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The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they called Gitche Gumee
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty
That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
When the gales of November came early
Loud bursts of engines roaring accompany Second Engineer Fit Maverick as he runs his morning checks, stoic and methodical as he performs his duty. They were preparing for departure, set to bring this ship across the ocean to the museum that bought it with several spots along the way allowing for the public to document such an impressive vessel. The war that ripped their world apart had reached a recent conclusion, Fit’s years of service landing him next in line to become First Engineer of another vessel once this tour is done.
The Navy remained intact long after the ink dried on the documents marking the war’s end, a silent threat for any nation that wished to fight once more. Continuing recruiting and training many more souls, Fit found himself among both friendly and unknown faces as he checked each engine. Making a point to exchange words with each person he passed, he makes small talk as he checks various dials and devices to ensure everything is in perfect working order according to the numbers he memorised by now.
They were short exchanges between fellow Navy members but vital, each reinforcing the fact that in a life-or-death situation they would be at your side both because they wanted to and that they swore too.
The First Engineer Fit reported too awaited on the gangway above, deep within the bowels of the ship. He stood by a telephone, waiting for the go ahead to tell the Captain they were ready to set sail while watching carefully as Fit checked off each point.
A good half an hour passes before Fit is as his side handing over the clipboard, all important figures noted in the proper spaces. He awaits further orders as the First Engineer reads before he waves him off, his break set for now.
He had been on his feet since dawn, they were allocated certain points for free time and he wouldn’t be needed until this evening anyways. Walking out into the midmorning sun he looks below to see the last few recruits boarding, pondering half-heartedly whether he wanted to get breakfast or just go sleep for a few hours.
Fresh men set to gain their sea legs awaited for their name to be called; this final voyage of an honoured vessel the perfect trip to train the new Navy members. Fit’s appraising hazel eye brushes over them, pausing when one in particular catches his eye.
A brunette with beautiful copper skin stood in a wrinkled sapphire blue uniform, doing his best to pay attention minus the fidgeting of his fingers. His chocolate tresses were stuffed beneath the stiff hat they were all made to wear as part of their service outfit. Fit leans on the rails as he waits, watching a Bosun call out names as each steps forth.
A single forest green duffle was all they were allowed, the brunette who caught his eye held one that looked close to bursting. Fit’s stomach rumbling reminds him breakfast is probably a good call, tossing one last look at the seaman below with a curious heart.
Leaving to attend to the dining hall where the gallery chefs served a late breakfast, he pours himself a black coffee and locates a bagel. Spreading a healthy amount of cream cheese, he settles into a table by the window alone. This was often the case, Fit’s dedication to his position left no room for friendships, advancing so quickly due to his serious attitude surrounding the vows he made.
He put his hand on the holy book and swore to protect his country and its inhabitants with his life, allowing no wavering from that path. His superiors were impressed and there were whispers of him being promoted, no distractions were allowed until that became reality.
Too bad for the stubborn soldier, a certain brunette had other plans.
The first few days on their two year long journey went well enough, this ship hadn’t retained much damage in the battles it had seen leading to it remaining in sound shape. The repairs were minimal; more fixing of wearable parts than anything drastic. Fit would run the dawn and dusk checks, handing in his reports to the First Engineer.
It was all going smoothly, too smoothly, it seems.
Fit had staked his claim on the same table later into the first week with a yawn, not sleeping well the previous night due to rough seas. Nothing he hadn’t fared before, he hoped to sleep better tonight. He was just about to bite into his bagel when the object of his curiosity sat in the chair across from him.
Fit freezes in confusion, placing his bagel back down to raise an eyebrow at the intruder upon his quiet breakfast.
“Can I help you, recruit?” Giving him the benefit of the doubt, he’s thrown by the beautiful accent that surrounds this man's words as he stumbles over them.
“I–I was eating over there alone, and so were you…I figured we could be each other's company? After all, I came aboard as a Seaman but am working on getting transferred to the Engine Room, much more my skill set y’know, and have heard you were the man to bring this up with?” Holding out his hand, the brunette continues. “Pac Wilder at your service, sir!”
Fit lets him sweat it out for a few moments before capturing his hand with a firm shake, releasing it to pick back up his bagel, before taking a bite he answers. “Second Engineer Fit Maverick, indeed I would be the person to forward your application too. Have you spoken to your Bosun about the transfer?”
Pac nodded quickly, taking his own sip of the tea he brought forth and placing it back on the saucer carefully. “He told me to come speak with you, he’s busy setting up the schedules of the other recruits who wish to stay as Seamen.”
“Why do you wish to be transferred?”
“Before I became a Navy officer I worked within a mechanics shop since I was about thirteen, I grew up around engines you see and much prefer technical duties compared to running exercise drills and weapon firing.”
Fit ponders the man’s attitude before him, seeing the genuine shine in his dark eyes piqued his interest, finally nodding. “I can speak with my superiors about it, I cannot guarantee anything so don’t hold your breath.”
“I appreciate it, thank you thank you, Fitch!” Pac finishes his tea, unknowing of how hearing Fit’s name spoken with such sweetness affected the man across from him. Standing quickly, he salutes. “I need to return to my bunk, my rounds begin in a few minutes. Hope to see you soon!”
He rushes off, unbeknownst of the questions running through Fit’s brain. Who was this Pac Wilder? Where did he come from? His accent pointed off somewhere far off, adding a unique note to each word he spoke. Eventually he recovers enough to finish his bagel, finishing the rest of his coffee in one go in hopes it clears his head of mischievous night sky eyes full of hope.
It's a full week into the journey when Pac’s transfer is approved, on the seventh morning at dawn Fit walks into the engine room to the bright soul among the others. Assigned to another officer, he begins to learn how to maintain the engines, picking everything up quickly.
All officers reported to Fit, him being the liaison between them and the First Engineer who was often busy in meetings with the other high positions deciding their path forward. The officer who had been given Pac to teach spoke earnestly in his files about the man’s enthusiasm for any task in front of him, a clever mind capturing information with an easy certainty for later use. The only thing they marked against him was often forgetting to address seniority with their proper titles, but that was something that would be solved over time.
During one dusk it's down to a skeleton crew, about two weeks into their journey after their first few stops. Most had been overworked, running the ship and keeping it perfectly ready for public viewings required long hours, a few of the crew originally assigned to the Engine Room moving upstairs to other positions.
