Title: S.O.S.

Author: melfice

Pairing: LegaultxHeath, HeathxLegault

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken

Rating: M

Disclaimer: Not mine.

-Part 3/3: The Aftermath -

‘You know that you are not alone, I need you like water in my lungs.'

It is still not even dawn when Heath’s eyes open to find the ship - and the sea - around him surprisingly quiet.

His body is sore from sleeping on the hard floor, his mind aches from scant rest and frantic dreams, and he feels a dull pain coursing through his arms and legs that he can’t identify.

It would not be unfamiliar for him to wake with a feminine body pressed against his own, gentle breathing from a soft figure in his arms. It is not as though he has never awoke to find someone entangled in him.

The body next to his is slender, but not feminine.

Even with all he's drank, Legault's movements are still deft and smooth. Even from underneath, as Heath crawls up his body with hands and tongue, Legault's body moves fluidly into each touch.

His hands are rough, not gentle, against the older man's skin and each trailing and scraping of his fingers elicits unintelligible sounds from the thief's mouth. His hips move slowly where his fingers can't reach and Legault's teeth graze his neck.

There are long legs tangled in his, a strong arm wrapped around his bare waist. He can feel breathing near his neck from the head resting against his upper arm. The older man shifts ever so slightly in his arms, just enough to curl up against the curve of his body.

Every movement sends shivers down Heath’s spine and he bites his tongue to keep silent.

Legault's body arches against the bruises and scars between them. His heartbeat is uncharacteristically fast against his chest, his constant urge to be the one in command failing underneath his desire for Heath to have control. Nails dig into Heath's upper arms, as each move of the younger man's wrist causes his breath to catch in his throat.

His knuckles are pale as they grip the other man's hips and his mind is lost behind, unable to catch up to his actions. His heart is racing, his mouth dry, and in Heath's hands he feels like he's dying.

“Why are you awake?” mumbled near his ear. “It’s still night.”

For all the feelings coursing through his blood, it is almost as though the events hours previous are a dream. Legault’s skin is warm and inviting and for every breath he takes Heath feels as though he loses one.

“I don’t know,” he replies.

There is a pause, almost uncomfortable, and Legault speaks again. His voice is quiet and uncharacteristically soft. “You seem lost in thought.”

“There is a lot to think about.”

“There is,” he agrees. “Although you‘re still here, which is more than I expected.”

It is still far too difficult for Heath to see and he strains his eyes, but feels as though there is something stuck in his chest.

Slowly, as though experimenting, Heath slides a hand from Legault’s side to his hip. Lavender eyes open this time and gaze up at him lazily. Fingers gripping firmly, he pulls the other man closer to him, nose brushing his own slightly as he presses a slow kiss to his lips.

“I didn’t say I had regrets.”

It almost seems as though Legault sighs against his lips, his eyes half lidded. “Then what are you thinking?”

Heath’s hand moves again, up Legault’s body to the small of his back, and he kisses him again, firmer.

His teeth graze the other man’s lower lip and he breathes, voice uneven. “That you’re fucking beautiful.”

He’s never seen the expression that flickers across Legault’s face and settles into his eyes and can’t describe it, but it makes his heart begin racing all over again.

-

The sea is still eerily quiet at dawn when Heath steps out from below deck and pulls a dry shirt over his head. It is almost as though the events of the night before were a dream, without a single object on the deck misplaced by the storm.

The sky is still dark, only the faintest beginnings of sunrise starting at the edge of the sea, but already it looks as though he only imagined the dark clouds. Clear, cloudless skies greet him almost immediately, a soft breeze gently rocking the ship forward.

Legault is leaning against the railing in the same spot, almost as though he had never left.

“Our last day at sea,” he says, as Heath stands beside him. “You must be excited.”

“You have no idea.”

The air is crisp and cool, but not cold. Amidst the sounds of the crew working, they can hear their fellow comrades beginning to stir. Laughter filters up from below deck, and Heath hears a playful shriek.

The knight glances upwards. The familiar shadow in the clouds isn’t there, but he knows Hyperion is following. A part of him is vacant, longing to be reunited with his companion once again.

“What do you think will happen,” Heath mumbles, almost to himself, “after the war?”

Legault snorts. “Politics.”

“And?”

“And more politics,” Legault shrugs his shoulders, dismissively. “If you mean, 'what will happen to us', then I don't know what to tell you. I assume most will go home – if it's still there – and the rest will find work somewhere.”

Heath glances at him in confusion. “You seem very convinced we're going to win.”

“There's little point in imagining 'what will happen next' if we're all dead, Heath,” Legault replies, then smirks. “Have a little faith.”

In the distance, their destination has ever so slowly begun to show itself, the trees peaking over the horizon. It will be night again before they disembark, but it feels closer than ever to Heath.

The memory of meeting Legault is still fresh in his mind. The awkward conversation, the feeling of unease that had swamped him almost immediately, and the instant distrust are still easy to recall.

The moment Mark had announced they would be partners is difficult to forget. Although things have changed, the memory of the dread that filled him is far from gone and the thought of it makes him feel more guilt than anything.

Now that the end of the battle is drawing near, he finds himself filled with unease of an entirely new breed. For all he tries, it is difficult to imagine himself without the assistance of the crafty thief, and more and more he feels increasing anxiety about the approaching battle.

“What would you do if I died?” he asks suddenly, and regrets it nearly immediately.

Yet Legault merely shrugs. “If I make it, so will you.”

