How Typical #3
“S’ alright, what’s keeping you?” Watt murmured, and his spine seemed to vibrate against his own, which was absurd.
Cornelius liked it when Watt talked like that.
Long words, filled with thought and a hint of Scottish.
He couldn’t tell the man that it was his presence keeping him awake, the man had hardly moved all night.
Watt wouldn’t—couldn’t—understand that Cornelius was electrified by the man’s body pressed against his, and the idea that after all this time only a few layers of fabric separated them.
Cornelius was pretty sure Watt was hugging the edge of the bed, but they were still squished together. How could Watt stand it?
‘Because he doesn’t like you like that. You’re lucky he likes you at all,’ an ugly part of his brain said.
And yet, Cornelius had no choice but to speak exactly what was on his mind. It was his nature. In a low whisper, he asked, “What is a aventiage?”
Watt tensed for a split second before rolling over, careful and quiet yet effortless. Cornelius did the same, but with much less grace. They were face to face now, sharing air and mildly confused looks. It was dark, but there was enough moonlight to reflect in Watt’s eyes.
“A what?”
Cornelius took a deep breath, and he did his best to speak slowly and quietly.
“In the last couple of letters you sent me, you kept referring to me as … your aventiage. To be honest I really couldn’t understand much.
They were hard to read. Jumbled. I’m not …
I understand why you might’ve been confused writing them.
But I remember that came up a few times. ”
Watt blinked, long and slow. His fingers twitched in the space between them, brushing against the sheet. They’d be so easy to take, and nothing Cornelius hadn’t done before. But that was before. This was after.
Voice thick, Watt said, “I don’t know if it makes me feel better or worse that you received them after all. I never knew, but I’d always hoped that you didn’t. Before, anyways. I’d thought maybe that was why …”
‘Why you didn’t write me back, a soldier heading off to a war and unsure of return.’ He didn’t say it, but it hung between them all the same.
“I kept all the letters you sent me. I—” Cornelius shut his eyes, unable to say what he needed to with Watt staring at him like that.
“I was so angry with you. I thought why should I answer your letters if you never answered mine? But I wish, now, that I had written you back. How cruel of a person am I not to have done so?”
“I understand, I—”
Cornelius opened his eyes, despite the burn in them. “No. Please don’t forgive me for something I haven’t forgiven myself for yet.”
“I never received yours, you know. I didn’t know they existed until last month.” Watt blurted out, then bit his lip.
Cornelius blinked. “What?”
Watt grimly explained his situation with the mysterious package and the state the letters were in. He said, “I know it sounds absurd, but I swear that’s the truth.”
“But who kept them from you?” Cornelius asked. His voice shuddered, and his heart raced.
“I don’t know. I thought maybe my father, but he would’ve let them burn.”
Cornelius felt like he couldn’t breathe.
Oh, he’d been such an asshole. All this time, all these years.
Cornelius whispered, “You never knew. They never told you, and you don’t …
” He shook his head a little. “But we had a whole conversation, you and me. I thought at least you would’ve remembered that. ”
Watt shivered, and his beard scratched against the pillow.
“I’m sorry Cornelius, I don’t remember things well, especially from that time.
All I know is that I was forbidden to see or talk to you again, or any of your family, and we never visited Harbor Point after that year.
I fought for you, I really did. But it wasn’t enough.
I should’ve tried harder to find out what happened, to reach you and tell you that I missed you.
But Father was so …” Watt sighed. “I’m truly sorry. ”
Cornelius closed his eyes, fighting tears.
A tentative hand rested on his jaw, and a thumb wiped at his tears.
Cornelius inhaled and opened his eyes, surprised.
Watt startled and began to pull his hand away.
Cornelius reached up, laying his hand over Watt’s and securing them both in place on his cheek.
Watt swallowed. Stammering a little, he said, “I—I believe what I was trying to say was my—my aventurier. I’m not the best at writing in French, and it w—was … disorienting, over there.”
