It was wrong to make him worry. Wrong, she thinks, to burden him with this. Even when it is her instinct to share, to tell him all of her thoughts and worries, she feels it crawl across her skin. An unease, a deep rooted fear that he will find it all too much and disappear like the rest. It is a stupid fear, foolish and unfounded, but it lingers still. Quiet whispers in the back of her mind that tell her he does not want to hear this, begging her to be normal for once. "Aye," she assures him, and is surprised to find there is honesty in the ring of her voice, "I am. I'm still here." A sweeping look across the cay, to the familiarity of home. Their den nearby where all her treasures lingered, beside which her garden thrived. Her stashes of herbs and mixed concoctions; she was safe here. "It cen not be real, aye?" The skies were blue and there was no mist, but still she seeks a last reassurance. Real?

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Still here.

Surely it is just his ears, but hakon can hear the disappointment there. She was still here -- with him. With only him. That was a curse in itself, he knows, and there's a subtle tic in his jaw as teeth clench tight. More questions well on his tongue but he doesn't bother to voice them, simply accepting her at her word. He can read between the lines well enough.

He doesn't need to hear them to know them.

The cay is quiet now, almost soothing. The lapping water rhythmic and familiar, just like the din of gulls crying in the distance. It's quiet but in a way that makes his skin crawl, the ever-pressing need for something more threatening to burst from his chest. When he'd heard her cry out, it was damning but also..... well, it was something. now, here, the aftermath is too quiet and his ears buzz with it.

More than a little tense and unsettled, teal eyes flick to her when she speaks again. Still grappling with the events of the day and his mind churns, guilt hot on the heels of anxiety. Her outburst was not something to revel in -- it was traumatic, a new bleeding wound. I don't think so. He says with a little frown, believing this to be true -- but happy to give her the benefit of the doubt. then, a pause, as he thinks of what the voice had said. We did not take the cay from anyone. Her pirates had left it, empty.

Even if @Calypso had heard a voice... surely it was not talking to her.

They were alone here -- weren't they?

what makes you think i'm enjoying being led to the flood?

table by sentinel / art

As the quiet of the cay settled over her again she was reminded of the truth that neither of them would acknowledge. While Calypso had found happiness with @Hákon (true unfettered happiness) she knew they both itched for more. She was born to heal, to care for the many, to bandage wounds and save lives. And Hakon was not meant for peace... Was it wrong to thrive on chaos? When they had both been pulled in different directions she had yearned for more time with him, more stolen moments amidst the insanity of their lives. Calypso had been ready to fight tooth and nail to keep him in her life and would not ever give him up, but she wondered, always, what she could do to infuse life and joy back in to their day to day. "Were we wrong?" Much as she never wanted to leave her tucked away den and carefully tended garden, she had to ask the question. "Living here among de ghosts?" Figuratively, of course. Ocean storm eyes seek his, drawing comfort from his presence. Calypso shifts closer on the sand, desperate for his touch to chase away her lingering fears. "Do ye t'ink we need to go somewhere else?" Where, though?

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Ghosts.

An ear ticks at her words, a wince with no real pain. For everything they ( he ) have gained, it feels like they've lost more and more. Their home here was quaint, quiet, and certainly haunted. But -- there will be always be ghosts. He says this calmly, almost confidently; a man who has already made peace with this. You did not live in the shadow of the ocean without acknowledging that.

( You did not live as your mother's son without acknowledging that. )

These ghosts, at least, did not seem malicious. They held grief with them, but it was no longer unbearable. The two or them might flounder beneath the weight, but they would not drown.

