Young Writers Society

James nodded slowly as Brett spoke and tied Elliot’s lead around a nearby branch. He cast a glance over at Brett when Brett pointed, and looked back down to tighten the knot. He figured they would be here for a while.

He walked over to Brett and sat down a small distance away from him.

“How much longer until you’re free?”

When he saw James sit down, Brett knelt at his pile of goods to fetch something, replying with his hunched back to his friend. "One month, two weeks, and four days."

“Wow,” James said, looking out at the ocean with a sigh. “That’s really not that far off.”

It was a shame they hadn’t run into each other later. Two months from now seemed like it would be better, for Brett. But none of this had been planned, and when left up to chance, timing was never perfect.

“How does it... feel? To be so close?”

Brett turned around, revealing a grin. "It's actually somewhere between one and two months. I haven't really been keeping track—can't even remember what day of the week it is today. But yeah, it's pretty soon. I'm ready to be free."

He came and sat next to James, tossing the small sack of food on the ground in front of James. "Brought us a picnic."

James’s eyes widened a little at the food, and he could immediately feel his stomach turning on the inside. He’d been rationing out his food over the last week, and it hadn’t been much.

He looked up at Brett with a softened expression. Brett probably didn’t know just how hungry James was, but James really did appreciate it.

“Thank you, Brett.” He poked at the sack of food, peeking in. “So... uh. How has it been spending time with your family? It looks like you’re all doing pretty well.”

It warmed Brett's heart to see James' reaction, although he figured his friend wouldn't be as pleased if he knew the food was stolen. He was prepared to defend himself, though—their ship was expecting a new shipment of food, he'd say, and these scraps from the galley would hardly be missed. He acutely remembered what it was like to be desperately hungry in the Outlands, especially while he was on his own, so stealing a little food for James was completely worth it.

He nodded. "Bell's my best little buddy. She takes after me for sure." His eyes twinkled as he talked about her. "She loves life out at sea, and she'll spend hours out on the deck doing little chores like polishing the compass or helping us mop, just because she enjoys it. Pulls little pranks on me all the time, too."

He looked over at James. "How does the food look?"

James looked inside, his eyebrows raising a tad. The food inside seemed a bit... random. There were a few puffy bread rolls, two berry-filled pastries, two fish, and three oranges. Plus a pouch of nuts.

Either Brett had hurriedly picked the first foods he saw from the ship’s kitchen, or he’d snatched them by the docks. James chose to believe the better of Brett and left it unsaid.

He huffed again through his nose, picking up a bread roll.

“A little shaken, but good,” he said, taking a bite. The roll was surprisingly sweet.

“I’m glad Bell’s pulling pranks on you too,” he said with a little smile in his eyes. “Someone should be around to give it back to you. Just to - you know - keep you in check.”

Brett chuckled. "Matt used to play that role, but he's too good for that now. He's gotta be a role model for his kids and his crew."

Brett believed he was talking about himself too much. He was eager to get to the meat of the conversation, which was hearing from James. However, Brett sensed that his friend was perfectly happy to have the spotlight off of himself as he listened and enjoyed his bread roll, so he decided he would give him a little more time.

"Matt and Ciera have a little baby named Samuel, too," he continued. "Haven't really been around babies too much before this, so it's been really special to take care of him. There's nothing else in the world like seeing him smile and hearing his laugh." He paused. "What about you, James? Been around babies or little kids much?"

James swallowed a bite of bread and raised his brows, shaking his head.

"Oh, gods. Well, not really, no. At least, not in a long while. Sure, I've run into many in passing interactions but nothing like living with a family and their kids or anything like that."

And obviously - or at least, he thought it was obvious - he'd never had any children of his own.

"It sounds nice though," he said, taking another bite of bread.

"On the ship, I'm a rigger as much as I am the official babysitter. Ciera needs my help to watch the kids whenever she needs to help with a medical emergency on any of the ships. She doesn't have any official training, but her dad was a doctor. Single parent, only child. She went with him on his visits and learned a lot."

Looking over at James now that he was sitting close to him, Brett noticed a gash in the front of his jacket, as well as several faint dark spots in the blue fabric which appeared to be stains that hadn't been completely scrubbed out.

Brett's eyebrows furrowed slightly in unspoken concern. He was glad that he had brought the food, but he cursed inwardly for not thinking to bring any medical supplies. Ciera's chest of supplies and first aid kits had been right there, next to Matt's closet...

James's eyes were on the food, but he could feel Brett's gaze, inspecting. Assessing. Concerned, and not hostile. He pretended not to notice, and instead picked up another roll and bit half of it off, taking a big long chew. There was a short pause as he hurried to chew and swallow, feeling the big lump of bread travel a little too quickly down towards his empty stomach.

Pity was nice when it bought you things, like much needed food or shelter, or it saved your from one more hit to the face. He didn't really know what to do with it when it was just there, like some open bridge between them, shaking and rickety over troubled waters, with Brett on one end holding out his hand.

