[ appearances are important to nikolai, and so out of the tumult roiling in him, he weaves the image of the man he wants everyone to see. their fearless captain. the reckless adventurer. no one is any wiser when they return to the volkvolny, which is precisely how he and brekker intended it. he spars with tamar on the deck as usual, tells fabricated stories to his crew over dinner, even stands on the railing with a glass of brandy and recites a highly discourteous tribute to djel and the sacred ash trees right before they enter fjerdan waters. he laughs like he means it. kaz does not partake in any of his outlandish ruckus. nikolai is not expecting him to, but frequently finds his eyes wandering across his ship for a glimpse of gloomy black anyway.
a different story is told in the privacy of his quarters. nikolai keeps his spirits high, keeps a casual smile within reach, but for days the tension does not dissipate. he's careful each time he changes the dressings on kaz's shoulder, only letting his concern show when his back is turned. the wound seems to stubbornly fight progress, and nikolai offers kaz a selection of tonics for pain relief from their well-stocked inventory. he doesn't complain at the reappearance of his shackles — both heavier and stronger this time — though it's more difficult to hide his unease at the sleeping draught. it takes him under within a matter of seconds, just as harrowing as before. he doesn't tell kaz that it only lasts for just under three hours, a realization that comes when he wakes in the middle of the night like a dead man clawing out of his grave, skin slick with a cold sweat, nausea pushing at his throat. the first night, he puts himself back under. after that, he simply remains awake.
he's relieved for their detour in ketterdam, relieved that kaz can pull members of the dregs to join him. he's kept himself apart, only speaking about details of the job, and nikolai feels guilty every time he sees him move like a reaper across his ship, most times alone. you asked for that. he wants to keep watching, his chest tight at a glimpse of a rare — not smile, exactly, but something pleased that flickers across kaz's face, but his voyeurism is cut short by the need to expel his guts across the side of the ship into the harbor. kaz does not see him, but one of his dregs does. the tonic works; he has not turned since the disastrous night at sea, the demon keeping itself quietly coiled within him, but the side effects are running him ragged.
the icy fjerdan winds offer some relief for the constant pulse in his head, cutting through the pain and helping him think more clearly. a sense of unease rests heavily at his shoulders as they trek across the snow, and he's turning to tell kaz as much when anika disappears below ground. he barks out tamar's name when she goes after her, then has to forcibly haul kaz back before he loses him too — but then the ground disintegrates beneath their feet and they're falling, falling, and he can't move fast enough to stop kaz from twisting to take the brunt of their landing. ]
Brekker. [ the wind has been knocked out of him, but kaz has taken a blow to the head, red blood standing out starkly against the gleaming white around them. he dislodges himself from his arms — how is he managing to hold on? — and carefully cradles the side of his head, holding him still to take stock of the wound. he strips both of their goggles off to get a better look at kaz's eyes, his chest twinging like it always does when he loses himself in the sky. they're just how he remembers, thinking he wouldn't get a chance to see them this close again. ] Brekker. Look at me. Why did you — just look at me.
[ without thinking, he slips his gloves off to graze his fingertips gently down his temple, carefully thumbing snow from his cheek. kaz's lids flutter, his breath pooling out of him in a cloud. ] It's okay. You're all right. Open your eyes and look at me, Brekker. Let me see you.
no subject
a different story is told in the privacy of his quarters. nikolai keeps his spirits high, keeps a casual smile within reach, but for days the tension does not dissipate. he's careful each time he changes the dressings on kaz's shoulder, only letting his concern show when his back is turned. the wound seems to stubbornly fight progress, and nikolai offers kaz a selection of tonics for pain relief from their well-stocked inventory. he doesn't complain at the reappearance of his shackles — both heavier and stronger this time — though it's more difficult to hide his unease at the sleeping draught. it takes him under within a matter of seconds, just as harrowing as before. he doesn't tell kaz that it only lasts for just under three hours, a realization that comes when he wakes in the middle of the night like a dead man clawing out of his grave, skin slick with a cold sweat, nausea pushing at his throat. the first night, he puts himself back under. after that, he simply remains awake.
he's relieved for their detour in ketterdam, relieved that kaz can pull members of the dregs to join him. he's kept himself apart, only speaking about details of the job, and nikolai feels guilty every time he sees him move like a reaper across his ship, most times alone. you asked for that. he wants to keep watching, his chest tight at a glimpse of a rare — not smile, exactly, but something pleased that flickers across kaz's face, but his voyeurism is cut short by the need to expel his guts across the side of the ship into the harbor. kaz does not see him, but one of his dregs does. the tonic works; he has not turned since the disastrous night at sea, the demon keeping itself quietly coiled within him, but the side effects are running him ragged.
the icy fjerdan winds offer some relief for the constant pulse in his head, cutting through the pain and helping him think more clearly. a sense of unease rests heavily at his shoulders as they trek across the snow, and he's turning to tell kaz as much when anika disappears below ground. he barks out tamar's name when she goes after her, then has to forcibly haul kaz back before he loses him too — but then the ground disintegrates beneath their feet and they're falling, falling, and he can't move fast enough to stop kaz from twisting to take the brunt of their landing. ]
Brekker. [ the wind has been knocked out of him, but kaz has taken a blow to the head, red blood standing out starkly against the gleaming white around them. he dislodges himself from his arms — how is he managing to hold on? — and carefully cradles the side of his head, holding him still to take stock of the wound. he strips both of their goggles off to get a better look at kaz's eyes, his chest twinging like it always does when he loses himself in the sky. they're just how he remembers, thinking he wouldn't get a chance to see them this close again. ] Brekker. Look at me. Why did you — just look at me.
[ without thinking, he slips his gloves off to graze his fingertips gently down his temple, carefully thumbing snow from his cheek. kaz's lids flutter, his breath pooling out of him in a cloud. ] It's okay. You're all right. Open your eyes and look at me, Brekker. Let me see you.