In fact, especially the past few nights, Pac and Fit were the last in the room before they slept for the night. Fit barely had to check on the man beyond small incidents here and there, efficient as he methodically finished each thing needed to be done before morning.
The only other thing Fit would criticize is how clumsy the man could be, able to focus so intently on a task he often didn’t realise his own peril. As Fit was checking off his second to last point a loud swear in Portuguese sounded from the engine Pac had been working on, Fit immediately grabbing a medical kit before hurrying to his side
Pac had his arm wrapped in a dusty cloth, Fit shaking his head before helping the man sit down and locating clean fabric to compress against the gash on his forearm. Around an inch long it appeared deep but not life threatening, Fit’s eyes catching the exposed metal that caught the man. Pac is unusually quiet, looking quite upset as Fit starts to treat the injury with practised haste.
After he finishes cleaning it he determines the laceration will heal on its own without stitches, wrapping Pac’s forearm in white bandages before tying them off.
“Are you okay, recruit?” Fit asks gently, the man unable to meet his commanding officer’s eyes.
“It was dumb, I should have seen it.”
“No, this is a hazard someone else didn’t take care of.” Fit runs his calloused fingertip along the edge with the softest touch, wincing at how sharp it is. “Don’t worry about it, it's not your fault.”
Pac shrugs, hurriedly finishing his final task with Fit’s help in attaching the plate he removed back to its fittings. Soon enough they are both standing back from the engine, Fit snapping his fingers and locating yellow tape to cover the sharp edge. Making a note to require someone to sand it down in the morning, he returns to where Pac stands.
Fit clears his throat, feeling out of his depth inquiring about this man beside him further. Pac already occupied far more of his thoughts than any other individual, something about him just so captivating it made him want to break his rule of no friends. The only exception he ever wanted to make stood in front of him, still ashamed by his injury.
“Where did you come from?” Fit asks the first question that comes to mind, Pac’s mood shifting as he peers up towards the taller man.
His lips turn upward into a radiant smile, leaning against the table that both their checklists lay upon awaiting their filing. “Well I lived in the city with the family who adopted me, they owned a mechanics shop. Before that, somewhere far away from here. A beautiful country full of greenery and life, we coexisted with nature and respected the paradise we had.”
“Why did you leave?” Fit heard the yearning in the shorter man’s tone, his companion’s face falling.
“The war devastated our land for the wood we protected, chopping them down and turning them into ships like these.” Pac’s sadness was apparent, touching the wooden post nearby mindlessly with his hand. “My parents perished in the conflict and I was shipped here with the rest of the orphans to be adopted by eager people. I love the people who took me in but it was never my home.”
Fit was confused how a victim of the war ended up wearing it’s uniform, debating how to nicely ask such a harsh question before he just asks it. “Why did you sign up for the Navy then?”
“A good paycheck, if I am honest.” Pac’s mind is a thousand miles away, grinning as he says the next sentence in a lower whisper. “The moment my years of service are complete I plan to ask to be discharged and get off at the next port, at some point in the distant future.”
“No climbing of the ranks?”
“Nah.” Pac shakes his head, hair dancing in the movement. “Not for me, I want to take my savings and buy a lovely plot of land to live out my years upon farming produce and fruit. Create my own pocket of peace where I can create and be myself fully”
Fit couldn’t help but be fascinated by this individual at his side, wanting to know all about how his mind works. His ambition screamed about the distraction from his tasks, knowing full well they stood on a crumbling precipice of the walls that once surrounded his heart.
Of course not everyone joined the service with the intent to stay their whole lives, some did it out of dedication before returning to their families. It was not such a case with Fit, having no one outside the organisation meant he never thought about another path. He signed up the moment he aged out of the youth home he found himself in, his past not the cleanest by any means. By the time he joined it was either here or he was on his own, smartening up the moment he wore his uniform the first time and felt proud for serving his county.
“Why did you choose the Navy?” Reading Fit’s mind, he’s caught off guard and works to recover as he schools his face back to neutral.
“Did some shitty things and was faced with a choice of this or they wouldn’t help me anymore, I found my first purpose serving my country.”
“Okay, but what’s your dream?” Asking all the hard questions, Fit looks to the brunette confused.
“Dream?”
“What keeps you motivated to get out of bed each morning?”
Opening his mouth to answer, none come to mind leading to him eventually closing it and furrowing his brow.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to touch on a sore subject.” Pac mistakes his silence, Fit waving it off before giving the tiniest smile.
“No–no it's okay. It’s just…I don’t know what my dream is. No one has ever asked me before.”
“You have to find something to survive for!” Pac replies softly, giving an encouraging expression. “It can become your lifeline in terrible situations, mine is the idea of standing on my own deck one day overlooking my fields and knowing I am feeding someone good food while respecting nature like those who came before me.”
Fit could feel the sunshine on his face with how warm Pac’s voice was, grass fluttering in the soft wind of early spring. If he closed his eyes perhaps he could even see the blue skies above heralding a new season of growing, Pac’s passion giving form to his future he envisioned.
Shaking it off as his loyalty to the Navy crept forth once more, they finished filing with barely any more words exchanged. Closing and locking the engine room, they separate at the hallway ahead. Pac headed back to the shared crewmate bunks and Fit back to his private cabin. His years of service earned him this one right of privacy, a small room mostly taken up by a plush bed.
Before they separate, Pac says one more sentence. “Ponder what your dream is Fit, trust me. It’s the best thing when you figure it out, makes everything easier when you have a goal to attain.”
The ship was the pride of the American side
Coming back from some mill in Wisconsin
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
With a crew and good captain well seasoned
Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
When they left fully loaded for Cleveland
And later that night when the ship's bell rang
Could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?
That fateful conversation happened over a month ago now, soon enough they were regular breakfast companions as their schedules lined up perfectly. Fit went from a table for one to two, unable to resist talking to Pac about anything and everything.
Yes the man made him question everything he ever built in his life, from his position to his future to potentially changing his regular breakfast object. Pac filled his thoughts both together and apart, finding any reason to speak with the man.
