Work Text:
It's not that Harry's worried; there are a variety of reasons for a ship of the Royal Navy not to return right on schedule. The weather is so unpredictable that it's often impossible to plan a voyage down to the exact day, and though Harry feels guilty even thinking it, ships are not always one hundred percent reliable. Even putting forth one's very best effort, engines still break down and sails don't always cooperate with the wind.
So. Harry's not worried, he's just. Waiting. Sitting in his port until he's needed for his next voyage, there's not much else he can do.
It's not that Harry's counting the days, but it's been six. Six days since HMS Tomlinson was supposed to dock back at his spot next to Harry's. Officially three days longer than any other voyage has ran long. Not that Harry's counting.
Louis is a strong ship, one of the best in the fleet, and the sea has yet to get the best of him. He will be back any day.
It's mere coincidence that Harry's anchor dropped on the deck of a new ship that tried to dock next to him.
Louis has been gone for a month when Harry starts to lose hope. Harry may be the pride of the British Navy, the ship that's counted on for the toughest journeys, but what good is any of that when he's tied to his post and completely unable to go to Louis's aid? He might be out there somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, and Harry is safe at home, getting his deck polished and the oil changed in his engine regularly. The guilt is overwhelming and all encompassing.
There was a time when he and Louis were new and inexperienced, the latest recruits to the fleet, and they thought were invincible. Thought nothing of promising to always come back—right next to you is where I'll always be.
They also promised never to give up on each other, but what's one more promise broken?
Harry is scheduled for a short voyage to the islands, but his sails won't untangle and he can't summon the will to start his engine and upon closer inspection, there's a small hole in his hull that will have to be patched before he can leave the port. It's the first time Harry's ever missed a voyage.
Harry's oil is being changed—his engine hasn't started since he missed his voyage—when there is the sound of men shouting on the horizon, sailing in on a ship that's only close enough for Harry to tell that it's one of their fleet. Harry is—he's not aware of any ships that are due back today. And he's been keeping track. He's torn between not watching the ship come in and never ever looking away.
What seems like hours later the ship comes into focus, the sails, the hull, everything about it unmistakable, a ship that Harry would instantly recognise even amongst a hundred others.
Harry's engine sputters to life, and if he weren't tied to the dock, he'd probably already be at Louis's side. Where he belongs. As Louis gets closer, Harry catches sight of how battered he is: sails shredded, large holes in his deck, and an engine that sounds like it's on its dying breath. Harry wants to rip out the wood of his own deck and patch him up, never let anything scar him again.
Louis makes port in the berth next to Harry's moments before his engine gives out on him. Louis's men disembark, shouting to the men on land about surprise attacks and war, but the only bit Harry really hears is never would have made it back without the Tomlinson.
Harry flies his sails high, hopes Louis understands that it means he's proud to serve with him, that their little sliver of the sea felt even smaller without him there, but mostly I missed you.
Louis's sails flutter weakly in greeting, but he's back and that's all that matters. He's back because he promised he always would.
Louis's captain is last to go ashore, and he says to one of the deckhands as he leaves, "Tie those two together so they don't drift off."