Fic - Comparisons
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shadowknightTitle: Comparisons
Rating: PG
Universes: Home; Rhy'Din
Timeline: January 11th, 2006
Written: January 11th, 2006
Summary: Harold reflects on having Archie come home in Rhy'Din; Mike just tries to survive in his own realm, one breath at a time. A look between two very different men.
In one realm, one comes home; in the other realm, one leaves.
Harold was in decent spirits; though he hadn't quite fallen back into place, every day brought him closer to being truly home in his heart as well as in body. Lil was still at sea, and he imagined she'd be feeling rather angry with him for waiting... but he didn't want to try to go after her only to miss her.
On one hand, he was a little angry with her for taking off after him, though he figured that sitting idle wouldn't have been so good for her either. But the idea of her on the storm-tossed seas without him there bothered him somewhat, and the fact that she would have had better luck just waiting for him to return was fairly plain. She must have known going out that her chances of finding him on the open sea were slim at best, yet she went anyway.
On the other hand, though, he was proud of her. It was no easy thing to leave behind the land and trees for a woman so close to them, and he was proud of her for doing it. There was a small thrill inside of him to think that maybe she would finally understand, from the eyes of a sailor, just how much it meant to be at sea. That she would understand the terms he rattled off without explanation; understand, in part, the beautiful and intricate trade that he called his own.
In the meantime, he was content enough to wait. The bar needed restocking and cleaning, and he needed to put some of the weight back on that he had lost. Furthermore, he had guests that he enjoyed the company of. He and Crow and spent a good deal of time the day before talking, and when Crow asked him to paint with him again, Harry had given up duty temporarily to do just that.
Besides, Archie was here. And most importantly, he was Archie again.
You don't realize how much you miss someone until you have them back; not the uncertain ex-pirate who came in a year ago, but his best friend, who had been at home waiting for him. Archie, who quoted his Shakespeare and joked around and who would presumably get into a good old-fashioned brawl whenever Harold was generally up for it. He missed that. He loved Lil, and cared for his staff, but Archie knew him better than anyone. Good and bad.
Overall, in this moment, life wasn't going too badly.
Harold sat at the window, looking out into the cool and rainy Rhy'Din day. He had slipped out to check on the Eastern Point Light already, and he had taken some time to check on the Balclutha. And, naturally, he spent some time with his horse Everett. The massive Clydesdale didn't seem to care all that much that Harry had been gone so long -- he had been well-kept by the local stable, and exercised -- but Harry didn't feel affronted by it.
He had learned how to relax a little, over the years, though he still preferred to be in motion and working on something. Today, however, was too cool and gloomy to do much of anything aside rest and recover.
He gave Joel a nod when the inventor pulled up a chair to sit by the window, but didn't comment; something in his demeanor didn't invite conversation, and Harry had a feeling that he probably just wanted some quiet time to think. The 'bots were upstairs looking through one of the chests of gold and jewels that the Maritime had accumulated over the years, oohing and ahhing over it. Harold found it to be... nice, really. In Rhy'Din, where the standard of money was gold and little else, you tend to forget that in other worlds it's actually precious.
They sat for some time in the comfortable quiet of the Tavern. Harold thought that he might have to see if Joel wanted to do some work; he had gotten wind that Joel was handy with mechanics, and while Harry was no slacker himself, he thought that the other fellow might enjoy having something to occupy himself.
For now, though, they both just sat quietly and looked out at the gray dockside of Rhy'Din, watching the rain.
---- --------------- - --------- - --
It was raining in Atlanta.
Mike had never particularly liked cities; they were just too busy for him. But when you're at the mercy of whoever's willing to pick up hitchhikers, you can't exactly book a destination.
In this case, it was an archetypal truckdriver, which kinda figured. He guessed, though, that the only rides he would be able to get would be from people who weren't paranoid about picking up strangers, or who were tough enough to not be afraid. And he didn't think too much about it himself; anyone who wanted trouble from him would find it.
They didn't say anything, really, didn't even introduce themselves. The truckdriver just stopped, and asked, "Where ya goin'?"
And Mike just replied, "Anywhere but here."
The ride to Atlanta was unbroken and quiet, the only sound that of the massive tires on the road and the CB occasionally broadcasting something or another. Mike didn't pay it much mind. It was still too dark to see out, but he looked out the window anyway.
If you can only take it one mile at a time, you might just survive.
When they made it to the warehouse district, he helped the driver load up cargo as repayment for the ride, and ended up a little sore and a lot wet for the trouble. The few days he spent in oblivion thanks to the HHF had done a lot of good, though, even for his side -- he was sore, but it wasn't a damaged sore, just a tired sore.
The driver was headed back to St. Augustine, though, and Mike wasn't. So, with a casual 'goodbye', he headed off again on foot.
If you can only take it one step at a time, you might just survive.
He didn't know where he was going. He just knew that he was done playing whatever game whimsy was playing with him and his family; if he stopped playing, maybe the game would come to an end. Waiting for something to get better was intolerable; maybe if he was able to just walk away, he might be okay someday.
It was a little easier to cope when you didn't have a future.
He was tired. It was like trying to breathe with an anvil on your chest; you couldn't get enough air, and what you could get hurt. Still hurt. Hadn't gotten better. The same desperate tears shed on the floor of Tom and Crow's room hadn't quit, just became silent. Occasionally, briefly, they faded, but they hadn't gone away.
Something had to give eventually. Retreating was his last reprieve; quit, walk away, keep walking. Don't stop, don't focus on anything except putting one foot in front of the other. In lesser griefs, he would have clung desperately to those left, focused on them. He didn't have it left in him to do that now; could barely keep himself going. He had to retreat. Had to keep walking. Had to just focus everything on each footfall. Had to breathe.