As these feelings grew Fit struggled to contain them, the country they were sworn to was heavily attached to the major religion many worshipped. To the point they had say in governmental decisions, Fit was never a believer in the first place and felt that was an overstep of power. Though he might have sworn on a holy book, he felt more pride for his Navy history than any sort of astral being who supposedly created them all.
Especially surrounding the prejudice of any couple that didn’t match their ideal woman and man relationship, firmly enforced with public humiliations and examples. It was seen as unholy, an affront to how their god intended them to be through a book that had been through a thousand translations since its original. This pressure led to their government abolishing any type of relationship except the one the church dictated, something that Fit always felt was a shame but had no personal attachment to the ideal until now.
He did his best to hide their budding friendship, warning Pac it was better they weren’t together as often when his superiors made off-handed comments about the recruit he spent a lot of time with. Of course, to the rebellious brunette, that was seen more as a challenge.
He started sneaking into Fit’s room for them to talk long into the night, both bleary-eyed in the morning regretting the lack of sleep but loving the chance to talk. It was an endless well of conversations between them, becoming impossibly close in a matter of weeks.
Which of course was how they ended up at the top of the boat one night about two months into meeting one another, Fit laying out the blanket he took from his bed. Pac settles down happily and they both peer upwards with wide eyes towards the stars above.
When Pac suggested they stargaze, Fit wondered how the fuck they were going to pull it off. That was until Pac pulled out a copy of the night guards schedule who walked the main deck and they found a time between rotations they could sneak up the ladder to the roof they now lay upon.
Pac falls back with a happy sigh onto Fit’s outstretched arm, the muscular man attempting to ignore the heat of the attractive man’s body beside him. His soft hair brushes Fit’s bicep as he twists to peer into his eyes with Pac’s own endless voids.
“Want alcohol?” Pac’s mischievous gaze dances as Fit’s eyes widen.
“Where did you get it from?”
“A thief never tells his secrets.”
“I am your superior officer, I could report you for that.”
“Do it. I will have finished the bottle before you return.” Pac challenges, his face full of playful mirth. “Well, if you don’t want any, more for me then I suppose–”
“Hand it over.” Fit relents, Pac removing the chilly bottle from the pocket of the royal blue hoodie that was part of his casual clothes. Attempting to read the label by the light of the nearly full moon above, he finally recognises it. “This is from our galley!”
“Which means it would have been drunk eventually.” Pac pops the cork out of it quickly using his multitool, tossing it over the side to fall into the ocean. Taking a long drink, he giggles as he finishes and hands it to Fit. “Your turn.”
Fit, against his better judgement and every instinct he ever had trained into him, takes the cool glass and tips it back. Swallowing several mouthfuls, when he is giving it back to Pac he looks disappointed. “Save some for me, meu Deus!”
Fit laughs, Pac unable to keep up the angry act for long. They pass it back and forth until it's done, Pac tucking it into the bag by their feet. The portion of the roof they were stargazing from was a small maintenance platform hidden from the bridge’s sight by a smokestack, private from everyone and not on any security checks. Usually there was a lock on the gate blocking the ladder, but Pac mysteriously came across the key to it earlier today. The alcohol wasn’t the first rule they broke to be here, but Fit couldn’t find it in himself to care with the vision he was treated too.
Pac holds his hands to both sides, enjoying the cool wind brushing over them as they traverse the ocean. They were in between public visits at the moment, one of the longer straits of the journeys between stops they made good time across many miles. After several heartbeats Pac meets Fit’s admiring gaze, cheeks rosy under the cool light of the moon above.
“This is what life is about, right here.” Fit couldn’t help but agree, the alcohol in his system making his stomach warm and fuzzy. Or that was the feelings, it was all a bit muddled together right now.
Pac had been more forward with physical touch ever since they started spending more time together, brushing his fingertips across Fit’s knuckles as he passed or leaning into him when they were alone. The Second Engineer wasn’t an idiot, he was aware there was something blooming between them and he regretted he didn’t have the guts to sever it before it hurt too much to break, instead feeding into it.
For the first time that night under the shimmering stars, Fit reached out to cover Pac’s hand where it lay on the deck beneath them. Pac looks down to where they are now clasped together, Fit’s own face rosy.
“I don’t even know what to say.” Fit breathes softly, nearly lost in the wind.
“You don’t have to say a thing.” Pac comforts, perfectly himself and consoling, he had no idea that he was the first one Fit ever let calm him. “We can spend the next few hours looking to the huge abyss above, with the whiskey I stole keeping us cozy and not speak a word. Or we can talk about whatever you want too, I am here for anything and especially spending time with my friend.”
Friend. Yeah okay, that label was passed a while ago, according to Fit’s drunk heart. Words he didn’t have the strength to say aloud, instead. “What else is life about?”
“Listening to whatever someone close to you has to say.” Pac’s answer is immediate, meeting Fit’s tentative gaze once more. “Life is about meeting the people who will change you, for better or worse, and it’s up to you how you end up on the other side and what you choose to carry forth with you. It’s finding softness in conflict and connecting to one another, treasuring the moments we spend together as we don’t know if we will live through tomorrow.”
Fit’s stunned to the point no words come to mind, attempting to memorise the wisdom Pac always provided him with an enchanting laugh. “Though my life is also about tormenting this adorable Second Engineer who has put up with my shenanigans day one when my insolence should have landed me on the next pier, fired.”
What is it like to live with such positive wonder for your existence? How did he learn to enjoy these precious moments that shook his foundations preparing for new ones? Formed of love and curiosity, reinforced with the knowledge someone cared about him, for one of the first times in his life.
Pac slides closer, and after checking Fit doesn’t flinch, lays his head against his shoulder with their hands clasped laying between their thighs.
“You are a special person Pac.”
Pac blinks, before his cheeks deepen crimson as he smiles. “Thank you, Fit.”
That night kick started the first of many, from returning to the platform with stolen booze to playing card games into the wee hours of the morning. Once or twice Pac even fell asleep on Fit’s bed, not having the heart to move him they awoke together.
Something when Fit reflected on it he wouldn’t mind happening more often.
This officer went from solely thinking about the next step in his career to looking for fulfillment outside of his position, which he then found in the eyes of a flirty brunette his heart beat faster for.
