Chapter Text
The final day of the road trip feels like its own little world, to Doc. There had been so much time left—and then suddenly, there wasn’t. As they drive further north into more rural areas, the destination begins to feel far more real than it did while staring at it on a map.
Martyn is almost home.
Still, they have that whole day left. Martyn is in good spirits—with encouragement from Doc, he starts singing along with the radio again whenever he recognizes a song, idle humming and occasional phrases. Doc spends the ride checking his maps, making sure they’re headed to the right place, and glancing back at the tank as much as he can.
The day goes by, breezy morning to high noon to early evening. The landscape grows rugged, sparse pine forests and rocky cliffs along the winding coastal route, where other cars become an infrequent sight. Every so often, they can catch a glimpse of water shimmering through the trees.
The roads change, going from asphalt to concrete to gravel to dirt—unmaintained and sandy. Ren rolls the windows down, and the air smells of salt and pine resin and something raw, oceanic. The sky turns a deeper shade of blue, the sun glinting between the pines as it slowly begins to sink towards the horizon. By this point they’re the only vehicle left on the road.
Eventually, Ren pulls to a stop on the side of the overgrown trail they’d driven down. As the engine dies down, the distant sound of waves fills the air. He glances back at Martyn, then to Doc, visibly excited. “Well, my dudes, this is it! We made it!”
Doc takes a slow, deep breath. They made it.
He and Ren get out, sliding open the side door of the van. Martyn has already pushed the lid halfway off his tank, sending it clattering to the ground. He grins at them, eyes bright and glittering—he’s going home.
“Hey,” Ren says, soft enough that Doc almost doesn’t hear him, “Do you want my help bringing him down? Or do you want a bit of privacy…?”
Doc takes a moment, glancing out at the trees, the ocean just beyond them. “Maybe some help getting him most of the way, but, uh… privacy would be nice.”
Ren nods, claps him on the shoulder. He steps up into the back of the van, and Doc follows.
Together, they maneuver Martyn up and out of the tank, his arms around Doc. Ren locks up the van, then helps support Martyn’s tail as they duck through the sparse copse of trees. Claws tap a restless rhythm against Doc’s shoulder, Martyn craning his head back to stare up through the branches above. It takes them a bit to make their way up the steep, sandy hill to the strip of shoreline at the bottom. The spot is exactly what Doc had hoped it would be—secluded, private, safe.
Martyn’s fins perk up when the salty air hits his gills, the sound of the waves growing stronger. When they finally crest the hill and see the ocean properly before them, his eyes go wide, and he starts shifting, wiggling in Doc’s hold. There’s a quiet chirring deep in his throat, a giddy smile on his face.
They pause for a brief moment when they hit the sand, re-adjusting. Doc kicks off his shoes, and Ren helps him get a better hold on Martyn before stepping back. He nods to Doc before heading back up to the van. Doc watches him disappear over the hill, leaving him and Martyn alone in the cove.
“Almost there,” Doc murmurs, feeling the slight prick of claws where Martyn holds his shirt.
Martyn grins at him before turning back out to stare at the ocean, breathing out, “Home. I’m home.”
Doc exhales, slow and aching. Now, suddenly, the fears of being caught have vanished, the paranoia washed away; all that’s left is the pang of knowing that he isn’t ready. He stumbles on the first step down to the beach, and clings just a bit tighter to Martyn, afraid of letting him fall. Afraid of letting him go.
The sand is pleasantly warm, for early summer. The waves are calm here, sheltered by the coast surrounding this part of the sea. Soon, the sand underfoot grows wet and soft, and water laps at his ankles. He wades out further, until it comes up to his knees, cold sea soaking through his clothes. Doc feels that pressure in his head as the vents seal—he keeps going until the water reaches his hips, his stomach, his arms.
He lowers Martyn into the ocean, and for the first time in over a year, he is free.
The water hits his scales, cold and familiar—he can feel the current of the waves pushing and pulling at him as soon as he sinks below the surface, and the motion sings to him, home! You’re finally home!
Martyn laughs, loud and bright. He swirls into a roll, letting the momentum of the waves take him. It’s been so long since he’s been able to move like this, careless, wild, endless ocean thrumming through his veins. God, it feels good to swim without worrying about running into a wall.
