He Ain't Heavy

[Snick]

Phrixos stood on the balcony of the lighthouse, watching the light swoop over the sea. He leaned forward against the rail, just thinking. As the wind swept his unkempt hair to one side, the thought of sailing came to mind. The conditions of the weather and sea were perfect for sailing. This, of course, reminded him of Patrick. He sighed and sat down, sticking his legs out under the railing. His arms crossed over the middle rail, then he rested his chin on them.

Pat the Brat had punched him, then cried and poured his heart out. Pratt didn't know how to feel or how to respond to what he said, and had avoided him and the subject entirely. He'd been nothing but a nervous wreck ever since, not one method of calming worked. Well, one thing did, but it wasn't exactly calming, but temporarily distracting. Or more like replacing one anxiety with another.

"Why can't I just not care?" he asked thin air, or maybe the lighthouse. He knew what would make him not care, but Siobhan would be so disappointed in him.

Siobhan had noticed Pratt go up the stairs to the tower after they returned to the lighthouse and at first thought he wanted to be alone, but then thought better of it. She followed him up silently. She listened to what he was saying and guessed what was on his mind . . . Patrick. She'd noticed Patrick having dinner with Elizabeta. What was that all about?

She moved up behind him and put her arms around his waist from behind. "You still love him, just like he loves you." She sighed. "I'm a little worried about both of you. You more than him . . . but, did you notice who he had dinner with?"

"I don't... I loathe him," he seethed, not turning his head to look at her. "Don't worry about it, it's not your problem. Worry about your own brother. Everyone hates him."

Pratt sighed loudly and closed his eyes. What did he care who the Brat was eating with?

"No, who? Carissa again?" he groaned. "Were they sharing spaghetti and meatballs? I don't care. Let him get the reputation of a playboy, I tried to warn him."

"I love . . ." No, she would save that for later. Lorccan's defense could wait. Siobhan frowned, hugging him tighter. "No, it was Elizabeta. I think she was recruiting him . . . it's Glassman's legacy. If we aren't safe around him, why would he be? He'll write to your parents about which one to join, right? What will they tell him?"

"Dad was a Skull," one shoulder shrugged. "Mom was a Flag Hag. But they'll probably encourage him to join N.O.S. over Hope and Glory. Mom avoids conflict with Dad at all costs."

Pratt had never seen evidence of physical abuse, but he suspected it. There was definitely some emotional and mental abuse. He'd fantasized so many times about confronting Phrixos III, dueling him to the death, being the victor, and whisking his family away to somewhere nice and safe and secluded.

"We don't want him to join the Skulls," he shook his head. "I don't want him to. But what can we do, Siobhan?"

"He wants you in his life, Pratt . . . he wants his big brother. I watched that tear slide down his face when he hit you. We talk to him. We get him alone, and we talk to him. We tell him we suspect Glassman. Take him out sailing. He acts so polished, but that tear proved he's still a little boy inside. He needs you."

Siobhan kissed his cheek. "You are so much stronger than you think you are. I'm here for you."

"What's the point? He won't listen to me," Pratt closed his eyes and leaned toward her lips when she kissed his cheek. "He wants to make Dad proud. He'll do what he says, or risk losing everything, like me. And we don't know that Glassman can't be trusted. What if we're wrong? We'd be taking an opportunity away from Pat. I don't want to do that."

Phrixos leaned back and looked at her. "Could have been a tear of anger," he shrugged.

"So you don't yell at him and tell him what to do. You just talk to him straight up. Go sailing with him. Take me with you. I'll help. We have to try. These guys play for keeps. Pat would look like hell with no ears," she added, trying to crack a joke, but getting a little freaked out for a moment and shuddering instead. "Or worse, they would make him one of them." Frightened, she hugged him tightly again.

"Fine. Let's talk to him. Let's go sailing," he didn't look happy in the slightest. "If it'll make you stop this... whatever. Meddling."

Pratt instantly regretted saying that. "I didn't mean that," he pulled back from the railing. "Honest. I'm just frustrated. And I don't know if Patrick and I can talk without fighting."

"I'm a meddler? Because I care about your brother not getting killed or corrupted? Because I know you care about him? Because I know it will make you happy if you two can have a chance again?" She pushed away from him. Because as much as a fourteen year old can know love, I think I love you, she thought. And I want you to be happy. Right now, you're pissing me off.

"Are you sure you didn't mean it? Maybe you think if you make me angry enough I'll break up with you and you can go back on your potions. Well, I'm not going to do it. You aren't getting rid of me. The lighthouse made you my protector, but you made me your protector too . . . " She walked back up to him again. "Damn it, Gilligan, you're stuck with me."

[Snick]

Pratt rose to his full height, frowning. "It's none of your business. It's not your place to reunite us," his voice was a little louder than normal, but he was trying very hard not to shout. "You can't solve everyone's problems, Siobhan. Some things aren't fixable. Not by those involved, not by interlopers. This is one of those things. But I'm going out on that boat, I'm going to talk to my brother, to make you happy."

He shook his head, confused. "Do you really think that's who I am? That that's what I would do? Just so I could get my fix?" he asked, sincere hurt manifesting as more anger. "Then you're not who I thought you were. You're no different than everyone else. I don't want you to break up with me. If I didn't want to be with you, I'd break up with you. But I do. I... You are my fix."

"I'm worried about him because he's your brother. Because I know what happened. There is something evil out there. I don't want them to get your brother, because you love him. I'm sorry I meddled. No, I don't think you were trying to break up with me. I don't think that's who you are. I just said that because you called me a meddler," she shouted back. "Damn it, Pratt, I care about you. I care about all of you. I can't help if that means caring about your brother and sister if they are making you unhappy. It's not because I'm a meddler. It's because I lo-like you so much." She turned her back to him, embarrassed by what she had almost said.

