of his signature dubious, judgmental frowns, yet he'd just shrugged and said okay. That was nice. Even better, it appeared as though he were actually enjoying himself. "D-3."

"Miss."

He marked the spot. "There was also Monopoly upstairs."

"I thought you said you didn't want to fight anymore."

A chuckle burst from Harry. "You got me. You know, Monopoly actually broke up a marriage," he said, looking up. "Worse? I had to watch it. Talk about awkward."

James wrinkled his nose at the ships. "A-6."

"Hit. I always liked the wheelbarrow. Monopoly can be fun, you just gotta play with the right people."

"I'm not the right people."

Harry snorted. "No kidding? Playing one-on-one is a bad idea anyway. Operation can get pretty tense, too. What is it about playing board games as an adult that brings out the worst in people? I mean, it kind of weeds out the ones that take things too seriously and show some true colors, but damn. Growing up sucks." He pursed his lips. "G-5."

"Miss."

"Seriously, what kind of setup do you have over there? How am I missing nearly everything?"

James lifted his shoulders to his ears. "Not my problem. A-5."

"Stop it," the survivor grunted. "You're gonna ruin my winning streak."

"Like I said."

"Jerk," he grumbled, putting the red pin in his ship. "Uh.. I was close to one last time. What was.. oh! C-9."

James stuck a red peg in. "Hit."

"Oooh. Now we're getting somewhere."

"I think you're taking this pretty seriously, too."

Harry frowned with his brows. "Am not. I'm getting into the spirit of it. There's a difference."

"Mm. A-4."

"Miss."

James regarded the game in a thoughtful beat of silence. "Did you teach Heather to play like you?"

Smiling broadly, Harry leaned back and rubbed his thighs. "A bit, I guess, although she's taken up to doing a victory dance when she wins. I'd say I at least passed down the enthusiasm. Uh.. D-9."

"Hit. I'm surprised you didn't do a victory dance."

"Too old for it. I have to show some maturity, or else I get branded as someone who takes the game too seriously."

Green eyes glanced up. Harry studied them, then wrinkled his nose. "Shut up."

"A-7."

Instead of a raspberry or a salty remark, Harry made an explosion sound, complete with pantomime. James kept his smile behind his protective hands. "That's two down, Sunderland. Keep it comin'. It's still early in the battle."

"Mm."

Settling back into the chair, the author bounced his knee and tilted his head at his opponent. "Are there any other games you particularly like?"

James absently rubbed his mouth against his hands. "Mm. Can't think of any."

"Aw, c'mo—"

"Can't remember them, either."

"Oh, well, see - that makes a difference." Harry eyeballed him again. "You.. seem like a checkers guy. Mmmmaybe.. the game of Life ? Or.. hm.. that little fishing game with the snapping fish that you gotta pick up with a magnet pole."

Pushing his knotted fingers underneath his nose, James compulsively squished it upwards in the mimicry of a pig's snout. The act summoned a breathy laugh from the man across the table. " Let's Go Fishin'. "

"What, right now? I don't think there's a Dick's Sporting Goods or Bass Pro around here.. much less a good fishing spot."

"It's your turn, Harry."

"Oh! Right. Uh.. what was..? E-9."

"Sunk."

"Nice."

"The game was called 'Let's Go Fishin '." Their eyes met again.

"Okay, so you don't remember any of the other board games aside from the ones I've mentioned, but you remember the name of the fishing game."

Another unsurprising shrug. Harry scoffed at him. "I don't get you."

James judgmentally searched his face. "I don't get you, either. G-2."

"Boom. Hit. What's not to get? I've been pretty transparent, for the most part. Speaking of, where're you in the reading? Oh, uh.. F-3."

"Miss. I got to Lisa. G-1."

Harry winced. "Hit. In more ways than one. You're on a roll." He uncomfortably scrubbed his thighs. "So you're at Alchemilla. Oh, and you sunk me."

"The basement is interesting. It's strange that she said she was knocked out and just 'woke up.'"

"Yeah.. she and Kaufmann. It was pretty weird. I don't know how that was feasible, but I never really got any answers about it, if I recall correctly." He stretched his neck side to side. "F-5."

James hummed. "Hit. E-2."

"Leave my ships alone, will ya?"

"I would, but that's not the point of the game."

"Don't bring reality into this. F-4."

"Sunk."

"Boo-yah."

James squinted peevishly, though it was largely in jest. When Harry noticed, he opened his mouth to make some dumb retort, and got cut right off. "You're embarrassing."

"Heather, is that you?" He chuckled at the more genuine offense. "Yeah, I know. It's my favorite personality trait, and it's sad that it's so under-appreciated."

"Is it?"

"My opinion says it is, and only my opinion matters on it so yeah, I'd say so." Harry softly frowned upon watching James clasp his hands again. "Hey. How's that burn? I'm surprised you're not rolling in agony. I totally forgot all about it."

James looked down at his bandaged knuckles. "Doesn't hurt. I forgot about it, too." He sat up and unwound the strip to unveil a clean, healed palm. There was no sign that there had ever been any damage. The two sat there, stupefied. "Hm."

"Well. That's interesting." Remembering he'd been splashed as well, Harry pushed up his sleeves to check his forearms. He, too, had healed to perfection. "Huh. Okay, then. That's neat. Is it wrong to have a bad feeling about it, though?"

James flexed his fingers and thread them together as they were. "Dunno. Why would you have a bad feeling about it?"

Harry pushed a half-frown into one cheek. "I don't know, it seems.. counterintuitive." He dropped his arms and looked at James. "Silent Hill is stalking us and trying to get us maimed or killed, and yet it heals us up? What's the point?"

Another shrug from the resident. "Maybe it wants us alive. Scarred and fucked up, but alive."

"Ooh. Now that's a thought. Mm, makes me feel all important and tingly."

The mild scorn from the strange young man brought a smile to Harry's aged features. They stared at each other for another beat until James reminded him, "It's your turn."

"Ah! Right. Hokay. B.. -10."

"Hit."

"Ha!"

The round was soon won by the longtime citizen. They played their last game to determine the true champion and with it came the return of the old, cheerful Harry. James felt his reserves gradually drip away to the pounding of irate castigations in his head. He'd surely be punished for his insolence. Right now, he couldn't care. There were bigger fish cooking on the grill and he couldn't let them burn.

When the tournament was over and James crowned king of the seas, they separated for a final time to tend to their respective notes old and new. Daybreak brought Harry downstairs once more to toss his new journal in the backpack. James rose to put the memoir away and stared blankly down at what Harry had dropped in. On its front page, a crude drawing of a smiley face with its tongue sticking out was wedged beneath ungracefully scrawled, capitalized letters warning: 'NO JAMES SUNDERLANDS ALLOWED!'

James glanced at Harry's broad back, then down again. He shook his head and finished packing up. For a man so clever, insightful, and predominantly mature, Harry could be awfully childish. Or maybe 'carefree' was the better word - with the true inability to actually be carefree in Silent Hill notwithstanding. Whatever the right word was, it was Harry in a nutshell.

But it was that same vivacity that made Harry so human and thus, so oblivious to how he will contribute to the noxious tribulations ahead.