After a moment of aimless tumbling he stops, digging claws into the sand as an anchor while he gets his bearings. He’s already several meters out from where he was released; the water here, he realizes, is deep enough to go vertical with just the tip of his tail breaching, fins chilled by the surface breeze. Martyn rights himself, looking out above the surface to find the shoreline and his drylander standing nearby.
He darts back to where Doc sways unsteadily in the surf, following the incline of the sea floor up to the shallows. His hand closes around Doc’s wrist as he pokes his head out of the water to grin at him.
“Come on,” Martyn urges, “we’re home.”
The drylander huffs out a laugh and lets himself be swept off his feet, diving along with Martyn as he ducks under a rolling wave. Doc squeezes his right eye shut against the water, the other glinting red through the cloud of bubbles; the wave brushes through his hair and makes his fur ripple like seagrass.
They resurface when it passes, Doc gasping for breath, Martyn laughing. It’s just barely deep enough for his drylander to stand here—the water laps at his shoulders, and as he shakes droplets from his hair, another wave nearly sweeps him off-balance. He grabs Martyn’s arm to steady himself, keeping his head above water.
Martyn helps him, one hand on his shoulder. The other goes up to his cheek, cupping his face; he kisses him as the sea swirls around them.
“Thank you,” he sighs, voice soft against Doc’s warm lips, “thank you.”
Doc says nothing—he just kisses him again, firmer, almost fervent, and Martyn gladly accepts.
The sky begins to grow darker as the sun sinks into the ocean. The clouds above glow in vivid pinks and oranges, and the sea that holds them glitters gold. It’s a beautiful sight; there were times, recently, where he thought he might never see the sun again.
Doc’s gaze drifts behind him, staring out at the open horizon as he sways with the current. Martyn watches his face, his right eye reflecting the setting sun while the left burns a similar shade of red. He’s got his arm around him still, and Martyn leans against his chest. It’s a familiar, solid warmth.
Soon they let the waves guide them towards the shallower part of the shore, so that Doc can sit without getting bowled over. Martyn slips from his arms and drifts out a little deeper, laying on his back. The sea carries him as he watches the stars begin to twinkle in, one by one.
He’s home.
After a while, he hears Doc get up, splashing noisily through the surf. Martyn snorts; it’s always funny when drylanders try to walk in the water, their legs clumsy and unbalanced. He looks over, expecting Doc to be joining him again, but—no, his back is turned. He’s heading towards the sand. Out of the water.
Martyn frowns, darting forward to catch up with him. “Doc?”
It’s shallow enough here that he scrapes his belly on the sand before he sits up. The drylander sighs, looking down at him. He seems tired, almost… sad.
Something goes tight in Martyn’s chest, his gills fluttering nervously. Suddenly, he’s uncertain—something is wrong. What’s wrong, where is he going—?
Oh.
The smile Doc gives him is tight, strained. The sky grows darker, the light around them fading as night creeps in. And Martyn knows.
“I have to go now, man. I have to go home, too.”
He always leaves when the lights go out, doesn’t he?
“Wait—no, Doc—”
An alarmed note creeps into his voice as he grabs at his leg, looking up at him even as Doc looks away, back to shore. This isn’t—he wasn’t supposed to—
Martyn’s grip on his leg tightens, trying to find the words to make Doc listen. He can’t just leave , not now. They just got here, Martyn only just got to start enjoying his freedom again—he can’t lose Doc already. He opens his mouth, but his throat suddenly feels thick and choked, like he’s been poisoned again. He’s learned so much of Doc’s language, and yet not a word comes to mind. At a loss, Martyn trills; quiet, desperate.
He doesn’t understand why, after everything—why now? Why now? Why does Doc have to leave? Why can't he just sleep here, like he did at his desk, with Martyn watching over him? Why can’t he sit up on the platform while the nighttime generator runs, and play soft songs on the radio again so they can sing together—but this time, they can be as loud as they want?
Why can't he just stay?
“Please, Doc,” Martyn whispers, “Stay.”
Doc’s breathing goes shaky, and he looks away, up at the darkening sky above, “I’m sorry.”