Time sped by now that Fit was enjoying his life, nearly too fast. They were approaching the end of their journey, mere months away instead of the year they used to be able to vow confidently. Fit’s days were the same routine he held for many years, running the Engine Room with an iron fist and perfect checks twice daily. His nights had taken a turn, spending most of them with Pac now after they finished their dusktime tasks.
He worried about Pac’s roommates reporting his absence each night but he claimed they often drank themselves into a stupor. He wasn’t the only one stealing from the kitchen, the nights they chose to party Fit would open his door after a certain pattern of knocks with a wide grin.
They refused to put a label on what they had, terrified once they did it would be real and a reason they both would be thrown from the Navy with no compensation. Fit struggled to avoid saying any type of endearment outside of their personal haven despite them now cuddling into each other eventually over the course of the night. He adored how well Pac felt molded into his side, a thigh tossed over his own and arm wrapped around his wiry shoulders. This evening was one they were spending together, Pac laying on his bed on his stomach, concentrating as he planned out the piece Fit asked for.
Music wove through the air, the volume low behind Fit’s closed cabin doors. He double checked the lock before engaging in what Pac wanted to do, supplies spread across Fit’s gray sheets. He brought his sketchbook, another hobby he had was drawing in his spare time. He was skilled with a pencil and careful shading, specialising in ecological recreations from memories of whatever Fit requested.
Fit was using a knife to work on carving something from a piece of driftwood, sometimes they washed aboard with the waves and he collected the smaller pieces. Pac had suggested it as a skill to work on a little while ago, Fit finding solace in the careful art he worked to perfect.
Both were tired from the long day behind them but neither were of the mindset they could sleep yet, working overtime to keep the ship sailing through a storm that fought them. Fit drew peace from the fact they could spend large amounts of time simply enjoying each other’s presence, barely a word spoken. The simple comfort of the other being a simple reach away, trading who would be the one to give the next grounding touch.
Half the record passes before Pac makes a victorious noise, drawing Fit away from the shark he was carving. Holding up the piece of parchment, the other man admires the amazingly detailed rose Pac had completed, his face proud off to the side of where he was showing it.
Fit’s gaze kept being drawn back to the enchanting man beside the flower, slowly placing down his project to move closer to Pac. The brunette watched with a cautious look as the air heated between them, passion choking any words from the air. Pac sits at the end of the bed now, having turned to face Fit making the taller man lean down.
“Beautiful.” Fit breathes against Pac’s full lips, waiting for any hesitation and finding none he closes the distance.
Pac reaches out to wrap his arms around his neck, holding them close together. Fit’s fingers tangle in his hair maneuvering him into a more comfortable position as they explore this next step of their bond. Fit’s heart feels like it might explode from his chest as he draws back, chest heaving as his mouth tingles. Pac reaches up to touch his bottom lip before he smirks.
“The rose or me?”
“You much more than any flower, even my favourite.” Fit isn’t sure where he unlocked the ability to be smooth, Pac is also thrown by this development. “What the hell are we doing?”
“Living.” Pac says simply, always able to answer the hardest questions Fit throws at him with something that gives him peace. “Oh, and also that is called kissin–”
Fit shuts that sentence down with another kiss, Pac making a happy sound as they spend some time learning how the other likes to be treated. Eventually Pac pushes him back with the most gentle touch, a slower song sweeping over them both.
Without a word Fit steps back and draws Pac into his arms, slowly swaying to the symphony that kept them company. It’s an eternity they spend within that dance, feeling one another pressed perfectly together, letting the other soul know how close they held one another. Impossibly close, some might say. So much that you couldn’t tell where one soul began and the other ended, both of their new favourite memories formed in the classical notes of the record playing in the background. Fit led the steps while Pac followed, knowing without words where the other worked best.
Fit could barely dance at the best of times, currently what they did was the smallest spins after a few seconds of swaying but it was so perfectly them neither regretted it. The slow drifting of the boat only added to the ambiance, lantern light highlighting each other’s expressions of love. Fit found himself leaning down more than once to kiss his partner’s forehead and crown, Pac smiling wider each time he did.
Capturing the fracture of life in his head, he knew he had a new happy place. The words slipped fourth of having a new dream as well, perhaps held in the enchanting eyes of a seaman he let far too close to him and now they were intricately entangled. So much so their threads felt tied between their souls, tying one forever closer to the other to the point there was no life without the other.
Their relationship progressed to stolen kisses in between tasks, the Engine Room knowing too many secrets about their dusk routines when they were all alone.
For the first time ever, Fit played his guitar for another human. He enjoyed playing the stringed instruments on long journeys, slowly losing interest in the habit until Pac came along and filled his heart with passion once more. Lyrics rolling in his deep voice with ease, he serenades him as soft as he can in their sanctuary within his bedroom.
While Pac showed him how to love life, Fit fell in love with Pac’s life. He found himself wanting to improve, to seek the proud look in Pac’s eyes when he accomplished something. Finding a want to better himself to be worthy of the man who graced his nights with kindness and affection, Fit spent each day working towards whatever goal he set himself outside his vows to the Navy.
Looking back on times before Pac arrived felt dull and empty, no passion in his life as he watched the years pass. His only ambition being to climb higher, he forgot to enjoy the slow moments too. The vines and blooms between each step, the little enjoyments that make it all worth it.
His objectives become less singular, finding the tiny rewards along the way that provide the motivation to keep going.
Of course, the longer they spent together meant Pac had more time to convince him about this farm idea he had. Repeatedly bringing it up, Fit loses the want to squash his hopes and instead enjoys the vision Pac paints through words and sketches he drew for his future. He even had his dream cabin mapped out to the furniture and where he wished to place it, excitedly explaining it in great detail each time he revised it.
Fit also noticed when Pac occasionally ‘slipped up’ and changed it from when this was his future to when it was their future. Losing the energy to chastise the idea, mentally he starts to agree with everything Pac is proposing. Seeing himself hand in hand with Pac on the front of a farm they own, greenery everywhere carefully cultivated by people that were trained to kill in their past, now nurturing life.
Despite how deeply he fell, he could never admit verbally that dream began to overshadow his lifelong ambitions. The Navy was always what he felt he should do, they gave him a home when no one else would take him and he found a way to be useful to his country instead of a detriment.