If you could only take it one breath at a time, you might just survive.
Rating: PG
Universes: Home; Rhy'Din
Timeline: January 11th, 2006
Written: January 11th, 2006
Summary: Harold reflects on having Archie come home in Rhy'Din; Mike just tries to survive in his own realm, one breath at a time. A look between two very different men.
In one realm, one comes home; in the other realm, one leaves.
Harold was in decent spirits; though he hadn't quite fallen back into place, every day brought him closer to being truly home in his heart as well as in body. Lil was still at sea, and he imagined she'd be feeling rather angry with him for waiting... but he didn't want to try to go after her only to miss her.
On one hand, he was a little angry with her for taking off after him, though he figured that sitting idle wouldn't have been so good for her either. But the idea of her on the storm-tossed seas without him there bothered him somewhat, and the fact that she would have had better luck just waiting for him to return was fairly plain. She must have known going out that her chances of finding him on the open sea were slim at best, yet she went anyway.
On the other hand, though, he was proud of her. It was no easy thing to leave behind the land and trees for a woman so close to them, and he was proud of her for doing it. There was a small thrill inside of him to think that maybe she would finally understand, from the eyes of a sailor, just how much it meant to be at sea. That she would understand the terms he rattled off without explanation; understand, in part, the beautiful and intricate trade that he called his own.
In the meantime, he was content enough to wait. The bar needed restocking and cleaning, and he needed to put some of the weight back on that he had lost. Furthermore, he had guests that he enjoyed the company of. He and Crow and spent a good deal of time the day before talking, and when Crow asked him to paint with him again, Harry had given up duty temporarily to do just that.
Besides, Archie was here. And most importantly, he was Archie again.
You don't realize how much you miss someone until you have them back; not the uncertain ex-pirate who came in a year ago, but his best friend, who had been at home waiting for him. Archie, who quoted his Shakespeare and joked around and who would presumably get into a good old-fashioned brawl whenever Harold was generally up for it. He missed that. He loved Lil, and cared for his staff, but Archie knew him better than anyone. Good and bad.
Overall, in this moment, life wasn't going too badly.
Harold sat at the window, looking out into the cool and rainy Rhy'Din day. He had slipped out to check on the Eastern Point Light already, and he had taken some time to check on the Balclutha. And, naturally, he spent some time with his horse Everett. The massive Clydesdale didn't seem to care all that much that Harry had been gone so long -- he had been well-kept by the local stable, and exercised -- but Harry didn't feel affronted by it.
He had learned how to relax a little, over the years, though he still preferred to be in motion and working on something. Today, however, was too cool and gloomy to do much of anything aside rest and recover.
He gave Joel a nod when the inventor pulled up a chair to sit by the window, but didn't comment; something in his demeanor didn't invite conversation, and Harry had a feeling that he probably just wanted some quiet time to think. The 'bots were upstairs looking through one of the chests of gold and jewels that the Maritime had accumulated over the years, oohing and ahhing over it. Harold found it to be... nice, really. In Rhy'Din, where the standard of money was gold and little else, you tend to forget that in other worlds it's actually precious.
They sat for some time in the comfortable quiet of the Tavern. Harold thought that he might have to see if Joel wanted to do some work; he had gotten wind that Joel was handy with mechanics, and while Harry was no slacker himself, he thought that the other fellow might enjoy having something to occupy himself.
For now, though, they both just sat quietly and looked out at the gray dockside of Rhy'Din, watching the rain.
---- --------------- - --------- - --
It was raining in Atlanta.
Mike had never particularly liked cities; they were just too busy for him. But when you're at the mercy of whoever's willing to pick up hitchhikers, you can't exactly book a destination.
In this case, it was an archetypal truckdriver, which kinda figured. He guessed, though, that the only rides he would be able to get would be from people who weren't paranoid about picking up strangers, or who were tough enough to not be afraid. And he didn't think too much about it himself; anyone who wanted trouble from him would find it.
They didn't say anything, really, didn't even introduce themselves. The truckdriver just stopped, and asked, "Where ya goin'?"
And Mike just replied, "Anywhere but here."
The ride to Atlanta was unbroken and quiet, the only sound that of the massive tires on the road and the CB occasionally broadcasting something or another. Mike didn't pay it much mind. It was still too dark to see out, but he looked out the window anyway.
If you can only take it one mile at a time, you might just survive.
When they made it to the warehouse district, he helped the driver load up cargo as repayment for the ride, and ended up a little sore and a lot wet for the trouble. The few days he spent in oblivion thanks to the HHF had done a lot of good, though, even for his side -- he was sore, but it wasn't a damaged sore, just a tired sore.
The driver was headed back to St. Augustine, though, and Mike wasn't. So, with a casual 'goodbye', he headed off again on foot.
If you can only take it one step at a time, you might just survive.
He didn't know where he was going. He just knew that he was done playing whatever game whimsy was playing with him and his family; if he stopped playing, maybe the game would come to an end. Waiting for something to get better was intolerable; maybe if he was able to just walk away, he might be okay someday.
It was a little easier to cope when you didn't have a future.
He was tired. It was like trying to breathe with an anvil on your chest; you couldn't get enough air, and what you could get hurt. Still hurt. Hadn't gotten better. The same desperate tears shed on the floor of Tom and Crow's room hadn't quit, just became silent. Occasionally, briefly, they faded, but they hadn't gone away.
Something had to give eventually. Retreating was his last reprieve; quit, walk away, keep walking. Don't stop, don't focus on anything except putting one foot in front of the other. In lesser griefs, he would have clung desperately to those left, focused on them. He didn't have it left in him to do that now; could barely keep himself going. He had to retreat. Had to keep walking. Had to just focus everything on each footfall. Had to breathe.
If you could only take it one breath at a time, you might just survive.
