The Ocean of Forgetting [The Shawshank Redemption, Red Redding/Andy Dufresne, PG-13]
Title:The Ocean of Forgetting
Author: kajikia
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1700
Summary: The Pacific is as blue as it was in his dreams.
A/N: A day late and a dollar short.
He finds Andy where he always thought-hoped-he would, on a sleepy, sandy stretch of beach in Mexico. It's like something out of a postcard, impossibly beautiful, and the Pacific is as blue as it was in his dreams.
Andy smiles like the sun coming up when he sees Red, like nothing Red's ever seen on his face before. They embrace, and Red leans into the warmth of his body.
"Stay," Andy says later, still smiling, when they're sitting in the shade of the boat-Andy's boat. "I need a man who knows how to get things."
Red looks down at his hands, feeling old and tired and lost. Forty years is a long time to be away from the world. "Andy-" he starts. I'm not that man anymore.
Andy puts his hand on Red's shoulder. "I need a friend," he says, smile fading.
Red stays.
***
Andy has his hotel, as well as the boat, both of them old and rundown, but still sound. The hotel is built around a courtyard with a long-dry fountain, overrun now with bougainvillea and a huge fruit tree that Red doesn't recognize.
"It's a mango tree," Andy explains, peeling away the sunset-colored skin of the fruit and cutting out slices of the deep golden flesh.
It is the sweetest thing Red has ever tasted, so vivid he has to close his eyes for a moment. Andy is smiling at him when he opens them again.
***
They sleep on the roof of the hotel to catch the breeze, and Andy talks about how he's going to put ceiling fans in every room.
"Hmmm," Red says, barely awake.
"And mosquito netting," Andy adds, slapping at his leg.
The next day, Red decides that the mosquito netting is probably something they should invest in now. When it is too hot to work anymore, he walks into the town of Zihuatanejo. It's the end of summer and the town is slow and sleepy; he reckons it will get busier when it gets colder up north. Most of the shops are shuttered, everyone napping through the midday heat. There's a bar that's open, although it looks like the few people inside are dozing themselves.
He orders a beer, and it's surprisingly cold.
Red doesn't speak much Spanish-there's not much call for it in Maine-and the bartender doesn't speak much English, but Red has Andy's little phrase book and an expressive face, and together they eventually work out where he can buy mosquito netting.
Andy looks surprised and impressed when Red shows him the netting. "I told you I needed a man who knows how to get things," he says, and Red snorts. It's not like it was difficult, not like it's contraband.
He starts going into town almost every day, even though Andy's not inclined to come with him, sometimes at midday, sometimes in the evening for a drink at the bar. He talks to people, and his Spanish improves, and sometimes he comes back with things they need, like a couple of laying hens or the news that someone's cousin's brother-in-law had ripped open the hull of his fishing boat on a reef and would sell the engine for cheap.
Andy always looks surprised and impressed, and after awhile he starts asking Red to find things. At first, Red thinks he's just humoring him, giving him something to do, and Red is almost grateful for the little spark of anger that makes him feel. Being angry feels normal.
But then he finally convinces Andy to go to the bar with him one night. When Red's there by himself, everyone is friendly enough and talkative. When he sits with Andy, everyone leaves them alone. Andy sticks out like a sore thumb, tall and pale and gangly and slightly stiff. The one with the silver spoon up his ass, is what Red thought when he first saw Andy, and it looks like he's not the only one.
Red buys them both beers, and after he pays, Andy leans over and whispers, "That was about half of what they charged me the one time I came in here."
Red eyes him. "You came in here before?"
Andy isn't drinking his beer, just kind of picking at the label. He shrugs a little. "When I first got here. It seemed like the sociable thing to do."
This is when Red realizes Andy isn't just giving him makework-this is something he really can't do. Andy is a fucking genius about a lot of things, but he's not very good with people.
They sit at a corner table and talk, and they make a real, serious list of all the things they need to get to make the boat and the hotel new again.