But he already gave so many precious years of his life to an organisation that would eventually honour him with a ceremony when he falls before he becomes a name on a plaque that slowly loses meaning. He would receive the highest honours they could give before any memories involving him slowly fade into nothingness.
He saw two paths in front of him.
One filled with slowing down to enjoy the whimsy life carried, living in a home far from any judgement with the one who captured his heart effortlessly.
Two was a lifetime of service to the country he protected, achieving what he wanted at one point in his life, before dying either in the line of duty or some related incident being sent off with full honours into evanescence.
He knew which one he preferred more.
The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
And a wave broke over the railing
And every man knew, as the captain did too
'Twas the witch of November come stealin'
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of November came slashin'
When afternoon came it was freezin' rain
In the face of a hurricane west wind
“Second Engineer Fit Maverick, reporting for my evaluation.” Fit salutes the room of important people before him, the night before they are supposed to dock for the last time on this vessel’s journey.
He had been nervous for this day for weeks for a multitude of reasons; one of the loudest being the result of his performance during this journey. It was an unusually long assessment but due to his younger age compared to most, it was justified by the year of his birth and lack of experience. His ambition could only get him so far, his actions carrying the rest of the burden.
“At ease.” First Engineer holds up his hand, Fit relaxing his arm down to his side.
Awaiting one of the others before him to speak, they let him stew for a few moments before his reporting officer picked up a file folder and flipped it open. Clearing his throat he then outlines all of Fit’s accomplishments over his career.
After a troubled childhood, he rose quickly through the ranks due to his dedication to the service, awarding him prestige after prestige by many much higher in the pecking order. A long list of his heroic acts during the war that just completed were then given, his history a bloody one in the name of his loyalty and country.
Over this last journey he proved himself dependable, however his dedication appears to have wavered therefore we cannot promote him at this time.
Fit’s mask broke at that last part, face twisting in confusion.
The First Engineer placed the report back down, closing it with a definite thud of his hand against the table.
“You once focused only on the tasks you were given, that was until a certain recruit came aboard and stole your attention.”
Oh fuck. Fit actually stumbles back at that, ready to be ridiculed and stripped of his status within the next few seconds. Curse his wandering heart and wanting what differed from the path his younger self promised himself, his traitorous soul and who it loved also shared the blame.
Instead of the First the Captain of the vessel spoke up next, all quieting immediately as the one who commanded the ship took control of the conversation. “Now, we haven’t wanted to draw attention to it because it would have been a long few years for you if all the crew found out. However, more and more people have reported Pac Wilder going into your quarters after hours, or missing from his hammock in the morning only to mysteriously appear out of breath like he had to rush from somewhere else.”
His Captain let the words he spoke linger, eventually following it up with. “This doesn’t have to be the end of your time here, Fit. I respect you as an officer, which is the reason I have never spoken to you about this. But at this point, it is now affecting your career and your dedication to your vows. We have two options going forward.
“One. We discharge Pac Wilder, leaving him on the next port with his earnings and carry forth home on the vessel we are assigned there. It will be a much shorter journey, and we can add to the report you simply needed just a bit more time and most likely the promotion would happen once we arrive back.
“Two. You also depart on the next port, we give you both a severance and strip your titles leaving you at our stern.
“You have until tomorrow morning to make your decision.”
Repeating the conversation later to Pac in his quarters was agony, exactly like the first time it was spoken to him. He was currently pacing in the tiny space between the foot of his best and the door to the hall. Pac was sitting on his bed, sketchbook closed upon his lap looking up to where his love circles.
Fit knows he is on the edge of panic, everything he’s known crashing down in front of him. Pac’s gaze is wide as he takes in what had been threatened, leaning back and pressing a hand to his heart. “Well, it seems my farm idea is coming into fruition faster than I thought. I don’t know the most about the city we are set to arrive at but no time like the present it seems.”
Fit could only look at him in astonishment, with how easily he accepted his life as he knew it was over tomorrow no matter what.
“How do you always spin it around so fast?”
“Life is full of change, that's the exciting part. Will you be coming with me?” Just like that, he offers the olive branch that calls to Fit’s emotions the most.
“I–don’t know.”
Pac’s face is full of wonder and love then. “You’ve never said maybe, it’s always been no.”
“You drive me crazy.” Fit drying comments, leaning down to peck Pac’s forehead before his voice evens out to serious once more. “This career is all I have known in my adult life, the first variation I’ve ever had was when you sat down at my table that morning nearly two years ago now. Forgive me for being conflicted.”
“You don’t have to ask forgiveness for something you are allowed to feel.” Pac is confused, poking Fit’s chest with one finger. “You must make the decision for yourself.”
“Pac, what if I choose the Navy?”
He hates the way Pac’s eyes well up when he says their worst fear aloud, letting the tears start to fall until Fit reaches across to brush them away with both his thumbs. “You are the only one who's ever broken my conviction and shown me a better way to live. But I thrive in routine and enjoy serving my country. I am very good at my sworn duty.”
“And you look oh so handsome in your uniform.” Pac flirts, Fit stumbling over what he was going to say next until that interjection which leaves him reeling.
Pav reaches out to hold his hand, pulling it back to his chest. “I would understand if you chose the only way you have ever lived. But I implore you to consider the joy of new experiences that throw your life asunder, seeing what you can build from the shuffled pieces.”
“For you Pac, anything.”
As they lay down to sleep that night, there is a new uncertainty between them. Fit is unable to promise one way or the other, only that he will consider. He stays awake long past Pac’s breathing evening against his chest, mind running a thousand miles per hour.
He thinks about this being the last night in his life he would cuddle Pac, assuring one another they are there through simple touch. A single tear drips from his right eye, holding him closer. This man had thrown himself into his life with wild abandon and carved out a place nearby immediately. Pac brought wonder, joy and excitement into this Navy First Engineer’s life who thought he had it planned, wanderlust filling his mind once more.
The sandman eventually drags him under, into dreams of a farm with a brunette with an infectious zest for existence. Fit would find it cruel if the peace didn’t fill his heart first, having the smallest morsel of what could be if he makes this choice.
When suppertime came the old cook came on deck sayin'
"Fellas, it's too rough to feed ya"
At seven P.M. a main hatchway caved in, he said
"Fellas, it's been good to know ya"
The captain wired in he had water comin' in
And the good ship and crew was in peril
And later that night when his lights went outta sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
Screaming. Metal shearing. Large amounts of water washing against steel is what awoke both of them from where they lay.
