Drowning In The Bottle [Treyjen]

[Zen]

Following Eyes Like Yours Can't Look Away

“What is it?” Yelanna strode onto the deck of the ship and was quickly met by Jusikar, “The flit’s note just said to come to the ship immediately.”

“It’s Treyjen,” Jusikar’s gaze flicked to the door to the captain’s quarters, “He… he hasn’t come outta there’n three days. It’s locked. He won’t answer anyone. But… he talks t’you. I thought, perhaps, y’could get him t’open the door. I’m getting worried about’m.”

“He… three days?” Yelanna moved toward the door, worry creasing her features. She knocked softly, at first, “Treyjen? It’s Yelanna. Can I come in?” She waited, heard nothing, no sign of movement inside. She glanced at Jusikar, “Are you sure he’s in there? He didn’t leave when no one noticed?”

Jusikar shook his head, “I’ve had someone watching his door since he came back. He looked… he was upset, that much was clear, and y’know him, he… very little upsets’m. I can’t imagine what happened, but I thought… well I was worried.”

She knocked again, louder this time, “Treyjen! Let me in!” Still no sound from inside. Shards and shells what has he gone and done to himself now. She tugged the cord from around her neck, upon which hung a key, and slipped it into the lock.

“You… I didn’t know you had a key…?” Jusikar looked entirely surprised.

“He gave me the spare some time ago on the off chance he lost his while drunk,” she explained briefly, “And sharding good thing too.” She pushed the door open to find the man laying in a heap on the floor and rushed to his side, “Treyjen? Treyjen!” She rolled him to his side with some effort and took his face in her hands. He absolutely reeked of alcohol.

He gave a low moan, eyelids fluttering, “Mnnyellin.”

“You stupid man,” she hissed, “Jusikar help me get him up!”

The other man was at her side, helping to heft Treyjen’s dead weight up and drag him toward his bed, but before they could get there Treyjen’s eyes opened suddenly and he struggled away from them, half falling back to the floor as he emptied the contents of his stomach in several great heaves.

Yelanna hurried to close the door before he could become a spectacle for anyone else on the crew and returned to where he was on his hands and knees on the floor, “Jusikar, water.” Jusikar nodded, fetching a cup hanging from a barrel full of water and bringing it back, full, to hand to her. She dumped it right on Treyjen’s head, much to Jusikar’s surprise, before handing it back to him, “More water.”

Treyjen spluttered angrily, “Wha’nth blazes!?” He swatted at the air with one hand ineffectively as he tried to rise to his feet and simply fell back onto his ass. Yelanna knelt in front of him, careful to avoid his sick that was now all over the floor, and took his face in her hands again, making him look at her. He calmed down then, reached up to cover one of her hands with his own. When he spoke, his tone was choked with pain, “Lanna….”

Jusikar returned with the water and she took it from him, holding it up to Treyjen’s lips, ordering softly, “Drink, Captain.” He did, his gaze unfocused as he looked at her.

“Y’never call’n me Cap’n’ymore,” he murmured when she pulled the cup away.

She shook her head, “What have you done to yourself?”

“Mndrinkin,” he stated, rather obviously, and started to lay back on the floor but she stopped him, and Jusikar leaned down to grab his other arm as well, hauling him back to his feet and finally getting him to his bed. A lopsided grin tugged at his lips as he realized Jusikar was there as well, “Well’n. Y’both a’climb’n w’me? Sumfun, eh?”

Jusikar coughed awkwardly at that and Yelanna only rolled her eyes, “No, Treyjen, you’re in no shape for ‘sumfun’, you idiot man.”

“Ey, ey… n’need f’name’n,” he slurred, laying back, flailing one hand in her general direction as he closed his eyes again.

She sighed, casting a look up at Jusikar, “You wouldn’t mind cleaning up the mess, would you?”

Jusikar sighed as well, “I s’pose someone has to.”

“Thank you,” she offered a slight smile, “I appreciate it.”

“Aye, well… y’just take care of’m,” he replied, gaze sliding to Treyjen’s face with some concern, “I’ve never seen’m like this….”

“Neither have I…,” she murmured softly, running one hand over his face and through his wet hair. He leaned into it.

“Mm… ma… y’aven callme shipfish’n s’long…,” his face contorted with an expression of grief all of a sudden, “Shipfish… shipfish... m’so… sorry….”

What on Pern? Yellana frowned, stroking his hair some more, utterly confused as to what he was babbling on about. Shipfish? He passed out again shortly, and Jusikar left them after he’d cleaned up. Yelanna sat on the edge of his bed, watching him sleep, curious and honestly scared about what in the world had caused him to lock himself in his quarters for three days and get drunker than she’d ever seen him before. Had he even eaten anything in that time? Drank anything besides alcohol. Shells but he could have died in here. She leaned down, resting her forehead against his, and closed her eyes against the tears stinging in them, “I could have lost you… shells I could have lost you, we all could have… selfish, stupid man. What would we do without you?”