"Then you go be his friend. I'm not worried about him. Not because I don't care, but because he's smart," Phrixos flared his nostrils, breathing hastened. "He's a big boy, he can take care of himself. He won't join the Skulls if he senses something is off. And if he wants to be my friend, he's got a funny way of showing it."

His rib cage suddenly felt three times too small and his stomach was trying to turn inside out. The look on his face was one of confusion and panic. "You what now?" his voice was an octave higher than typical as he put a trembling hand on her shoulder. "Siobhan?"

Her heart was pounding like a bass drum. "I love you," she half whispered, terrified of what she had just said aloud. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Not while they were arguing, and not while she was only fourteen . . . and not while they had only been dating a few weeks . . . but something in her said it was true, and the rush in her stomach of warmth that spread all through her confirmed it. She loved him.

Phrixos was struck dumb, frozen in place. He looked terrified. Though he would never admit it aloud, Pratt had been waiting a very long time to hear that from Siobhan. Now that he had, he wished he hadn't. Not the way she said it, like the words struck fear into her heart, like she didn't really want to say them. Hopefully, she didn't expect him to say it back. He just... couldn't.

"You mean that kind of luh-... love? You don't... You can't, not yet... can you?" he tried to make her turn around, the throbbing in his ears almost deafening, the word 'love' getting lodged in his throat. "You just think you do, because it's a brand new feeling and because of all that's happened? But it's too soon? It has to grow, right? You barely liked me a few weeks ago, barely knew me.

"Not that I don't want you to. God, do I want you to," Pratt had both hands on her upper arms, and he was rambling, nervous. "But I'm afraid you'll realize you don't, once everything has settled down and it's not so new. I want you to be sure, absolutely positive. Because I've been pining for you for three years and I don't think I could take it if you said it and didn't mean it or took it back later. Please."

Breathe, he reminded himself. "Please, Ginger," Pratt beseeched her. "I'm in love with you. Don't get my hopes up, it's a long way back down."

Well, he did say it, after all.

Siobhan sighed. He was in love with her. She felt so warm and full of light inside . . . in love. Was that different than what she felt? "Gilligan? What do you want me to say? I love you. I'm sure of it. What I feel is love. It's different than the love I feel for my family or even my friends. Is it 'in love' like you feel for me? I'm not sure yet. But I am sure it's love. And it's uniquely yours."

He nodded, released her arms, and took a couple of unsteady steps backwards. "Good, good," Pratt continued to nod and tried to smile. "Thank you. For your honesty. I... I can live with unique love."

Siobhan loved him, might be in love but isn't sure. That was a good thing. Then why did he feel so crappy? It wasn't she that was getting his hopes up. Pratt had gotten his own hopes up and now he felt disappointed, like a kid that didn't get that one thing he really wanted for Christmas. Maybe this would turn out like A Christmas Story and she'd say 'Oh, Gilligan, looks like there's another gift over there...'

"Guess I'll go find Patrick now," his heart wasn't breaking, but he didn't feel great. "You can come with, or meet up with us, or whatever..."

He turned toward the door and cracked it open, but stood there, waiting for her answer.

"Don't go, not yet . . . you just said you're in love with me, and I just said I love you, and you're walking out of here like you need to return a book to the library and with as much enthusiasm." She wanted to be kissed or hugged at least. "Gilligan, don't you understand? I only have one kind of love for you . . . not as a brother, and not like a friend. And until a five minutes ago, I didn't even dare say it." Let her be reserved about something . . .

He released the door and faced her, a pained expression had replaced the smile he forced a moment ago. "I understand, but that wasn't exactly what I was expecting to hear," his eyes blinked a few times. "I shouldn't have said anything, and I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up. I'm upset, but it's my fault, not yours. I don't want you to think this is your fault."

Pratt stepped toward her and took her hands. "I've never felt this way about anyone, not even close," he shook his head. "That's how I know. I could be wrong, I'm wrong about a lot of things, but I don't think I'm mistaken this time. I feel the same way you do, but I'm more sure of what it means. I guess it.... it stings that you aren't so sure. But we have plenty of time, and I'll wait forever if I have to, for you to figure it out. Deal?"

Instead of a handshake, he sealed the deal with a kiss. A kiss filled with every bit of love that was in his heart, tender and warm and real.

Siobhan didn't want it to end. She felt perfectly loved and safe in his arms and with the kiss added to it . . . she kissed him back. Finally, she pulled away gently.

"I'll walk with you to see Patrick," she said quietly.

[Snick]

"Okay," he slowly opened his eyes.

Pratt laced his fingers with Siobhan's and headed for the door.

"I feel like such an idiot," he admitted as he pulled the door open to let her through, then went through, himself. "I really am sorry. I feel like... like an explosive potion. And every jostle just makes me more and more volatile. And sometimes you make it worse, and sometimes you make it better.

"Better more often than worse," he added. "But the thing is... you're the only thing... the only person that ever makes it better. Besides potions, I mean."

"That's all right. You're the only thing that works almost as well as my violin." She kissed his cheek. Of course, so far, they'd only hugged and kissed, if they . . . she suddenly blushed at the thought. Holy Mary, she was thinking of that? "Let's go find Patrick." She held his hand tightly.

"Almost as well?" he frowned exaggeratedly, making him look a bit like a frog. Then he smiled genuinely and very briefly. It seemed that no matter if he was happy enough to float, the thought of having to call a truce with Patrick brought him right back down. Pratt squeezed Siobhan's hand and nodded.

He had to keep reminding himself that he was doing it for her. Though it was the right reason to do any number of other things, it was the wrong reason for extending an olive branch to his brother.