Dark Waters Rising

Tide

"Perhaps she has," Valentine's voice was like a fine bourbon in Wesley's ears: warm and pleasant. "It sounds like she never really left you."

"Perhaps," he agreed, his hand subconsciously rising up to scratch lightly at the area above his heart. Silence stretched between them once more, and it was laced with bittersweet sadness. After it became too heavy, Wesley spoke again. 

"I'm tired of people leaving me." His voice was thick, on the verge of tears, though he refused to let them fall. All he could think about was the people in his life who had been lost to him. First his father, then his sister, then his mother, then his crew, and now Valentine was going to leave too, and once again he found himself powerless against the will of fate.

"I would stay if I could," Valentine spoke softly. 

"I know," Wesley said and it felt like needles were pricking at the back of his throat.

"Come here," Valentine whispered, getting Wesley to slide himself closer. He put his arm around the merchant and Wesley responded by laying his head on the pirate's chest. Valentine's soul twitched when he realized the thing he regretted most was the thing he had yet to do.

As Wesley pressed his cheek into Valentine's chest, he put as much focus as he could into evening out his effortful breathing. There was a heaviness in his lungs from how unfair the world was. 

Wesley inhaled the pirate's scent quietly. It was surprisingly pleasant, all things considered. There was a lingering fragrance of spices and a humble earthiness on his clothes, likely from all the dealings he'd had with contraband cargo and the subsequent adventures they'd since had on the island. It was warm and comforting in a way that Wesley couldn't really describe. Before long, he managed to relax enough for the sound of ocean waves lapping at the shore to lull him into a dreamless sleep.

----+------+----

When Wesley awoke, he was alone. 

Ice cold panic clutched at his lungs as he sat up and frantically searched the surrounding area with wide eyes. Relief flowed through him as he spotted a familiar shirtless figure standing in calf deep water and watching the sunrise. 

Wesley kicked off his boots and rolled up the bottom hem of his breeches before he joined the pirate. He was sure Valentine heard him ungracefully breaking the water as he trudged closer, but the pirate did not turn his gaze away from the horizon. 

Beside him, Wesley let his eyes roam across the water briefly before turning to look the man in the eye. The light of the sunrise made Valentine's skin glow a faint orange, and it was then that Wesley saw the troubled expression that painted his face.

Worriedly, the merchant asked, "What's wrong?"

"The tide," Valentine said simply. 

Wesley looked back toward the shore and realized with a jolt how high the waves reached on the beach. He then noticed that the tide markers Valentine had set up shortly after their arrival had been far surpassed by the waves. Even those that marked the high tide were in ankle deep water now. Valentine was currently gripping one of the low tide markers in his unblackened hand.

When Wesley's attention returned to Valentine's face, the pirate spoke again.

"It's here."

Wesley swallowed thickly as he looked out at the waves again. Nothing seemed to stand out for as far as he could see, but judging by the heavy displacement of the tides and the haunted look on Valentine's face, there was something dangerous—something big—lurking just beyond his sight. 

"W-what exactly is it?" he found himself asking over the lump in his throat.

He noticed a glassiness in Valentine's eyes, but the pirate managed to speak despite it.