[Zen]

When he next woke his mouth was dry as dust and he found his arms around… someone, his face buried in her chest. He shifted slightly with a groan and a hand stroked through his hair, soothing. He cracked an eye open to look up at Yelanna’s familiar face peering down at him, concern written all over her features.

“Thirsty…,” he coughed.

She sighed, half relieved, half… something else. “You’re going to have to let go of me first.” He’d been clinging to her as if for dear life for several hours now, occasionally mumbling incoherently in his sleep.

“Mn?” he realized how he was clutching at her and loosened his grip. She slipped from the bed to fetch him a cup of water and brought it back, pressing it into his hands. He took a sip and made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, “Wan’d my ale….”

“Well you’re not getting it,” Yelanna snapped, sitting on the edge of the bed again, “You nearly killed yourself this time, Treyjen. You’re sharding lucky I had a key, or we would have had to break in the door to get to you.”

He laid back, eyes closed, face screwed up in pain, “Stop yellin, woman.”

“I’ll yell all I like!” she hadn’t been yelling before but she did then, and he flinched, but her voice wavered when she spoke again, “You scared the shit out of me, Treyjen.” He half opened an eye in her direction at that, to see her wiping at her eyes. He reached over to brush his fingers over her cheek and she caught his hand in hers, pressed it against her face, her voice soft, “You really scared me.”

He closed his eyes again, sick of feeling guilty. It seemed he hadn’t drunk enough alcohol to drown those feelings yet. He took another drink of water, wishing it was ale instead. Or wine. Or anything else that could take these feelings away. “I know… m’a terrible shellin’ pers’n.”

“No you’re not!” he flinched again as Yelanna raised her voice once more, “Treyjen what happened?” She reached out to cup his cheek in one hand and turn his face toward her, “Please… talk to me.” She didn’t normally push him, but he’d never been this bad before. Maybe if he could talk about it with her she could help him somehow.

He shook his head slightly, grimacing as the motion caused his head to feel like it was splitting open. He didn’t want to talk about it. He wanted to forget about it. “I can’t....,” he insisted in a strained whisper. It hurt too damn much. He downed the rest of the water, tried to push himself up because great Faranth he needed more. More ale. He needed to drown these damn feelings already before they tore him apart from the inside out. He cursed from the pain as he sat up and Yelanna gently pushed him back down, “Get off. I need more ale.”

“No you don’t,” she insisted, “You’ve had quite enough.”

“Haven’t-”

“You have! For Faranth’s sake, Treyjen, didn’t you hear me? You almost killed yourself!” angry tears ran down her face as she kept both hands on his chest to keep him from sitting up again, “I won’t let you.”

“Will y’stop with th’damn yellin,” he growled, grabbing for one of her wrists to get her off of him, but she fought him on it, and the struggle hurt his head too much, so he let out a feral sounding snarl and released her, “Get th’shell out, Lanna!”

“No.”

He glared over at her, “Was’n a request.”

“I don’t care!” She pulled him into her arms, much to his surprise, “Please… stop this….” He noticed then how she was shaking, and it only increased his guilt. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her again, and she choked on a sob as she laid down beside him, “Why are you doing this?”

He held her tightly for a moment, his face buried in her chest once more, his voice breaking when he finally spoke, “My boy….”

“Your…?” Yelanna was entirely confused. His boy?

His voice was muffled when he spoke again, holding onto her tightly, “Here… he’s here… my boy.”

Yelanna had no more idea what he was talking about with the further, vague explanation, but she felt she shouldn’t push it. He was starting to open up… if she rushed him he might close down again. She sniffed back her tears, rubbing them from her face quickly so she could stroke his hair again, giving him silence, and time, to work through whatever it was he needed to work through to be able to speak to her about what in the world was going on with him.

After a long, drawn out silence, he whispered, barely audible, “My son…. Here. He’s here.”

His hold on her tightened, though she barely noticed in her confusion. His son? She’d never heard anything about him having a son. He had never mentioned it, Nalyra hadn’t, no one…. She had so many questions, and yet she bit back all of them, because bombarding him with them now would surely put his walls back up. She picked through them all in silence, trying to decide which might be the safest to ask, to draw out more information from him. Maybe something simple, innocent enough. She spoke softly, “What’s his name…?”

It took a moment before he answered, and before he did he let out a soft, humorless laugh, “Which one?” That had a few more questions popping up, but she held her tongue to see if he would answer the question properly, and eventually he did, “Gil… Gildrey.” It sounded like it hurt him to say it, “But… he’s L’rey now. My son… a dragonrider.”