The reply is simple, easy, but to Heath it feels complicated.

“What would you do if it were I?” Legault asks then, stretching his arms above his head. “In the scheme of things, I think it's much more likely that I would die first.”

When they'd met, Legault had made it very clear that he was not a fighter, and Mark had made it very clear that it was not likely that he'd be very decent cover either. When Heath had expressed his frustration at this, had expressed his complete disapproval of having such a handicap attached to him, Mark had shaken his head and refused to give him a different partner.

'He is support,' Mark had told him, in a voice that had quelled all of his complaints, “and you need it, Heath.'

It had taken a long time.

“We're a team,” he replies simply. “You won't.”

------------------

It is nearly a half season later before the two see each other again.

After battling fire and flames, against impossible odds, all of their suffering and loss had not been for nothing. It had been with indescribable emptiness that Heath had watched the dragon fall to the floor of the dark tomb. As he watched Eliwood's sword he had felt relief, had felt joy, but had also felt so empty.

The closer it had come to the end of their journey, the more his thoughts had centered on his own aftermath. There were nights he lay awake, unable to fathom what he would do once he was again a vagrant knight. His mind constantly toiled over the possibility of there being a place for him in Bern, but everything was so uncertain.

More than anything, he had not wanted to leave the company of the army, and the lords, that he had grown so proud of fighting for.

It had been months later when he had ended up in Ilia, working as a mercenary knight. He had never let go of his ideals from the war, had never returned to Bern.

It had been months later when he had awoken underneath the shade of a tree, Hyperion still sleeping soundly behind him, to find a familiar pair of lavender eyes watching him from the branches above. It had been months since he had seen a familiar face, months since he had seen the only person he had not said goodbye to.

“If you've the time,” Legault had said, voice as calm and casual as ever, “there are some things we should settle.”

“I have time,” he'd replied, as though the other man's sudden appearance was expected.

'I always have time for you,' he'd wanted to say, but hadn't needed to.

It had been months and Heath had brushed the thief from his thoughts. He had told himself that it was all circumstance, all chance. Every day he brushed him out of his mind. Every day he reminded himself over and over that there had never been anything at all.

It is only three days later that finds the two men at the edge of the cold, crystal clear river. Legault stands in front of Heath, his hair tied back with the familiar purple cloth, each of his gloveless hands resting upon Heath's lower arms.

For every step he takes backwards, Heath moves one step forward, motivated by the light pressure from Legault's grip.

The river is slow and clear, clear enough that every time Heath glances down sharply he can still see the sand gathered around his feet. The water is clean and, while downstream the water is dammed and it pools deeper, the water around them is only waist deep.

“You start with the smaller battles,” Legault had told him, as he'd first led him into the river. “You have to learn to crawl.”

The water is cold, enough so that it makes Heath's movements into it even slower. He grimaces the further in he gets, but continuously glances down at his feet.

As they edge further into the water, Legault's voice is calming and he speaks about the places he's been since the end of the war. He talks about the things he's done, the refugees of the Black Fang that he's discovered and relocated, and he watches Heath the entire time.

“I looked for you in Bern,” Legault says then, causing Heath's eyes to draw to him, “but I should have known you wouldn't be there.”

“I didn't look for you,” Heath replies. “I knew I'd see you when you wanted to be seen.”

It wasn't as though he hadn't thought to look for the older man. Days had gone by without jobs, without much to do other than fly across the country and practice his own skills. There had been plenty of time, but it had always been pointless to search for Legault.

“It's so cold,” Heath mutters, glancing down the river. “You couldn't have picked a warm lake somewhere?”

“I thought about just throwing you into a lake,” Legault replies simply, “but you seemed so opposed to that method last time.”

“Yes, I am opposed to drowning,” he replies, bitterly, and Legault chuckles.

It is unnerving, the knowing lavender eyes that continuously watch his every movements. They haven't left him since the moment they started into the water, haven't so much as flickered away. It is unnerving, but familiar, and he swallows hard.

A smirk spreads across Legault's lips, but his eyes are light. “I think I've missed you, Heath.”

They stop in the middle of the river, the water at their waists. Legault's hands have barely left Heath's arms when the knight grabs onto both of his wrists, still gazing at his feet through the water.

“Not yet,” he rasps, throat suddenly dry. Obligingly, Legault's hands move back to his arms.

It has been months and he can't forget the nights he lay awake under the stars, Hyperion sleeping safely nearby. He can't forget the nights he lay awake, unable to sleep, unable to make himself believe that there would be something more. As he lay staring at the stars, he replayed the moment he left Eliwood's army over and over again in his head. The feeling he had then was so intense, as though it would be the last time he saw any of them.

Legault's voice and eyes had been sincere when he made the promise on the ship so long ago, but Heath had never held him to it. As he lay awake, alone under the Ilia sky, he hadn't thought it would ever carry through.

“This is a waste of time,” Heath says, voice uncharacteristically soft.

The grip on his arms pulls him forward suddenly, his feet slipping in the sand. He presses both hands against Legault's chest to steady himself, glancing at the man almost incredulously. His confusion only grows as smooth lips press against his forehead lightly, briefly.

His chin comes only to Legault's collar bone, and he finds himself staring blankly at the side of the man's face, taken aback by the sudden action.

And although months have passed, the familiar, indescribable look that settles into Legault's eyes still sends chills down his spine.

“I've plenty to waste.”

[end.]