Red is too old to lie to himself, so he doesn't pretend that the warm glow he feels when they leave the bar is because of the beer.
***
One of the waitresses at the bar will sell you more than just beer. Red watches the sway of her hips out of the corner of his eye, but doesn't do anything, because the only money he has is from Andy, and using that just seems wrong.
Instead, he sands down the bar and revarnishes it, and takes his payment in pesos instead of beers.
He does it because long ago, that was the first thing he said he'd do when he got out of prison. Her body is soft and warm and skillful, but the act is strange nonetheless. He hasn't been with a woman in forty years. In prison, he went over those memories so many times that they became worn and smooth, nothing at all like the sharpness of reality.
He does not regret it, but he doesn't feel the need to repeat it.
Then Andy takes his shirt off one evening, and his body is luminous in the twilight, new muscle and old scars. He smiles at Red, the way he never did in prison, and Red reconsiders.
It is not new, this flash of desire. All those years ago, Red had thought that if both of them were ten years younger, he would have let Andy pay off the rock hammer and Rita Hayworth on his knees. But it was something he'd meant to leave behind in prison, with all his other unfilled wishes.
He reconsiders, but he doesn't go back to Rosaria.
***
When they finally finish the boat, it's almost a shock. The engine comes to life with a coughing roar, and they are standing on the freshly painted deck, eyes wide and startled. In the back of his mind, Red never actually thought they'd get there.
They go fishing the next day. He can't get over how blue the Pacific is, nothing like the gray Atlantic he remembers. He's standing at the front of the boat and all he can see the ocean and the sky. They are moving over the waves, swift and steady, and the rail of the ship is warm and solid beneath his hands. They have done this, they have made this, and he laughs with delight, turning to smile at Andy. Andy looks surprised for just a moment, then smiles back.
He's not really expecting much from their first trip out, but they do catch things: a couple of small tunas, fat and silvery and bullet-shaped, and one of the strangest fish he's ever seen, something with a flat, high forehead and brilliant, shifting colors, yellow and blue and green.
At the end of the day, just before they're ready to pull in all the lines, they hook a sailfish, sleek and powerful and flashing blue and silver like the ocean itself when it jumps, like something out a novel by Hemingway.
He can understand why some men would like it, this feeling of struggling with Nature herself, but when the thing leaps, twisting its long, slim body with its desperation to be free, all he feels is the way he's trapping it. Andy sees his face and comes over.
"We have to-it's the best way," Andy says, and together they fight the sailfish to the side of the boat so Andy can lean over and cut the line close to its mouth.
It swims away, disappearing almost instantly.
"I'm getting old," Red says, and Andy doesn't say anything, just squeezes his shoulder and pulls in the rest of the lines.
They stay on the water to watch the sun set into the vast open ocean. After a little while, Andy reaches around behind them to pull two sodas from the bucket of melted ice. He hands one to Red, and Red smiles at him. He hasn't been doing much of that lately, he supposes, because it feels unfamiliar on his face and Andy is looking surprised again. Andy is leaning forward to hand him the bottle, and he just keeps leaning until he presses their mouths together. The kiss is soft and sweet and almost chaste, and when Andy pulls back, Red's heart is hammering and he cannot say anything.
Andy watches him, and Red can see his face start to go closed and blank at Red's silence, sees him start to pull back into himself. He reaches out and puts his hand on Andy's shoulder, sweeps his thumb over Andy's collarbone. Andy's expression eases.
"I'm sorry, I just didn't think you'd ever get around to doing that," Andy says, and sighs. "I spent a very long time being patient, being afraid, and I'm not going to live my life like that anymore. I don't have the time."
Both their pasts feel like a tangible burden on his shoulders, but Andy just looks at him, steady and patient, despite what he said. Red lets the calm and the emptiness of the of the ocean fill him up until he feels light and at peace, and then he leans forward to kiss his friend.
***
Sometimes, when he wakes up in the middle of the night, he's afraid it was all a dream. But he can hear Andy's breath and the sound of the waves, and taste the salt, and he knows where he is, and is joyful all over again.
