Really, heâs almost surprised with himself. Almost, but not quite. The tickets had been sitting for so long, he wasnât sure he could still use them. When heâd picked them up & looked them over heâd almost dropped them. Theyâd been an expensive impulse purchase, one he had shoved in a book & forgotten about after April had died. Finding them years later while he was looking for that very same fucking book heâd mentioned to Peter & realizing he could still use them⌠It had been as if she were telling him it was time. Sheâd always been stubborn like that, so really it wasnât a surprise. Even now, her ghost was a bossy little thing telling him to get his shit together.Â
   And she would want him to move on. He knows that, heâs known that. And it had taken him nearly eight damn years, but he had. Peter is gorgeous - long limbs, sharp tongue, & a genius level intellect that often has Brock laughing despite himself. They met because of Peterâs aunt - something that shouldnât amuse the older man as much as it did, but May was the only nurse in the unit heâd let remotely near him, & after a few years, she knew him well enough to realize maybe it was worth a shot.Â
   He just hadnât realized that she was entirely serious about introducing them, nor that she was right about how well they fell together. Peterâs ten years younger than him, hardly a big gap but given his line of work his body shows far more stress than it should. Hence the monthly serum injections May subjects him to on the authorization of Dr. Cho.Â
   Thatâs⌠Yet another conversation he maybe needs to have with Peter. That list keeps growing, & yet he hasnât found the right time to bring any of it up. The serum, his feelings. Probably a whole host of other things heâs putting off in favor of preserving what they have without jeopardizing it because if heâs anything, Brock Rumlow is one selfish fucking bastard.
   So he had taken the tickets, called them in, booked the cruise, upgraded everything, & packed their bags - taking special care to makes sure Peter had everything he needed before they flew out for the departure port. Theyâd been halfway there when heâd even told him where they were going, & it hadnât been until they were boarding that it had even felt some semblance of real.
   Reality being the SS Poseidon, a 135,000-ton state-of-the-art luxury cruise ship. With 152,460.0 square feet of exterior deck space, four swimming pools, she cuts an impressive figure. They had been told during the tour that due to her massive size, Poseidon was far too large to dock at most ports & that if they wished to disembark at some of the smaller ports along the route, they would be ferried to shore in one of the tenders. Heâd seen them stored in davits alongside the lifeboats when they boarded, & briefly heâd wondered if theyâd ever need to use one.Â
   Unlikely. This is his vacation, he needs to not think about emergency parameters - he needs to enjoy himself. And his time with the other.Â
  Something heâd been quick to notice when heâd boarded is that most of the major public rooms are on the lowest decks, & the passenger cabins are stacked on top of them. Heâs been on a lot of fucking boats in his life - enough to know this is the opposite of a traditional ocean liner design. It puts him at ease, given that it means the public rooms are contained in the stronger hull. Not that he should be worrying about something like that. It also meant their room - a suite - had a private balcony away from the waves, access to the Queenâs Grill, & the private deck with its whirlpool on Deck 11. Little perks, really.
  Theyâd spent the first few days exploring Decks 2 & 3 with the theaters, the planetarium, & the casino, as well as a shopping arcade, the champagne bar, & various restaurants. The nightclub on Deck 3 had also been an interesting find. The next few days had been split between Decks 7 & 8, which were mostly restaurants, the spa, & the 8,000 volume library. Heâd considered bringing Bear given there were twelve kennels on Deck 12 available for ocean crossings, but heâd decided against it last minute & left them at home with his sister. Only one kennel was occupied by a sweet doberman who seemed attention starved.
   Now itâs New Years Eve & over 3,700 passengers & crew are ringing in the new year in the belly of the beast. Itâs the last night of the cruise, & heâs looking forward to moving on. Itâd been one hell of an experience, but he has other things planned. Looking across the table at Peter, he can tell the other isnât having it â their table companions are an⌠interesting bunch, & he canât blame him at all. The man had started off with some of the most tasteless commentary he could manage, & then he had started drinking. Despite the fact theyâd never talked about it, Brock knows just from Peterâs prescriptions alone why some of the things rolling out of the otherâs mouth would make him uncomfortable. Basic human decency aside, as it were.Â
   The comment about Peter being his son is what drops his mood to mirror Peterâs. Itâs a sore spot for sure - heâs definitely not old enough for that role & thatâs decidedly not the affections he holds for the other. Theyâve been dancing around that for ages, & heâd meant to do something about it but somehow in the excitement of being on the ship, theyâd fallen into something more comfortable & heâs⌠hesitant to broach the topic. Brock canât risk pushing him away, but they canât keep balancing in this tightrope forever.Â
   When Peter stands, mouth so close to his ear, he feels a familiar warmth shoot right through him. Fuck. â Yes, dear, â he smirks, ignoring their company for a moment long to catch his wrist & squeeze in silent promise. Iâll be right there, it says. Wait for me. He watches him go, setting his glass down.Â
   â Heâs not my son, â Brock says finally once Peter is outside. â But Iâll speak with him. Excuse me. â He finishes his drink & moves to follow. The cool night air feels fucking good on his skin, & the sea feels at peace. Itâs almost too nice, like the calm before the storm. Pushing that thought away, he moves across the deck. They have a few hours before the main celebration, & heâd much rather spend it with the other than their dinner company.Â
The dull, continuous noise of the ocean paired with the talking and laughter from inside made Peter feel a little better about the evening. One person wasnât going to ruin it for him, he refused to allow that, but getting away for the time being was best for everyone. Some of the things the man had said made his blood boil in a way he couldnât explain.Â
Maybe his spider sense would tell him more later - who knew.
The second he heard Brockâs shoes, a distinct and familiar sound to him, he turned his head slightly. âItâs nice out here,â he commented. One arm was tucked under his elbow and supporting the other, his drink still partially full. It was a good thing there was alcohol, even in the form of champagne. He was reminded of the night they found the club on one of the lower decks, bringing a smile to his face.Â
âHeâs still going on in there. I think I may have offended him.â As if that was difficult to do. Most of the people in the upper decks were some of the higher society people heâd seen in New York a time or two. Not that he was going to complain though. Brock had gone through some trouble to get these tickets and it wasnât right of him to be so displeased, not when they still had a week left.Â
May had been happy with the photos at least. Peter had enjoyed texting her some of his phone selfies with Brock and sheâd insisted on posting a few of them on her Facebook - he didnât mind.Â
A sip. Peter turned slightly and regarded Brock thoughtfully. Things had been going so well on their trip that he had to wonder just what was in store for them - good things never lasted long for Peter.Â
âSorry about leaving you back there with the jackals. Thought it might help to just... get some clear air out here. I- Brock? Thanks for letting me come with you on this trip. Itâs honestly been the best time Iâve had with someone. Donât know how Iâll make it up to you.â His voice was soft but not low enough to be drowned out by the sound of the waves near the window. Peter downed the rest of his drink and sat it on the tray of a passing waiter without looking.Â
Now that he could fully face Brock, brown eyes softened and he took a step a bit closer as the sunâs dying light started to disappear. Strings of lights came to life above their heads, leaving their reflections in Peterâs eyes. âIâve been meaning to ask though - why pick me? Thereâs got to be hundreds of people practically tripping over themselves for a chance to be with you.â