Slowly, Martyn’s grip starts to loosen. He half-expects—half-hopes—that Doc will stop him. Grab his hand, hold onto him for just a little longer. But he doesn’t. After all, it’s the only logical conclusion; Doc has to go home, too. And home… isn’t here. Not for him. Not with him.
He’d been so happy to be free again, to feel the sea’s embrace, to live somewhere without tank walls between them, that he hadn’t considered what would become of his drylander.
He lets his tail swipe through the shallows, agitated, frustrated—he can’t bring himself to let go of his leg, not yet. It feels like before, the lights shutting off and the radio going quiet, watching Doc walk out the door. Kicking up a fuss in the hopes of getting him to stay and talk to him for just a little bit longer.
But at least this one last time, the drylander understands. Doc turns on unsteady legs and sits, the waves washing over him. Martyn drags himself up, grabbing his knee and using it to haul himself forward to lay across his lap again.
They were never supposed to meet in the first place, were they? And yet they lay there in the surf where the sea meets the sand, and Doc reaches down to brush wet hair back from his face. His voice trembles in a way Martyn has only heard a few times before, just barely above a whisper as he says, “You’re incredible.”
Martyn’s face twists in a frown to match Doc’s sad, teary smile. He lurches up, grabbing at Doc’s shoulders, throwing his arms around his neck—the motion sends them down to the sand, Doc laying flat on his back with Martyn dripping saltwater on him. He grips tight to his shirt, burying his face in the crook of Doc’s neck. Doc’s arms wrap around him in turn, hand carding through his hair. His fur is warm, soft. He can feel Doc’s warm breath against his cheek, hitching slightly as he holds Martyn just a little bit tighter.
Martyn doesn’t know how to say what he wants to say in Doc’s language, so he says it in his own; the soft, gentle hum wavers slightly, and his throat still hasn’t fully recovered enough for it to sound as clear as it should. But he says it anyway, and hopes Doc understands.
Doc seems to get it. He murmurs words against his cheek, shaky and a little broken.
“I love you.”
Martyn thinks he gets it, too.
The waves roll around them in the sand as the sun sets, and Martyn leans in to kiss him again. Doc’s chest keeps shuddering, and his breathing has gone unsteady—but every time Martyn stops to check on him he just grabs him back, holds him closer. Their last kiss is warm, and Martyn tries to commit as much of it to memory as he can, humming his name in his own language against his lips. He never wants to forget the sound of it. Doc, Doc, Doc.
It can’t last forever. A cold breeze rolls off the ocean, and Martyn feels the drylander shiver, clothes soaked through. Eventually, he sits up, holding him as he does. Still unwilling to let go just yet, even as the beach grows darker.
“I’ll… I’ll come back soon, alright? You don’t have to be here, but—when I can, maybe a… a few months—I don’t know,” Doc says, “I can’t come back soon, not if it might lead people here. I can’t risk…”
He trails off, voice breaking. Martyn shifts in his arms, murmuring his name; Doc shakes himself and seems to come to a decision.
“Maybe… after winter, early spring. After the… the cold season. When it starts getting warm again in the spring, I’ll come back to this spot. I’ll be here,” Doc swallows, smiling at him even as he blinks back tears, “even if you’re not, I’ll be here, and I’ll come back again and again. Okay? It’s not… not forever. Just for now.”
“Just for now,” Martyn repeats softly, running his thumb over Doc’s cheek. After the cold season, when it starts getting warm again… he can do that. “Doc?”
Doc looks at him, blinking tears from dark eye. Martyn smiles, feeling the sea lapping at his scales, the gentle sound of the waves calling him home. He whispers one last thing to his drylander:
“I love you.”
Doc trudges up the beach as the last rays of sunlight sink below the horizon, watching over his shoulder as the pale form of Martyn grows more and more distant. Eventually, he disappears into the surf, sinking below the waves completely. And then he’s gone.
He should head back to the van, where Ren awaits him. He can see the headlights through the trees, but…
He needs a moment. Doc sits again on one of the boulders by the edge of the pines, unable to maintain his already-shaky composure any longer.
Martyn is home. He’s finally, finally home.