“Fitch?!” Pac’s accent grows heavier in the panic, stumbling as he searches for his clothes only to find them soaked in the inch of water already in the room.
The Navy officer’s training kicks in immediately, tamping down the panic as he pulls two of his uniforms off the hangers in his closet. Tossing one to Pac, he trusts the man does as indicated while he locates the survival pack they all had stored. There was one per room, in case they were ever stranded alone at sea, throwing the loop around his shoulder.
Pac’s face is pale, Fit walking to his side and holding either side of his face. “We will get out of this if you follow exactly as I say, I swear.”
Nodding quickly, Fit takes control of the situation. His ironclad discipline stills his shaking, leading Pac to the door with their hands grasped together. No longer caring who sees, they burst forth into the hallway that ran down the centre of the ship to notice how much the boat was tilting to the bow.
“Shit.” Fit mumbles, the closest stairway most likely already underwater.
Turning to the left, he pulls them towards the galley. Pac follows without a word, trusting his confident partner to find their way to safety. Locating the ladder tucked to the back of the ship’s kitchen only used in emergencies, he sends Pac up first before checking the hallway to see if anyone else was visible. Finding no one, he ascends after the brunette who has frozen at the top.
It’s easy to navigate from there, quickly making their way towards the center of the vessel where they could go to the deck. Once they are above the conditions are miserable, sleeting rain causing visibility to be practically nothing. Without a word he wraps his spare jacket around Pac before using his memory to guide them to the closest lifeboat.
Cursing as he watches it already descend, the First Mate who always annoyed Fit had taken it upon himself to flee instead of helping organise with their Captain. The bald man intended to find Pac a seat then go to his Captain, his loyalty demanding as such. Just as he is about to turn away a huge wave catches his eye, letting out a horrified gasp he can only watch as the lifeboat full of fellow officers is picked up and dashed across the rock they had clearly bottomed out upon. A sound that would never leave his nightmares followed the impact before he turns away, his stomach rolling while he hides Pac’s view into his chest.
His love is trembling from the cold and letting out a low wail, he could hardly blame him. The situation appeared hopeless, Fit’s turn to carry the torch it seemed. Taking a few definite steps away from the scene that would haunt him forever, he moves over to the starboard side of the ship, furthest from the rock that killed the First Mate.
Finding no one, Fit feels triumphant helping Pac into the swinging rowboat. He leans back as the man settles, Pac reaching out to grab his arm as he goes to step back.
“Don’t you dare fucking say you are going to help the others.”
Pac’s voice is desperate, his eyes full of terror. Just as Fit opens his mouth to respond a piece of debris launches into the side of Pac’s head. Fit screams, watching it fall down into the sea below and raising horrified eyes expecting to see gore.
Nearly sobbing in relief, Pac’s head remained intact. But the darkening side of his face with the blood beginning to sheet his cheeks drew more attention from the puncture wounds the impact caused. Having a single second more of indecision, he tosses the survival pack into the bottom of the boat and launches the small life vessel himself. Managing to land it within the rough seas, he quickly pulls Pac over to lay against his chest.
“Pac, I need you to stay awake.” He orders, the brunette he addresses groaning. “Please, if you fall asleep I’ll think you have died and I can’t bear that.”
Coughing as ocean water splashed into his mouth, he wraps Pac in the tarp he found in the survival kit cocooning against his warmth. It was only large enough to protect one of his sides from the elements, the other relying on Fit’s body to protect him. Pac’s head remained pressed into the hollow of his throat, splayed a bit awkwardly on his side with the size of the rowboat and one of his legs remained exposed. Fit reminded himself to switch sides when he remembered, ignoring his own body as it began to break down.
The cold air sapped the energy straight from his core, the occasional blast of water only making the situation worse. Fit’s jacket tore in the escape leading to his left sleeve being totally gone, leaving his bare flesh for the ocean to torment. When he thought the situation couldn’t get worse, snow blasted over them, the harsh weather of the coming winter already ravaging the body of water they were supposed to traverse.
He couldn’t tell how long he rowed. Chanting to himself ‘a minute longer’ on repeat, he has to pause occasionally to use the water bucket to lower the level of the pooling sea in the bottom of their boat and brush the now melting snow from both of them. Accepting he no longer has the energy to rotate Pac where he lays, he only hopes his right side doesn’t suffer too much as he forces his body to keep moving.
The strokes dragged by, the water calming very slowly as they luckily do approach land. Pac had long since stopped responding, but Fit clung onto each time he stopped to drain the boat he checked the man’s heart kept beating, which it did.
Once he felt they weren’t in danger of capsizing, he allowed a longer stop to dig out the medical kit with trembling hands due to the cold. Pressing and fastening gauze against his jaw and eye socket where the worst of the damage occurred, by some miracle missing the eyeball itself. Pac doesn’t awaken for a single moment, day turning to night as they continue forth.
Fit’s arms burned bloody murder, he considered giving up a thousand times. The moment he tried to drop the oars by memory alone he took another stroke after he felt Pac’s weight against his chest, fighting the ocean that tried to claim them both.
It's a sunny morning the moment they bump against land, inches from death, a surprised lighthouse keeper out for his daily rounds raises the alarm. The pair were rushed into the town where the local Doctor was roused, rushing to the home they slumbered away in. Fit passed out not long after they were discovered, no idea how many hours he had been awake rowing at that point.
The townspeople did their absolute best, the Doctor regretfully declaring two of their limbs too frostbitten to recover. He was forced to amputate Fit’s left arm and Pac’s right leg below the knee, several members of the public offering to sit at their bedsides while they recovered from the surgery.
Pac is the first to awaken, shocked where he is. Rattling off his Navy identification and ship name, the townspeople send word to the closest city what ship crashed off their shore. It was barely a ten minute horse ride away where their ship tore itself to pieces on the rocks, negligent navigation and a distracted First Mate were later found out to blame for the wreck.
Not caring how it appears, he demanded to see Fit.
Taken to the man he loves, he kisses the Navy Officer’s forehead in front of the town Doctor after being wheeled to his side. Waiting for some speech about how their relationship was impure, the Doctor simply looked relieved Pac knew who he was.