Author: kajikia
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1700
Summary: The Pacific is as blue as it was in his dreams.
A/N: A day late and a dollar short.
He finds Andy where he always thought-hoped-he would, on a sleepy, sandy stretch of beach in Mexico. It's like something out of a postcard, impossibly beautiful, and the Pacific is as blue as it was in his dreams.
Andy smiles like the sun coming up when he sees Red, like nothing Red's ever seen on his face before. They embrace, and Red leans into the warmth of his body.
"Stay," Andy says later, still smiling, when they're sitting in the shade of the boat-Andy's boat. "I need a man who knows how to get things."
Red looks down at his hands, feeling old and tired and lost. Forty years is a long time to be away from the world. "Andy-" he starts. I'm not that man anymore.
Andy puts his hand on Red's shoulder. "I need a friend," he says, smile fading.
Red stays.
***
Andy has his hotel, as well as the boat, both of them old and rundown, but still sound. The hotel is built around a courtyard with a long-dry fountain, overrun now with bougainvillea and a huge fruit tree that Red doesn't recognize.
"It's a mango tree," Andy explains, peeling away the sunset-colored skin of the fruit and cutting out slices of the deep golden flesh.
It is the sweetest thing Red has ever tasted, so vivid he has to close his eyes for a moment. Andy is smiling at him when he opens them again.
***
They sleep on the roof of the hotel to catch the breeze, and Andy talks about how he's going to put ceiling fans in every room.
"Hmmm," Red says, barely awake.
"And mosquito netting," Andy adds, slapping at his leg.
The next day, Red decides that the mosquito netting is probably something they should invest in now. When it is too hot to work anymore, he walks into the town of Zihuatanejo. It's the end of summer and the town is slow and sleepy; he reckons it will get busier when it gets colder up north. Most of the shops are shuttered, everyone napping through the midday heat. There's a bar that's open, although it looks like the few people inside are dozing themselves.
He orders a beer, and it's surprisingly cold.
Red doesn't speak much Spanish-there's not much call for it in Maine-and the bartender doesn't speak much English, but Red has Andy's little phrase book and an expressive face, and together they eventually work out where he can buy mosquito netting.
Andy looks surprised and impressed when Red shows him the netting. "I told you I needed a man who knows how to get things," he says, and Red snorts. It's not like it was difficult, not like it's contraband.
He starts going into town almost every day, even though Andy's not inclined to come with him, sometimes at midday, sometimes in the evening for a drink at the bar. He talks to people, and his Spanish improves, and sometimes he comes back with things they need, like a couple of laying hens or the news that someone's cousin's brother-in-law had ripped open the hull of his fishing boat on a reef and would sell the engine for cheap.
Andy always looks surprised and impressed, and after awhile he starts asking Red to find things. At first, Red thinks he's just humoring him, giving him something to do, and Red is almost grateful for the little spark of anger that makes him feel. Being angry feels normal.
But then he finally convinces Andy to go to the bar with him one night. When Red's there by himself, everyone is friendly enough and talkative. When he sits with Andy, everyone leaves them alone. Andy sticks out like a sore thumb, tall and pale and gangly and slightly stiff. The one with the silver spoon up his ass, is what Red thought when he first saw Andy, and it looks like he's not the only one.
Red buys them both beers, and after he pays, Andy leans over and whispers, "That was about half of what they charged me the one time I came in here."
Red eyes him. "You came in here before?"
Andy isn't drinking his beer, just kind of picking at the label. He shrugs a little. "When I first got here. It seemed like the sociable thing to do."
This is when Red realizes Andy isn't just giving him makework-this is something he really can't do. Andy is a fucking genius about a lot of things, but he's not very good with people.
They sit at a corner table and talk, and they make a real, serious list of all the things they need to get to make the boat and the hotel new again.
Red is too old to lie to himself, so he doesn't pretend that the warm glow he feels when they leave the bar is because of the beer.