Brett was always doing that. Extending a hand. Throwing a proverbial rope. James wondered if Brett would ever get tired of it, reaching out to him when James had such trouble receiving it. But he quickly concluded that it wouldn't matter much anyway. After this day he probably wouldn't see Brett again, and as sad as that was, he wondered if Brett would be relieved. He would be left to live his life and he'd only have to worry about James as some unknown mystery. He wouldn't have to look at James up close like this and see him like this again. Wounded, and disgraced.

And Brett had seem him wounded so often. James wondered if that was one of his defining features - always being a little broken.

Maybe it was a little shameful, but it was true.

He shifted his weight to rest on one arm propped back behind him. It took some tension off his ribs for a moment.

"She sounds like a lovely woman," he commented, with a little delay. "How was it, uh - if it's alright to ask - how was it meeting her the first time?"

As his eyes found the gash on James' temple again, Brett didn't really hear the question. It was overshadowed by his own.

"I think it's about time we talked about you," he said softly. "What happened?"

James's face fell to the ground, and his eyes focused on the half-eaten roll he was holding in his lap. He didn't know why that felt like such a big question. Daunting, and towering, like it was standing over him with a bat, ready to clock him once he opened his mouth.

Brett had said it so gently, and yet, James still didn't know how to answer. How to begin.

"In general?" he asked, his voice thin, like it was carefully being balanced between two opposites of emotion. "Since I last saw you? Or do you just mean how did I end up like..." his hand, still holding the bread roll, curled up just a tad. Towards his ribs.

"...this."

Brett crossed his arms over his knees and rested his chin near his shoulder, a position often assumed by Annabel when she was ready to listen to a story.

"I was referring to all of that," he said, making a small circle around James with his finger. "But if you want to start at the beginning, I'm fine with that too."

James blinked. He leaned forward, crossed his legs, and pulled both of his hands in his lap so they were cradling what was left of his bread roll. Just a moment ago, he'd been very hungry - and he still was, considerably - but his appetite was lost. It probably didn't help that he hadn't eaten much in the last few days. Small stomach. Not a lot of room to stuff himself.

He hummed and nodded.

"The beginning is ... well, a lot, really," he said. "It's a long story. And by the beginning, I mean why I'm even wanted in the first place."

He sighed, looking up out at the water, remembering the last time he and Brett spoke. It had been something like this, by the ocean, with the waves rolling in. The only difference then had been the sand beneath them, and now they were sitting on a rock, with nothing to dig into and no shells to play with in his hands.

"It wasn't long after I left - and I mean, when I left a year ago, before you went to be with your brother - that I ran into trouble. I was still in the Outlands."

"I'd been trying to move my way out of them, but I never made it that far. I ran into a gang of thieves. They jumped me, or I stumbled into them, or both of those things. I can't really be sure, but it ended with an ultimatum. They would either rob me of everything I had, including the clothes off my back, and leave me for dead -" Oh, the irony of remembering that now. He almost smiled. Bitterly. "-Or I had to join them. Mind you, I've no idea if this is how they do all of their recruiting, but I really didn't want to be left naked, alone, and beaten in the forest. So I agreed. To become one of them, if it meant staying with Elliot."

He paused, his thumb tearing into the bread roll in his hands.

"Maybe I shouldn't have..." he said, lingering on the thought for only a moment.

What happened had happened. There was no taking it back, now.

"But I did. I told them my name was Liam. I thought it was a miracle, really, that they didn't recognize me at first. They seemed to easily buy my... persona."

If his eyes could drop any lower, they would've. "I wasn't really myself with them. I'm sure that's no surprise to you. I'm hardly myself with anybody." He laughed, but it was an empty laugh. "But - anyways, I was st-stuck with them for a while. Months of... a very different kind of life."

He stared at his bread as it all played through in his head like a year-long nightmare. He was still trying to piece it together himself.

"Of course, none of that explains why I'm now like this, though maybe you've already assumed that they ended up learning who I was. And you'd be right about that. They did. That's usually how things end. Cut-and-dry. Simple. They find out that I'm wanted and I run, with a few scrapes, maybe." Scrapes, of course, was an understatement, but that didn't really matter. "And then I move on to the next thing. But when Rita - uh, that's the name of the boss. The leader of the gang. Rita. She learned about who I was before anyone else, and she actually uh, wasn't all that interested in turning me in. Said news of the price on my head would cause too much trouble between the people in her gang, scrambling to claim and split the money. She was afraid people would get greedy, so she-she wanted to see if I could prove my worth in... other... ways."

He had practically crushed the bread in his hands at this point, and he paused, laughing again, weakly and mirthlessly as he set it down beside the rest of the food, feeling silly for playing with it. He cleared his throat.

"A lot happened," he said tersely. "But the short of it is that I - or, well, the main thing that happened was - I got a man killed. It was an accident, but it was very much my fault. His name was Ron. His brother is Hoss."

James grabbed his wrist tightly.

"And Hoss was unforgiving."