Chapter eleven - like summer rain

Sorry for lateness. I am a forgetful asshole.

A majestic asshole, I will admit, but forgetful all the same.

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Gerard scrubbed his face with his hands. "You're awful. You're the worst fighter in the world."

"I'm not that bad," I muttered.

Although I rather was that bad.

It had been hours we'd been training, and we'd got nowhere. I was terrible. I couldn't throw a punch, couldn't dodge a punch, couldn't swordfight, couldn't even defend myself. Gerard was tired, and I was so exhausted I think I was close to death, but Gerard refused to let me stop until we made progress. (The sooner I learned how to fight, the sooner he could drink again.)

"Pick up that sword." Gerard motioned towards the sword I had dropped on the floor in frustration. "Pick it up. Now."

I reluctantly lifted up the weapon and held it awkwardly by my side. Gerard drew his own dagger from his belt.

"Take a hit at me," he instructed. "Go on."

I dithered. What if I actually hurt him? I didn't want to admit it but I was a little scared of the consequences of injuring him.

"Frank, fucking hit me," he said impatiently.

I waved the sword at him weakly. It scratched his sleeve and he looked down at it pitifully as it wobbled and fell back by my side.

"Come on," he pleaded. "A real hit."

The sword was way fucking heavier than it looked. These were  real hits. I waved the sword at him again and it scraped acroross his jacket, barely marking the fabric.

"What, you're going to stroke me to death?"

"I'm trying, I swear," I said. "These stupid swords are too heavy."

Gerard raised his eyebrows. "Too heavy?" He slid his cutlass back into its holster, giving up. "Too-" He buried his face in his hands. "You're unbelievable."

"I'm sorry," I insisted. "I really am trying."

"You're trying, but it's not working. You're just- so ridiculously weak."

I slumped back onto the bench. "I can't help it."

Gerard sighed and sat down beside me. He chewed on his lip. "Maybe we need to train you in hand to hand combat before you start trying with weapons."

"We already tried that. You hit me several times. I missed several times and ended up with what is probably a cracked rib." I rubbed at my bruised side. "You're some thirty year old pirate with decades of experience, you're allegedly the best fighter on the ship, and I know absolutely nothing-- yet you're still expecting me to be a pro from day one."

"Maybe I need to start with basics then," Gerard pondered. "Like what you'd teach a child."

"I am a child, Gerard. I'm eighteen years old, from the aristocracy. I know words, I know maps and numbers. Never has anyone taught me anything at all relating to fighting."

"Hm," Gerard frowned, almost like that fact surprised him. "Basics it is then."

I sighed in relief.

"Oh--" he held up his index finger as if to make a formal point. "--Just so you know, I'm only twenty four."

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Learning the basics did not turn out to be as good as it sounded in the slightest. It involved an awful lot of touching-- touching Gerard-- and it was very much throwing me off.

"Come on," he said, sliding his hand over mine and pushing my thumb into my palm beside my folded fingers. "You know how to make a fist, I just showed you."

What was throwing me off even more was that the touching didn't seem to be bothering Gerard at all. Every touch of hands and accidental breath against my neck made my stomach twist, but Gerard didn't seem to notice-- and it was affecting my concentration.

"Please tell me you were actually listening, Frank," Gerard said. "Because if you weren't-"

"Of course I was," I insisted.

"Okay then." He dropped my hand. "Make a fist."

I looked down at my hand. It couldn't be that hard, could it? I had just been in the right position, it was simply a matter of recreating the way my hand had looked a second ago. I curled my fingers around my thumb and wriggled my fingers a little. That looked about right. Yes. I wasn't all that bad at this fighting thing.

When I looked up at Gerard again, he did not look happy. In fact, he looked pretty damn unhappy, and the look on his face was uncannily similar to the expression he had been wearing yesterday when he tied me to the table. (For the fifth time. I'd been counting.) I wondered if I should take a step back.

"You punch like that and you'll break your thumb, Frank," he said dryly.

"I'm sorry," I moaned. "I have a bad memory."

"Yeah, I noticed," Gerard muttered. "Maybe- reflexes? Let's test your reflexes."

I was already sure that my reflexes were awful. I had a bad feeling about this. A terrible, terrible feeling. "What are you going to do?" I asked cautiously.

