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Travis’ ears are ringing.
He stands, breathless, on the dock, trying to draw air into uncooperative lungs. Around him, wisps of cloud brush past the floating city, gentle and cold, and Travis cannot help but feel like he is falling. He knows, inexplicably and all too late, exactly who it is he has just said goodbye to.
(Who he has lost, again).
His hands clench at his sides, and breaths rattle wetly in his throat, and before he has even made a conscious decision to do so, he is running towards the Uhuru. The boards of the dock pound beneath his feet in unison with the blood rushing in his ears, and he runs and runs and runs, feeling all too much like a rabbit being hunted again. He takes a sharp turn onto the boards connecting the dock with the Uhuru and leaps aboard, skidding and almost falling as he turns to head towards the birds.
He doesn’t notice anyone calling his name until he slams headfirst into Gable and falls bodily to the deck.
“Travis?” says Gable, as, winded, Travis gasps for breath on the ground. They reach down to grab him by the shoulders and lift him upright, leaning in and eyeing him with concern. “Travis, what’s wrong?”
“I have to go,” Travis gets out, choked and unable to hold up any of his usual pretences. Gable’s face does something he doesn’t have time to interpret, and he says “I need a bird.”
“What?” says Gable. “Travis, what do you- is this about Jolly Jack?”
“I need to go,” Travis says again, trying to pull away to dodge past them, but Gable’s hands are still on his shoulders and they’re not letting go.
“Travis,” says Gable, an unspoken plea of talk to me hanging in the air between them, but Travis can’t breathe and he can’t lose her again, not now that he knows who she is, he can’t let her slip out of his grasp again. He can feel the memory of reeds in his clutched fist, can feel the river trying to pull him under – how had she survived? How had she come back? Why hadn’t he let himself be pulled under with her, they were meant to do things together-
“William,” Gable says, and Travis stares up at them, trying to convince himself that his lungs aren’t filling with water.
“I need to go,” he repeats. “I need - I need to go, Gable please-”
And that’s what does it, because Travis has never said please to them, has probably never said please in his life except tinged with sarcasm, and they’ve never seen him like this, pale and shaking and unable to hold their gaze. He’s panicked, eyes flickering back and forth the way they do the couple of times Gable has woken Travis after nightmares. But they’ve never seen him like this, never seen him so obviously distressed as he is now.
They take their hands off his shoulders gently and he bolts, fleeing below deck to the birds. In the emptiness the few seconds after Travis leaves, Gable says softly, “Just come back,” to the space he no longer occupies.
Travis vision is blurred by the time he gets down to the birds. Somehow, somewhere, the luminaries must be working in his favour, because Flee is still saddled from a scouting mission earlier in the day. Travis throws open the door to the enclosure and Flee seems to understand his urgency, letting him clamber into the saddle with minimal fussing.
They streak away from the ship in a blur, and Travis feels the air leave his lungs again. They cut through cloud and condensation settles damp on his skin. Travis knows he’s shaking, knows that he’s barely holding on to the saddle, but Flee seems to know where to go.
There’s wetness on his face, and he doesn’t know if it’s tears or condensation, but he can’t bring himself to wipe it away. Clouds surround them, thick and opaque, and he clutches the handle of the saddle like he can will Margaret’s hand back into his. He can feel the shape of it like an extension of his own limbs.
(He can’t stop feeling her pulled away by the river and he just knows it’s his fault. Her hand slips out of his again and again, the pain of losing her raw like an exposed wound and his chest aches with it.)
Flee bursts out of the cloud and Jolly Jack’s ship is several hundred feet ahead of them, Featherweave lit up gold like a beacon. Travis urges Flee towards it, and as they close in the bird lets out a shriek of victory.
There are shouts of alarm and confusion from the deck as Flee lands heavily, and the ship dips a little under the sudden weight at one end, but Travis can’t see anyone except the woman at the prow of the ship turning to face him. Her eyes are wide as she stares at him, frozen, tears on her cheeks, as he slides off the back of Flee.
“Margaret?” he says, as soft and as broken as the time he saw her in the temple. Margaret’s hands are shaking, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she stares at him, tears in her eyes. There’s several seconds where they just stare at each other, seemingly unable to believe that the other is there, before Margaret runs to him and Travis throws his arms around her like she might disappear again if he lets go.
“It’s you,” says Travis, so soft she can barely hear the words.
“It’s me,” says Margaret, a choked, wet laugh bubbling out of her throat. She clutches Travis as tight at he is holding her, and he buries his face in hair, now unable to stop the sobs he’s repressed for decades from coming. She reaches up to cup his cheek with a hand, and her eyes are sad but she’s smiling.
“William,” she says, and Travis laughs wetly, reaching out to cup her face too.
There’s a thin red string connecting their hands, and Travis watches it shift as Margaret reaches up to brush the hair back from his eyes. He takes one of her hands in his, ducking slightly to press their foreheads together.
“I promise,” he says, curling his fingers to intertwine with hers, and his voice is thick with tears. “I promise I won’t let go this time.”