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Rob couldn’t sleep.
It had already been a week since Mhairi’s near death, yet it felt like it had happened just yesterday. The deep seated dread and fear that had been eating at him had turned to regret, he shouldn’t have let her go alone.
He sat up on his bed, just sitting there for a moment before standing up, walking over to the door before looking back at her cot. Her bandaged leg a horrid reminder of his failures as a friend. I’m sorry Mhairi.
Rob sighed, wallowing in his guilt would do nothing.
He quietly closed the door, deciding to be productive for the first time since he had retrieved Mhairi as he walked over to the area where he had stored the mementos she scavenged. He would need to log them at some point, once they reached the shores they would need to bring in the families to identify the personal items.
Rob briefly thought about talking to Hans, but quickly dismissed the idea. Rob shouldn’t bother Hans unless he needed to, the older man needed sleep after all. Which meant he was all on his own for this and needed to be extra careful.
Need to keep the items in as pristine a condition as possible, Rob, their already far too damaged. He reminded himself as he grabbed gloves, slipping them on before grabbing the first item, a faded photograph with writing on it. From memory it belonged to Ewan Muir’s deputy, a dutchman whose wife had been widowed by the incident with two daughters to care for on her own.
He wrote down the mans name, almost robotically, mind still elsewhere.
He placed the item back before peaking at Sunil’s statue, it was the one he remembered the most out of all the retrieved items. It was hard to forget, both so sweet, and so devastating. Rob felt horrible for his widow, she truly had never gotten over his death, at the very least she had Alex’ family to grieve alongside. The two men had been close, even before the rig, it was only natural.
The next one he grabbed was a homemade ceramic mug with ‘NIC’ on it, he wasn’t sure who it belonged to but what Rob did know was whoever made it surely missed him. He was sure they would love to have a reminder of the owner, even if it was in the form of a mouldy mug.
Rob took extra care as he grabbed another faded photo, one so water damaged it was hard to make out anything. No matter what angle Rob looked at it in, he couldn’t make anything out, the colours faded and blurry. At least it was more dry than when Mhairi found it, he thought to himself.
Rob wished he could go back to bed as he took note of the white hard hat, the eighteen year old's noting it quickly to not dwell on it before moving onto the ornate cross. He thought back to all the members of the crew, many of them were catholic, it would have to be identified by a family member.
Fuck , He felt sad as he found two metal cases, one for darts and the other a medical kit containing what appeared to be insulin, alongside a flask all too unspecific to be linked without the family members seeing them. He really didn't want to invite all the families just to get their hopes up when they didn't find anything from their families. Rob knew they were doing a good thing yet he still couldn’t help but feel sad for those who wouldn’t have any closure.
At the very least they now have somewhat of an explanation of what happened, an explosion, alongside many safety protocol failures, including the radio system, lifeboats and even the helicopter. That was another thing to list Rob realized, the tape.
He took a deep breath as he continued to list everything, glad as he found Gregor’s keys and Finlays lighter, less unclaimed items to stress families with.
The name tag was less easy to identify, his eyes grainy from lack of sleep making it impossible to read the destroyed tag. At least the boxing photo is easily identifiable as belonging to Cameron McLeary, since it hadn't been water damaged, it was just a bit faded but visible enough to identify the facial structure.
Rob felt his mood lighten slightly as saw the next to recovered items, an alcohol bottle and and disciplinary tape addressed to Addair, he did not think those were being sent to the families… No wonder his wife moved on so quick.
He stretched as he got to the last item, relief flooding him at the thought of finally being done with such a mentally taxing job. Only to pause slightly upon releasing it was a journal, one with almost no water damage. He would have to skim through it to check what exactly it was.
He placed it on the desk before sitting down, resigning himself to look through what was surely something personal.
Here we go , Rob internally sighed.
The cover was of excellent quality, even after all this time it was barely degraded from the environment it had been in. It was clearly handmade with care, pages sewn together with what was surely expensive materials. The engraving on the book caught his eye, ‘TO MY EWAN’ .
Ewan Muir, that was one of the names of the lost crew, wasn’t it?
At least he knew what family this might go to- if any of them showed up. He suddenly felt disheartened as he looked at the journal, remembering that they had never heard anything from his household… They never even hosted a funeral for him, only his sons had, years after his death. Maybe one of his sons would want it.
He slowly pulled away the leather strap, opening the book slowly to the first page. Then the ‘ Written by: Terry Innes’ threw him off guard. Shit, that’s going to make it much harder to give it to someone.
Investigating further he found another sentence, ‘Happy Birthday Ewan’ , written just below the previous quote.