Whispering the words he always thought but never exchanged, Pac prays his heart will get better. “I love you, Fitch.”
Does anyone know where the love of God goes
When the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
If they'd put fifteen more miles behind her
They might have split up or they might have capsized
They may have broke deep and took water
And all that remains is the faces and the names
Of the wives and the sons and the daughters
Pac recovers quickly from the ordeal, back to walking in just over two months. The Navy honourably discharged both of them, after the wreck neither were in any condition to be seafarers anymore. Papers were sent along after the investigation concluded, giving them full honours and a lump sum of their earnings together. They ended up choosing to stay in the town they washed up in, both welcomed by the townspeople and for the fact there was a concern with Fit’s recovery.
His wasn’t as fast or nearly as smooth. The constant days of rowing with no sleep and through the cold did horrible things to his respiratory system, slow to even be able to sit up after his arm was removed. The Doctor was significantly more worried about him, his lungs weak even after the medical man declared him sound in every other regard.
The couple who owned the house they were being treated within offered it fully to them as long as they needed to stay, moving back in with the husband’s family to relieve stress. Fit encouraged Pac to follow the dream he spoke to both of them all those months ago in his bedroom below deck, commissioning a nearby company to begin construction the next spring.
Slowly, the home of their dreams came together.
But as it did, Fit’s health fell further apart.
Over the time their home was constructed, Fit left bed less and less. He grew exhausted merely walking across the home they occupied, unable to climb stairs to the bedroom they eventually converted the lower guest room into a room for the couple.
It was one of his bad days, when the act of standing left him wobbly, as Pac sat on the other side of the bed. He had his knees upright, and the sketchbook leaned against the folded appendages. He had taken to drawing Fit more often, his love’s face becoming his warm up doodle.
Fit was resting, a large bouquet of roses at his side. There was a bush out back he gained permission to strip for the flower bundles he made, filling the room with the wonderful smell of the blooms.
Pac’s fingers tremble, causing tiny mistakes as he empathises Fit’s bone structure using his preferred pencils that didn’t used to be as prominent. A definite sign he was getting worse, his body slowly giving out on him. Pac’s endless hope could only go so far, watching the one who risked it all for him not even enjoy the rewards of his sacrifice.
He was eternally grateful to this lovely village who accepted them immediately, allowing them to purchase the land they inspected when Fit could still leave the property. Pac could only hang onto watching the cabin that became both their goals slowly rise from the ground, the support beams echoing the people who helped build it.
But despite their best efforts–Fit’s condition only deteriorated.
Soon, Pac could no longer avoid the truth. In fighting for them both to live, his beloved had pushed himself too far. A noble task that left the couple heartbroken, the Doctor asks if there is anything that will ease their time remaining together during one of Fit’s lucid moments.
The day they are set to move into their new home, they get married on the front lawn. Both sitting in chairs at the front of the aisle, the townspeople who came to treasure them were also in attendance to celebrate their union. Though it wouldn’t be legal in the eyes of the government, they did it anyway.
The priest stood between them, both dressed in sharp suits with matching crimson bow ties to match Fit’s favourite flower. Clearing his throat, all gathered quiet down. Starting with the traditional script Fit works up enough strength to playfully wave it off in the middle causing the priest to smirk, raising his own deep voice slightly.
“We never followed what everyone else did, so why start now?” Fit questions, making all in attendance laugh. “Pac.”
Waiting for his hazel eyes to be met by the brunette’s own dark gaze, Fit’s face softens into a smile only he gets the privilege of seeing daily. “Pac Wilder, I promise to love you as deeply as the ocean, from your deepest unknown pain to your wildest beauty. Like the water that shapes the land, I allow myself to be molded by you so we flow better together, remaining true to my core in the meanwhile. My love for you goes against all odds and laws, because the affection we hold for one another cannot be contained in any language. I will love you to the end of my life and beyond that, when we are grains of sand within the sea of the afterlife I can only hope we end up beside each other forevermore.
“You taught me how to be pliable, to accept change as a natural part of life and to find hope in the deepest darkness. Your love melted my walls and made me a better person. I am lucky to spend this life with you if you will accept me as your illegally married husband?”
Nearly speechless as a chuckle rings through the crowd to the last question, Pac’s tears drop to soak into his white collar. Shaking as he draws out his own folded speech, he smiles his gratitude to Fit and attempts to clear his throat. “Fit Maverick. When I signed up for the Navy I didn’t expect to meet the love of my life, especially at the start of a journey that would last two years and beyond. At first, it was like drawing water from stone attempting to get you to admit a damn thing before slowly you showed your true self around me. The night I knew my forever was in the room when you pulled out your guitar and played me a progression you crafted while thinking of me, wondering how I managed to find someone as wonderful as you to love a runaway officer like me? I do accept you as my own husband, whether the law agrees or not.
“I swear to be your navigator through the storms ahead and to treasure the memories we will make forever, long beyond us becoming the dust that becomes food for the next generation. You will live in my heart and my soul forever, memories to hold through the worst of times and to laugh about in the best.”
All in attendance are brought to tears as the priest declares them husband and husband, both leaning in to kiss the other. Pac chose to take Fit’s last name and Fit took Pac’s, wishing to carry a piece of each other forever. A tattoo artist from the city offered his services to give them a permanent marker, taking time to etch a perfect rose on both of the newlywed’s third fingers. Exchanging bands with sunstone and opal, they slip them on another free digit while the ink heals.
They party until Fit is tired, Pac waving off everyone, preparing to spend their first night together in the cabin that was a symbol of their hope. Spending the last few precious moments of the sunset together on the porch, both catch each other admiring their new spouses. Pac moves to help Fit inside before he holds up a finger, pausing his movement.
“There should be whiskey in the fridge, care to split it while we stargaze for a little while?”
Pac had never been able to say no to him yet, doing as his love requested and bringing them both heavily-poured glasses of alcohol. Fit had been using a chair outfitted with wheels these days for mobility, walking causing him to lose his breath easily.
Pac slides one of their new deck chairs close to his husband, admiring the fresh tattoo on his hand while he takes a drink. Fit has a good amount of energy tonight, the crickets singing for a few moments before the husbands meet one another's gaze.