Oh, hell. Cornelius’ heart was on the verge of collapse.
He wasn’t sure how it began, but their joined hands drifted from his jaw to the space between their chests. Watt stared at him with such intent, Cornelius thought he was about to be kissed. But no, Watt didn’t feel like that about him. They were simply feeling familiar, vulnerable.
That was all.
Cornelius smiled. “Oh.”
Watt’s fingers tightened around Cornelius. “For what it’s worth, I think we would’ve been friends back then.”
Barely audible, Cornelius said, “Me too.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Can I ask you something else, first? About the letters.”
“Yes.”
“Who …” Cornelius wasn't sure why it mattered, only that it did. He had to know. “Who is Cher Ami? What was she like?”
Watt blinked in surprise, then a smile crested his lips.
“Oh. Cher Ami. I'd nearly forgotten about him, although I'm not sure how. He saved our lives, you know. God, those days were a mess. One miscommunication and inflated ego after another led us into such chaos that eventually we were being fired upon by our own troops. The artillery.” Watt's smile faded, and he sighed.
“There were eight others, but only Cher Ami made it back, with the message and in bad shape. He lost a leg, and suffered a chest wound that later turned fatal.”
“Oh, I'm so sorry.” Cornelius immediately regretted asking.
There had been a letter from Watt after he'd made it out of there, pages upon pages of which were filled with mostly incoherent scribbles focusing on someone named Cher Ami.
The emotion behind his words had been nearly enough to make Cornelius crack.
He'd always assumed Cher Ami was a woman, but the French always were the more interesting sort.
Once again, he wished that he'd buried his pride and written Watt back.
“He lived a good life, and did his duty. I visited him a few years back, actually. It's … odd, seeing him on display like that. But at least others can learn about him, I suppose.”
“Oh?” Cornelius asked, confused.
Watt frowned. “At the Smithsonian.”
“I … think something has been lost in translation here.” Cornelius tried.
Understanding dawned on Watt's face, and he chuckled quietly. “Cher Ami was a messenger pigeon, not a human.”
“Oh.” Cornelius' cheeks immediately flushed. “Oh. That—that makes much more sense.”
Their soft laughter filled the room, and a giddy sort of feeling rose in Cornelius' chest. Watt playfully hushed him when Severino's snores changed tempo, and they smiled at each other. After a few moments, Watt said, “Do I get to ask my question now?”
Cornelius nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“Why Sawyer?”
The atmosphere shifted from quiet joy to grief.
Cornelius closed his eyes on reflex. He swallowed against his leaping heart, then said, “For Papa.
Sawyer … it pays homage to him and his work.
I won't be carrying on the family name, but this is—it's a way for me to be close to him. To where I come from.”
“Oh,” Watt said. “Oh, Cornelius.”
Watt moved closer. Cornelius, quite sure he was not reading the situation correctly, remained still.
He was glad for his second intuition, for Watt merely brought their foreheads together.
They could have kissed. It would have been so easy.
Neither of them seemed to be breathing, but Cornelius knew he had to be because his heart was racing a million miles an hour.
But they only laid together. Quiet, hands entangled between them.
Foreheads pressed together and noses aligned.
There was nothing romantic about it, not really.
And yet, Cornelius had never felt more intimately touched in his life.
They lay there in the moonlight, Severino’s snores and the distant sounds of a city at night lulling them into a sense of ease. Of comfort.
Cornelius had started to drift off to sleep when Watt murmured, “You know, I do remember you telling me stories. I wish I remembered the rest, I really do. But I’m convinced listening to you got me through it, you know. I always thought you’d become a writer some day, or an actor.”
Cornelius chuckled. “No, it’s as you say. I was born to be an aventurier. But a man can be good at many things.”
“Thank you, Cornelius.” Watt grinned, and Cornelius thought he could almost feel it.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Cornelius whispered.