It was a birthday present, Rob’s heart sinking as he remembered that Muir’s birthday was in January, he never even got it…
He was aware the two were close, Innes’ son and daughter being close to Muir’s sons nowadays, practically a family in their own right. He’d invite them over to figure out what they would do with the journal when he got back. Despite their friendship though the ‘ MY ’ on the cover was confusing him, it was almost… Possessive, caring, intimate, his brain supplied. It was not the sort of wording you’d refer to a friend with.
Hesitating he flipped the page, on it was some sort of editor’s note or introduction. He braced himself to read it, this felt invasive, but he needed to know who to give it to and how to log it.
‘Happy Birthday Ewan, I ken ye enjoy my poetry, so I put this together for yer gift.’ It started off not too private at least, ‘ Before though, I wanted to write this message for ye .’ Maybe not.
‘When I was a young lad I oft’ thought I’d never meet someone who’d encourage, hell, enjoy, my writing. Ye changed that, ye changed alotta things for me.’ Rob already felt uncomfortable, it felt like he was prying. ‘I want to thank ye, ye made me a better man, the type my ma would be proud of if she were still here today. Even if she wouldn’t agree with our existence.’
Something about the last line made Rob pause, what did he mean by that?
‘I’d ken since I was a boy I was different from the others. I grew up ignoring it, pretending that part of me dinnae exist and ignoring the issue. Then you came along and forced me to face it, and in turn, to face all my past mistakes too.’ Rob shifted, uncomfortable.
‘Ye put every women I’d ever seen to shame, even the ones in those magazines. I could no keep my eyes off ye when ye first came aboard, I canny express how many times I would find myself staring at you.’ The uncomfortibility inside Rob suddenly lurched, this was not what he thought it was, was it?
‘I used to think I preferred those with curves, gentle eyes and light hair, with soft personalities and features, yet I’ve never fallen so hard in my entire life for anyone, not even my ex-wife. Yer freckles, yer loud mouth and personality, yer dark hair and facial features, yer legs, bright eyes, chest, an’ all have been a constant in my dreams since I met you.’
It was exactly what he thought it was, fuck. Rob had to place the journal down for a moment, it was a damn love letter. No wonder it had been in such a secretive spot, being queer was illegal at that time. Rob's heart ached as he continued from where he left off.
‘When I was falling back to the bevvy, what led to me losing Aila and nearly my kids in the first place, ye took time from work an’ yer own sons to help me. Ye saw the worst side of me… Yet ye stayed and helped me through it, even as I cursed ye out and broke into sickness as I came out of it. Ye kept me level headed.’
Rob could remember Wilma, Innes’ daughter, alongside her brother, Callum, mentioning their fathers bender. They told him about Teague and Malcolm being dropped off with them and their mother as the boys’ father took care of their own dad, it's how the duo's kids came to know each other.
‘And in turn I saw the sides of ye that ye tried to hide, yer anxiety an’ paranoia, yer messiness and impulsiveness. An’ it all just made me fall further and further, to a point I could no longer ignore it. I remember being unable to sleep the night ye first slept in my bed due to that lovely leak in the roof, I did no want that moment to stop, I wanted to lay there forever with you. I never felt like that before, and I never will with anyone else.’
It was… Bittersweet, truly, the way Innes wrote about Muir made it clear how much he loved the younger lad.
‘When you checked up on me that night we were all drinking on the rig to make sure I dinnae relapse it all just spilled over, and I kissed ye. I expected ye to punch me, call me a disgusting freak and for all the work I did to forget that part of me and ignore the world's opinion to go to waste.’
Rob could feel the ache through Innes’ writing, his own heart mirroring it.
‘Yet, ye grabbed me like I was the only thing ye ever wanted in the entire world, hanging onto me like a vice. And suddenly everything felt right in the world, ye were all I wanted, ye still are. Even if I lose everything, I ken I’ll always have ye.’
They died together, the thought hit Rob like a train, his breath stolen from him.
‘Ye will always be my Ewan. I do no want ye to ever doubt that like I ken ye sometimes do, lad. Ye ken I’ll always keep ye safe and protect ye, an’ I ken ye will always look after me. I love ye and always will.’
Rob felt emotions swirl through him as he read the end of Innes’ letter, to confirm his suspicions he skimmed through the pages of the journal.
It was poetry, romantic poetry all about Muir. Such a sweet gift the man had never even got to see, it broke something in Rob’s chest as he carefully closed the journal, dotting it down onto the document before placing it back with the rest of the recovered mementos.
He just sat there for a moment, regretting his choice to do something productive, he should have just stayed in bed near Mhairi.
Just how many stories had been cut short by that tragedy?