take from our world no more /inga+Vincent/jb

When he was a boy, he believed that his father could control the tide.

"Look Vincent, there, do you see it?" Berkhart had said, leaning forward over the galleon's railing, a hand on his second son's shoulder to guide his vision.

Vincent watched the water run alongside the ship, eddying against the side, pushing one way and then the other. The sails were full from the wind but the ship barely moved. "What are you doing to her, father?" he asked, voice bright with awe and the innocence of youth.

Her, was of course, the ship.

His father only shook his head, "We missed the afternoon current." If they tried to reenter harbour when the tide was going out, it was always going to be a near impossible feat.

"So then make it stop?"

His father, always so stern, let out a deep belly laugh, "Son, if there is one thing that is certain in this life it is that though the tide will always go out, she will always, always return. I'd be a fool to believe that I could change her."

A couple years ago, Vince wanted to be the one who could.

When Willem had raised his hand and volunteered, he'd set out a week later on his own journey, not knowing then that by the time he made it home, his cousin would have already been dead for weeks.

He'd made it to the island though, the one his family had visited since their beginning. He found the woman there, the one who would lead him through his trials. He'd cried that first night, out of so many things, relief, fear, pain, all of it a collective that carved yet another hole inside the cavity of his chest and made a home there.

And in the end, his father was wrong.

The tide may leave but it will never come back the same. The tide that returns is in a new state. Different particles, different journeys made by hundreds of molecules carried by different currents, Willem came home in a casket.

His cousin washed back up on the shores of their front gate in a coffin small enough to fit a child because that was what he was once before he became the tide.

Vincent never told his sister what he found on the island. He never told her that he never had to take his boat up and down the coastline in his search for Inta because he cna't.

Inga will find out herself one day.

But he stands a little straighter at the reaping now, the charcoal that used to stain his fingers like a living, breathing thing doesn't anymore. It's all only calluses now, no more dreaming for the second Vanas son. Just restless nights and the grief that comes in with the tide in the weak morning light.

He carries Willem with him in a Sinterklaas gift, a brass way finder that fits in his pocket. He pulls it out sometimes even when he's not on deck just to tell Willem something sometimes. It's all he has of him now, which is strange.

There used to be laughter too, dark curls, a smile that was kinder than Willem thought he was.

The tide takes and takes.

This time, when the names are called, Vincent registers first that his family is safe. The fact that it's a Murdock stings a little, then a little less when he realises it's not the one that used to run all over their docks, begging to go out with them for the day. Someone named Attis, a stranger.

Then Vincent can fall the tide begin to pull away.

"No," he murmurs, but it's too late.

Inga steps away from them and the crowd closes around her as soon as she's out of reach. He watches her back as she journeys forward, shoulders back, chin high, his sister.

His sister, his sister.

"Wow, incredible fortune," someone claps Vincent on the shoulder as bodies begin to disperse, but he's only got eyes for the stage, for his sister's figure retreating down the steps. Leike, to the left of him, is on her knees on the flagstones. Someone needs to pull her up before people notice the lack of hope in her small frame.

His sister, his Inga.

Who was always only ever going to be her own, she was like Inta in that sense. It was only a matter of time.

Vincent is moving, feet running over stone. It's the same as last time, when Willem volunteered. Classmates reach out to congratulate him and his family as he pushes through them towards the justice building. He barely stops this time, barely turns to smile at them, he's not the same person as last time.

'vivamus, moriendum est.' reads the sign over the door. 'let us live, since we must die.'

There's a frantic drumming in his chest, a current that pushes him forward to the door at the end of the hall. There's only so much grief Vince can take, only so many strings left that they can cut before he becomes useless and inga has always been there.

A year older than him, but only by calendar, in reality just ten months apart. Every sunny afternoon that holds up in his memory has her there too, long afternoons training in the yard with her and Hans. Summer days that turned into evenings, legs slung over the side of the small schooner, fishing lines untouched for hours.

If a memory was good, it was because she was part of it.

If she isn't there, then can his memories still be good, or will he become weathered in her absence?

He's never had to consider a life without her in it.

He pushes the door open, eyes searching out hers before anything else. His brow furrows slightly when his gaze lands on her. For a moment, he just stands there, hands balled up at his sides, eyes as intense as a winter storm on the water. Then, he breaks. the tide comes then, filling all of his hollow parts with water like caves along a shoreline.

Vincent crosses the room to her and wraps his arms around her as if he could keep her home with him if he only held on tight enough.

"Inga, be the one that comes back," he says softly, "Please."