Some understanding started to settle in. Treyjen must have had a child before he’d turned pirate, a child he’d had to leave behind. His moodiness after his confrontation with Mialli made more sense, his insistence that Trillia would have been better off never knowing him because he would just leave her in the end, his fears about his role as her father and how he felt lacking in fulfilling it. She sighed, wondering just how the two had run into each other, how old the boy might be, and just what had been said between them. Clearly it hadn’t exactly been a happy reunion. For all the confidence he had, for all the arrogance he displayed for the world every day, his insecurities surrounding his fatherhood ran deep, made all the worse by his relationship with his own father. It was his biggest weakness, and as horrible as it was for him, Yelanna couldn’t help but find it incredibly sweet that he cared so much about trying to be a good father, even if he often fell short on account of his unwillingness to change who he was on any level. She continued stroking his hair and decided to risk asking, “Will you tell me about him?”

He made a disagreeable noise, clutched at her for a moment. Why? Why did he have to keep thinking about him? He hadn’t thought about Gildrey, really thought about him as more than a passing remembrance to quickly drink away in so long. But he wouldn’t go away this time. The boy clung stubbornly in his mind, and no amount of drink could flood him loose and wash him away. He’d become such an expert at burying those memories and now they wouldn’t leave him alone. The new memories refused to be buried at all and they’d dug up the old ones in the process.

But if he was going to keep thinking about him, then why not? Why not tell her? It wouldn’t hurt any more to speak of him than it did to think of him. So he started from the beginning of it all, from Gildira and her ridiculous obsession with trying to get him to marry her. He told her about meeting his son for the first time, tiny, helpless Gildrey, and how he’d made promises then… promises he’d since broken. He told her everything he could remember about his time with the boy before he’d left him. He told her about drinking away his memory every time it tried to pop back up from where he’d buried it, about how his name had become something forbidden to say on his ship and everyone knew to leave it well enough alone. And he told her about their reunion, such as it was. How he hadn’t recognized his own son, how he’d had to ask him for his name and only after offering his own did the boy recognize him either.

He told her everything in a detached sort of way, feeling like an outsider to it all, a narrator to someone else’s story. When he finally finished, he laughed, soft and cold, “And now… now we might be undone by my own son… whether he means to or not. And there’s nothing… nothing I can do.” He sounded disgusted at the admission, hating his helplessness in this situation. What a cruel irony it was, to be reunited with Gildrey only for the threat of losing him again, and Trillia as well, to hang over his head. That was, even if L’rey decided he wanted anything to do with him. It was all out of his control.

“You’re doing it again…,” she murmured.

“Doing what?” he replied with some annoyance.

“Looking too far ahead,” Yelanna went on, “You can’t know what will come of all this. You have ideas, yes, but there are so many possibilities… so we can prepare for each outcome, but you have to stop letting the worry of them all consume you. You know we will all face whatever comes with you.”

“I don’t want to force the crew to choose between their families and me. Not again. It’s not the same this time. Before they were leaving parents, siblings maybe… now they would be leaving wives, children…. I know firsthand just how that eats away at you. I could never ask that of anyone,” he finally released her, rolled onto his back and draped an arm over his face, as if to block it all out, “I can’t steal their home away from them again.”

“That’s only one possibility, Treyjen,” Yelanna reached up to push his arm off his face so he would look at her, “They might not come here. Even if they do we may never cross paths. If they aren’t told about us-”

“If they start coming here it is only a matter of time until we cross paths,” he growled, “Don’t be naive. And then we’re finished here.” But he certainly didn’t plan to go down without a fight. If his father intruded on the sanctuary they’d found and was bound and determined to take it all away, he would take the man down with him. If he met his father at Mavros, Treylok would not survive the reunion.

Yelanna’s touch drew him once more from his thoughts and he returned his attention to her, “I know. I know this is serious. I know there are several negative outcomes that could happen. But that doesn’t change the fact that we can’t know for sure. Don’t lose yourself to futures that might not be. We live for today, remember?”

He drew in a deep breath, annoyed every time she used his words against him, “And plan for tomorrow.”

She smiled softly, “Aye, Captain.”

He snorted at that, half amused, but rubbed one hand over his face a moment later, a silence drawing out between them. When he spoke again his voice was soft, “It still… it still hurts, Lanna… and I can’t make it stop.”

She rested her head on his chest, curled up at his side, and he wrapped an arm around her again, “I’m sure it does. All you can do is wait… and see what he decides. And don’t sharding kill yourself before he has a chance to make a decision, one way or another.”

He rolled his eyes, as if she was being overdramatic, but really… she was right. He knew she was. He very well might have drunk himself to death if she and Jusikar hadn’t intervened, and if he had, he would have stolen any choice away from his son on the matter of whether he wanted to get to know him or not. With a resigned sigh, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, “What would I ever do without you?”

“Drown in a pool of your own vomit, most likely,” she shot back, not without a little bitterness in her tone.

He laughed, however, “I dunno, seems as good a way to go as any. At least I’d’ve been doing something I loved.” She hit him for that, but it only made him laugh again. He didn’t want her to go, didn’t want to be alone right now, and also didn’t want to ask her to stay.

But he didn’t have to.