***
One of the waitresses at the bar will sell you more than just beer. Red watches the sway of her hips out of the corner of his eye, but doesn't do anything, because the only money he has is from Andy, and using that just seems wrong.
Instead, he sands down the bar and revarnishes it, and takes his payment in pesos instead of beers.
He does it because long ago, that was the first thing he said he'd do when he got out of prison. Her body is soft and warm and skillful, but the act is strange nonetheless. He hasn't been with a woman in forty years. In prison, he went over those memories so many times that they became worn and smooth, nothing at all like the sharpness of reality.
He does not regret it, but he doesn't feel the need to repeat it.
Then Andy takes his shirt off one evening, and his body is luminous in the twilight, new muscle and old scars. He smiles at Red, the way he never did in prison, and Red reconsiders.
It is not new, this flash of desire. All those years ago, Red had thought that if both of them were ten years younger, he would have let Andy pay off the rock hammer and Rita Hayworth on his knees. But it was something he'd meant to leave behind in prison, with all his other unfilled wishes.
He reconsiders, but he doesn't go back to Rosaria.
***
When they finally finish the boat, it's almost a shock. The engine comes to life with a coughing roar, and they are standing on the freshly painted deck, eyes wide and startled. In the back of his mind, Red never actually thought they'd get there.
They go fishing the next day. He can't get over how blue the Pacific is, nothing like the gray Atlantic he remembers. He's standing at the front of the boat and all he can see the ocean and the sky. They are moving over the waves, swift and steady, and the rail of the ship is warm and solid beneath his hands. They have done this, they have made this, and he laughs with delight, turning to smile at Andy. Andy looks surprised for just a moment, then smiles back.
He's not really expecting much from their first trip out, but they do catch things: a couple of small tunas, fat and silvery and bullet-shaped, and one of the strangest fish he's ever seen, something with a flat, high forehead and brilliant, shifting colors, yellow and blue and green.
At the end of the day, just before they're ready to pull in all the lines, they hook a sailfish, sleek and powerful and flashing blue and silver like the ocean itself when it jumps, like something out a novel by Hemingway.
He can understand why some men would like it, this feeling of struggling with Nature herself, but when the thing leaps, twisting its long, slim body with its desperation to be free, all he feels is the way he's trapping it. Andy sees his face and comes over.
"We have to-it's the best way," Andy says, and together they fight the sailfish to the side of the boat so Andy can lean over and cut the line close to its mouth.
It swims away, disappearing almost instantly.
"I'm getting old," Red says, and Andy doesn't say anything, just squeezes his shoulder and pulls in the rest of the lines.
They stay on the water to watch the sun set into the vast open ocean. After a little while, Andy reaches around behind them to pull two sodas from the bucket of melted ice. He hands one to Red, and Red smiles at him. He hasn't been doing much of that lately, he supposes, because it feels unfamiliar on his face and Andy is looking surprised again. Andy is leaning forward to hand him the bottle, and he just keeps leaning until he presses their mouths together. The kiss is soft and sweet and almost chaste, and when Andy pulls back, Red's heart is hammering and he cannot say anything.
Andy watches him, and Red can see his face start to go closed and blank at Red's silence, sees him start to pull back into himself. He reaches out and puts his hand on Andy's shoulder, sweeps his thumb over Andy's collarbone. Andy's expression eases.
"I'm sorry, I just didn't think you'd ever get around to doing that," Andy says, and sighs. "I spent a very long time being patient, being afraid, and I'm not going to live my life like that anymore. I don't have the time."
Both their pasts feel like a tangible burden on his shoulders, but Andy just looks at him, steady and patient, despite what he said. Red lets the calm and the emptiness of the of the ocean fill him up until he feels light and at peace, and then he leans forward to kiss his friend.
***
Sometimes, when he wakes up in the middle of the night, he's afraid it was all a dream. But he can hear Andy's breath and the sound of the waves, and taste the salt, and he knows where he is, and is joyful all over again.