Gerard licked his lips. "Hit you," he said casually. "Just a little."

My eyes widened. "Please don't. I'm-"

It turned out that my reflexes weren't bad at all. Gerard's fist collided with my stomach at the same time that I kicked him in the shin. The breath was knocked out of me and Gerard was stunned for a second that I'd actually managed to react. I took advantage of his momentary shock and gave him a pathetic shove in the chest, and to my surprise, he stumbled backwards and fell to the floor.

I tried to hide my laughter, and Gerard growled and scrambled onto his knees. He grabbed sharply at my ankles and I shrieked and crumpled down to the floor with him, and before I knew it he was climbing on top of me, kneeling on my legs and pinning down my wrists to stop me escaping. For a moment I felt a flicker of terror- he was going to hurt me, his cutlass was just in reach. But he just laughed. He paused for a second, then let go of my arms, pulled himself up and offered a hand to help me up. Hesitantly, I took it.

"Good work," he grinned, and I was taken aback by how genuine his smile was.

"But I just-" I stuttered. "Aren't you angry at me?"

"No," Gerard laughed. "You're finally making progress."

"I thought you said we weren't actually going to fight."

"Well, it seems like that's the way you learn best."

"So I'm going to be fighting you?" That last hit had only been a fluke. This was going to end very badly. Oh god. "Oh god."

"Don't worry, pretty boy," he smiled, ruffling my hair. "I'll go easy on you."

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Gerard's hands were on my throat while I had him pinned to the floor. Although I had the more advantageous position, Gerard was strangling the life out of me and I couldn't pry his fingers from my neck. This was not my idea of going easy on someone.

I scratched at his face and he hissed, and in his moment of weakness I managed to grasp his wrists and slam them to the floor. He choked on a gasp and I hastily grabbed a dagger from the bench and raised it above him, my breath catching and my heart racing. The insurmountable look of shock on Gerard's face was probably the most amusing image I had ever had the privilege of seeing. Now it was my turn to laugh.

But the amusement was short lived. Gerard wasn't one to give up quickly.

In less than a second he broke his wrists free and kicked me off his legs. He swiftly knocked the dagger out of my hands and backed me up against the railings, leaving me with my back pressed against the cold wood and the sea spitting up at my neck. His hands were firmly anchored either side of my chest and I was suddenly breathless and a little terrified. My stomach was turning and I found myself shaking. "You said you'd go easy on me," I managed.

Gerard laughed. "I did," he grinned.

I scowled at him and shoved his arms away. "That wasn't easy."

"Oh, trust me, it was. C'mon, darling, I wouldn't lie to you."

I scoffed, stalling to try to think of a snappy response. Nothing came to me. So I turned away from Gerard, and subtly picked up the other dagger on the bench. After a few moments of silence, I could almost sense another sarcastic remark already escaping Gerard's lips. That was when I whipped around and pressed the side of the blade against his mouth.

Gerard just smiled against the knife, and licked the metal. He glanced down at my stomach, and I followed his line of sight in confusion. He had his own blade pressed just below my ribs.

I lowered my dagger.

"Don't try and beat the best fighter on the ship on your first try," Gerard said in a low voice.

"It was rather good for a first try though," I said confidently. "Taking into consideration the fact that you called me the worst fighter in the world earlier today."

Gerard smiled lopsidedly, neatening up the row of weapons on the bench. "Yeah," he admitted. "Yeah, I suppose you did pretty good."

I smirked. "Damn right. Same time tomorrow?"

Gerard shook his head. "God no. We'll be at Plemont in a week, and I intend to be completely and spectacularly fucking drunk for the arduous trek underneath a prison we've got planned. We're going to need to start training in the morning if we want you ready in time for when we get there."

"Morning, right. Understood." I paused. "Excuse me, prison?"

"Oh, yeah," Gerard said casually. "Hayley lives at the end of a tunnel underneath a prison."

"Oh. Lovely," I muttered.

"Yup. Should be fun, huh?"

I sighed. "Fun all the way."

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the floor cries and screams, and i stroke your blueberry hair, and she hums a cotton lilac lullaby while the walls crumble to cigarette-candy pieces

xoxo