@calypo's next question gives him pause. Freezes him, muscles flexing with tension. There is a heavy pause where he goes quiet and still, tongue weighted down with words he almost says. A suggestion he almost gives. But to mention it now would mean explaining everything -- everything -- and that still feels like too herculean a task. Even here, in their quiet life. So, instead, he swallows nethelus and asks, instead:

Where would you go?

what makes you think i'm enjoying being led to the flood?

table by sentinel / art

"Aye," she agrees, because it is true. There will always be ghosts hidden in their memories, haunting their dreams both day and night. Reminders of faces near forgotten, leaping to the forefront of mind with unexpected triggers. Living at the cay means she will never forget her crew -- the captain who had guided them here, the blackmont that had shared his name, the daughter who brightened her life. They lived eternal, lurking around each rock and dune on the small island home. Hakon grows tense beside her and she lifts her chin, immediately seeking to chase away whatever ghosts rise in his memory. To reassure him with a gentle kiss to his cheek, a press of affection and love so consuming she had almost convinced herself she needed nothing else. "Nowhere wit'out ye," she murmured, quietly, earnestly, unsure if he even needed to hear it. Her gaze shifted to the sea, watching it pull at the shore with a faint smile, "I do not know," she admitted, "but I wonder if we made de wrong choice, staying here." Have I led you so astray?

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There were ghosts in every nook and cranny of the sands, here. He was never as close with the pirates as calypso was -- he knew a few of them by sight and the rest by scent, aside from @Grit of course. The blue she-devils absence was keenly felt, even if rarely mentioned. That was not his grief to mention. Then there were his children, the ones whom calypso had barely a chance to know -- the girls had left in search of something and the twins, though still around, where always more apparition than feline.

Indeed, it was just the two of them, and everything else they'd lost on their way here to this moment.

( isn't this what you wanted? A happily ever after?

-- who ever said you'd get to be happy? )

A triumph that tastes like ash, a victory that leaves him sore and aching. But still, hakon does not think it's because of the cay. He thinks he'd feel this way, feel this haunted, no matter where they lay their head. At least here the sea-salt was a familiar ache -- one that he thinks lives in his very bones. An ache that he doubts will ever leave him, even should he retire to the very center of the island -- where there is nothing but dry grass for miles and miles and miles.

Her touch is, as always, a balm -- even if he does not relax until he swallows down the idea of nethelus. Only when she speaks in answer do his muscles loosen, seafoam eyes heavy upon hers. It was an answer but not the one he wanted; he, who is still so weary from trying to guide his fledging family towards something resembling stability. A mistake, he realizes now. Yet another wrong choice.

A pride? He asks, needling a little -- trying to get something more concrete. Or just -- not here? They would stay together, of course, but hakon doubts it will be that easy. It never is.

what makes you think i'm enjoying being led to the flood?

table by sentinel / art

Suddenly, unexpectedly, her heart clenches with the familiar pain of grief. So badly does it stab at her that she feels she might crumbled to ash right then and there; she only barely manages to fight it back. So much loss, so much change, and yet she should be happy, right? Hakon was here and they had eachother, it should be enough. And yet… “I do not…” stopping with a sharp click of her teeth, biting back the insistence that she did not know. It wasn’t the answer he wanted, nor was it the one he deserved. Abruptly she rises from the sand, swaying just slightly as she sought her balance. Everything that had happened that day, to that point, drove her paws forward. Pacing in front of him, wearing a path in the soft earth, a frown furrowing her brow. “I want to know,” she said, sounding almost panicked, “I want to know de way. De right answer. Stay or go, pride or… what? I do not know” a hushed admission, choking suddenly on the frightening urge to cry. Calypso stops just as suddenly to face him, eyes wide and watery and pleading. “Why do I feel so… uneasy? Unsettled? I do not even know de word, Hakon. I have ye, what more do I need?” the words spill out in a flood, more than she had spoken in ages, and now it seems the dam is unstopped. “I’m wit’ ye every day and yet it feels like we are bot’ lost…” Aching, raw, afraid and exposed, Calypso lays it all out before him and tries not to worry about what he’ll do with it. “I love ye so damn much. I want ye as much now as de first time we fought…” But… … what?

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and yet.

@Calypso begins to speak but stops, and her words — when they come — are fraught with little fractures. it is not like her to be the tongue-tied of the two; it is not like her to be so unmoored. was it the reminder of the mist that has her so out of sorts, today? or has this been a long time coming and he just hadn't seen? there is a pallid calm that settles on his shoulders as she speaks, asking questions that are not necessarily pointed at him but at the universe as a whole.

i have ye, the lioness says, but she does not stop there and his heart thuds in his chest. what more do i need?