“I am sorry you won’t have a longer life with the person you love.” Fit’s bluntness is harsh in the cold night, a reminder what they had was barely a forever.
“You did it to save me and give me these precious last few memories, how can I regret that?” Pac stuns his husband, smiling through the tears. “This way until I pass we will still be connected, our life alive in the memories we have already made.”
“You are going to be a widower in your late twenties.” Fit carries the guilt of something he can’t help, Pac reaching out to clasp his hand stopping his worrying.
“I chose this. I chose you.” Pac emphasises, smiling. “No matter how much time we have left, I will hold you close as long as you need and remind you this isn’t your fault.”
“Damn this mortal flesh for failing me.” Fit attempts to joke, Pac chuckling gently. He takes a deep sigh after finishing his glass of alcohol, Pac standing up to collect them before Fit stops him for one more moment. “I would also choose you in every lifetime. We are tied too close to let a silly little thing like the universe get in our way. I will be alive as long as you remember me, maybe not in the way we hoped but–it's something.”
“It’s everything.” Pac leans down to press their lips together, enjoying the feeling of the band of metal Fit is wearing pressing against his cheek as he cupped his jaw. “As long as my heart shall beat, when I follow you it will be with your love held in my heart.”
“Pac Maverick, you make me the happiest man alive. You are far too good for me.”
“Ah, Fit Wilder, that is where you are wrong. We are too good for each other.”
“I love you.
“And I, you.”
Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
In the rooms of her ice-water mansion
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams
The islands and bays are for sportsmen
And farther below Lake Ontario
Takes in what Lake Erie can send her
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
With the gales of November remembered
Exactly a week after the ceremony, Fit was dead.
Pac wakes up beside his husband, cold. He died sometime in the night, passing peacefully in his sleep. The Doctor regretted his abilities were unable to save him, Pac strangely at peace the moment it happened. After the initial shock of the discovery, relief flooded forth.
He no longer had to watch the coughs that shook Fit’s once great ribcage, withering away to the point he was a skeleton of his past. The absence of his support felt like he had been disemboweled, yes, but Fit was no longer in pain.
The townspeople once again did their absolute best for the ex-Navy officer who chose to raise his home on their soil. All pitched in to help follow Fit’s final wishes he left behind, arranged a few days before they were wed with friends they trusted from their new life witnessing the document. There was no way to legally guarantee the outcome of his will, but all agreed to do it based on honour.
None judged them for their love, they were witnesses of the depths it drove them both to and supported them without question.
Having his husband’s body cremated, they make their way out to the ocean to the exact place that was the resting place of their former vessel. Pac sprinkles his love back to the sea he dedicated many years of his life too, taking comfort in the tattoo on his finger he claimed the best portion of his life. Thinking of the boat slowly falling apart below, he takes comfort in both his husband and their ship becoming part of the natural cycle once more.
Before the sickness stole away his majesty, Pac could reflect on their times dancing away into the early hours on the ship while they both still wore a uniform. He could envision the platform they often snuck up to stargaze, with stolen alcohol and a possible future. The countless nights sprawled across his bed kissing and loving one another, sketches of fun moments scattered everywhere.
He appreciates how Fit encouraged his dream up until his death, not realising Pac’s new dream died when his heart stopped.
Pac continued through his adult years peacefully. A tradition he developed was every week he went to stand by the shoreline where his love had been placed and tossed a rose he grew on their farm into the sea, telling him about how things have been going. Always alone, he would be seen talking at length to the waves that lapped at his feet.
He invested in seeds and spent many long hours overturning soil and learning how to cultivate crops, his neighbours coming over to offer their aid when they could. Phil and his wife Kristin were godsends in the months after Fit’s death, checking on him and keeping him busy. They would invite him over to dinner with their family, a weekly meetup that would happen for many years into the future.
The sharp pain faded to a dull ache, Fit’s absence still heavy especially in what was supposed to be the home they lived out their wedded life in. He ended up taking the wedding band Fit wore and strung it onto a chain with his own, hanging them around his neck for safekeeping, whenever they bumped against his chest he could reminisce on his late husband. Framing a few of the sketches from when Fit was in better health, he places his favourite on his bedside to press a kiss to the glass before he slumbers each night.
Slowly his hair changes from brunette to gray, streaks of silver before it covers his whole crown, the world around him aging too. The village children come to hear his stories about the heroic Navy officer who sacrificed it all to save his love, costing his own life in the meantime. He adopts several cats, something Fit would have complained constantly about as he struggled with allergies and passes his days much the same.
He lives a long and happy life, yet he never marries again. Slowly the generation of people who rescued them from the ocean’s cold winter waters passed one by one, leaving their children to care for the lone man who ran a farm, forever waiting to join his husband.
Pac becomes one who the villagers consulted for his wisdom, when he wasn’t doing that he was teaching the children some bit of knowledge he learned over his years alive. He always held a quiet sorrow behind his night sky eyes, never fully present again after he lost his love.
His heart was somewhere unattainable, and he never quite recovered. Most claimed it floated out to sea with his love, something missing from his soul even after decades.
After many years apart, he eventually passes in the same fashion as his husband. Phil’s son finds him cold in his bed, falling asleep one night and never waking again. There was no question what to do with his remains, having him cremated they make the second and final journey to the wreckage that eventually claimed its last two lives.
Each person who was close to him spoke some words before they spread his ashes in the same place his husband’s had fallen, many years prior.
Their home was preserved and turned into a memorial for both their shipwrecked vessel and the couple who built it, two Navy officers who risked it all to be together inspired many more souls after their deaths. Many stories and legends surrounded this pair of soulmates, living through their love they had for the world and one another.
On that night when Pac fell into eternal sleep, some would claim they heard the strumming sounds of a guitar. The rose bush in their front garden the elderly man carefully maintained up until his final night suddenly burst into perfect bloom. The sea was calm for once, the moonlight path perfect for two souls to cross to where their mortal flesh was laid to rest and reach the afterlife.
Two lovers held hands and walked into the night, their bond transcending death to allow Fit to follow through on his vows to his husband. Perhaps not as grains of sand, but they would forever exist beside one another. For two so perfect for one another, not even fate could separate them.
In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed
In the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral
The church bell chimed till it rang twenty-nine times
For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
Superior, they said, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early