It was never enough.

( you are never enough. )

he knows this, he knows this, and yet it comes as a surprise. a nightmare made real, maybe; a fear that he's kept in the darkest and deepest depths of his chest that comes roaring to life. his mouth goes dry and there's a horribly sour taste in the back of his throat, the acidic taste of fear.

she's turned to face him but his muzzle ducks away, gaze sent out to sea — as if that makes any of this easier. it never does, it never fucking does, and while he'd miss the sea should it go sometimes he longs for a land-locked existence. looking out over the clear water, blissful and blue, his jaw works — a hundred questions forming on the tip of his tongue.

— but? he settles for instead, needling — wanting her to get to the point he's sure is coming. finally, his muzzle turns to look at her, expression held still and so, so careful. an easy stoicism, as if it might protect him ( and her ) from whatever comes next.

because — love did not a home make. you could not exist solely on love. not for love of a ghost, or a god, or a woman. you'd always need more. and calypso deserved so much fucking more than him.

( a shame, maybe, that it took them so long to realize it. )

what makes you think i'm enjoying being led to the flood?

table by sentinel / art

Once again if she could only read his train of thoughts she’d hit the brakes as quickly as was possible. Stop him from travelling that path, remind him that he was everything. “But?” Confusion at first as he echoes her own thought. In a flash she knows what unsettles her. “But I’m afraid aye?” admitting her own fears that this quiet domesticity wasn’t enough for the two of them, that together they needed more. “Afraid dat dis isn’t enough fer ye,” a whisper, stepping closer as she opened up to him, almost desperate to tuck back in to his embrace. “I cen see yer bored, aye? I jest want ye to be happy Hak…” even if it’s not with me? No, no, she could never say those words, too afraid that he’d realize he could leave. Her gaze shifts to the sea, seeking some way to moor her to the moment, half thinking this was only another trick of the mist. When it comes back to him she takes another step to close the distance, feeling the quiet of their life and wondering, then — “do ye wish fer cubs, hak? Do ye want dem, wit’ me?” The slightest quiver in her voice makes clear how afraid she is of his rejection.

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I'M afraid, @Calypso admits — a horrid admission, one that turns his stomach.

she says that he's bored, that she just wants to make sure he's happy, and the frown turning his lips deepens. a cruel thing, one that makes him want to lash out — inflict a certain type of pain, if only to distract from the ugliness festering in his chest. she steps even closer and his muzzle flinches, watching her — almost warily, as if he's afraid of the moment she presses close enough to touch. this is always the worst feeling, wanting to push her away and pull her close in equal turn, forever unsure of what he wants besides her. he has never been good with self-reflection, has never known what he wanted to do. but he knows he loves her more than he's ever loved himself, knows that this is what he wants to do — this is where he wants to be. isn't that enough? shouldn't that be enough?

but it's obviously not.

no, he answers immediately when she asks about cubs like a knee-jerk reaction, voice sharp — but thready, weak. but then again, that's not entirely true. because of course he wishes for them, of course he's thought about it. he knows she'd be a wonderful mother, and wants to give her this — but it's just another thing that he lacks. he cannot do this for her, cannot sire any cubs for her. and — even if he could, he shouldn't.

isn't that obvious?

claws flex into the sand, gaze tearing away from her — not moving to meet her, nor moving away. just standing still, guilt weighing down his shoulders. she's been honest with him, and he owes her this, and so through a half-working throat he continues, belatedly finishing the thought. no — i do. i dream about it, he admits in a quiet voice, leaning away from her a bit. only a tiny bit, and only because if she touches him now he'll shatter. but — i'm afraid. that i would ruin them the same way i did saga's. and ruin them, he did. it's not an admission he wants to make, and his hackles raise along his spine — feeling vulnerable and defenseless. but this is what thier life is: baby steps towards something. not perfection, never perfection, but a place where they both can live, together.

what makes you think i'm enjoying being led to the flood?

table by sentinel / art