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Nemo lie awake, his mind pleading for the sleep that would not come. The sleep that brought nightmares, the nightmares that brought him. No, Nemo didn’t want to think of him, he wanted to be angry, but he just could not. Pierre had been nothing but kind and open, hoping Nemo would do the same and in some ways he did! Although never enough, Nemo had pushed Pierre away and now there was nothing he could do about it.
The professor left a gapping wound in Nemo’s chest, so deep he couldn’t bare to be near their connected rooms. He’d taken refuge in his library, he’d shared so many moments with the professor in there, there was no escape from the memories. He remembered sitting with Pierre, sharing their opinions on whatever topic they’d happen to land on, the sketches that were so lifelike and photogenic you’d think Pierre had taken a photograph with his sketchbook.
He sighed, rising from his spot on the divan, there was only one thing he found that worked to distract him. He walked into the saloon until he found his spot at his organ, tracing his fingers along the keys as he sat down. Nemo carefully cracked his fingers before beginning to play Toccata and Fugue in D minor. Each note after the other, he’d played it hundreds, thousands of times before.
Pierre had loved when Nemo played the organ, no matter what he’d play. The professor would have described it as his hands dancing intricately across the keys, never making a mistake. Nemo shook himself out of that thought as he blinked away tears he fought so hard to keep secret. He needed to be strong, he had to be strong. And yet… strength only felt wrong in these moments.
He knew that Professor Aronnax, Ned Land and Conseil planned to escape, he had heard Pierre leaving and yet he hadn’t stopped them. Why? Maybe if he had, maybe if he’d put on a mask of anger and forced them to stay, just maybe… they wouldn’t be dead. If he’d stopped them they wouldn’t be dead at the bottom of the sea. His mind raced as the possibilities and probabilities of their survival swirled his head, it wasn’t long before his hands changed what he was playing…
The song he began to play was not one written on paper, nor written by any composer. It was one of his own mind, a song for a single soul meant to hear. There was a power behind it, but also a lightness, as if the song itself was floating gently across the roughest ocean swells. It was a song of love, the love for him. The tears that Nemo fought back for so long finally broke the dam he’d fought to hard to keep up. His body shook as his silent sobs and tears fell on his weathered knuckles. He was so tired, but he continued to play the melody he’d produced in one of his happiest moments, those moments with Pierre were the only things that had kept him going.
The song ended, it was unfinished and would never be finished. Nemo tried to keep his composer as he stood and forced himself to lean against the center porthole, looking out into the endless sea. Schools of colorful fish swam by in the dark waters, the moonlight shone through the waves above applying a dreamy filter to his domain.
Nemo closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cool glass. His mind was racing with thought, all leading back to his lost love. So many nights they had shared together before Nemo had brutally torn it apart, all Nemo longed for now was to just hold his beloved Pierre one last time.
Maybe it was time, Nemo thought, had he not braved so many storms and treacherous seas. He slowly made his way out of the Nautilus’ saloon, compared to those storms this was nothing, just another wave to ride out. He carefully ran his hand along his carefully crafted submarine, his steps echoing in the metal hallway. He made his way through the hallway he’d avoided for some time, the hallway to Nemo’s cabin, the cabin that connected to Pierre’s.
He found himself in front of Pierre’s cabin door, part of him wanted to knock as if he’d answer back, eager to see him. Tears threated to fall again as Nemo slowly turned the handle to enter the cabin.
Nemo let his eyes wander around the cabin that was left in disarray, most of it was the fault of the maelstrom, he’d forbidden any crew from entering the cabin as well, so it hadn’t been cleaned either. Nemo slowly picked up the last of the professor’s belongings, he hadn’t taken much with him in his escape, notebooks and sketchbooks, ink bottles and pens decorated the floor. Nemo sat on Pierre’s bed, a single sketchbook in hand, he closed his eyes, half hoping he’d feel a familiar weight sink besides him, resting his head on Nemo’s shoulder.
There was no point wishing, hoping, or praying, Nemo told himself, opening his tired eyes. His head hung low as he stared at the sketchbook in his lap. It was one of the professor’s smaller ones. The cover was an ebony leather, custom embroidered on the spine, bearing Pierre’s name in gold lettering, Nemo couldn’t help but trace his hand along it. He carefully flipped through the yellowed pages, each drawing as intricate and detailed as the last. It all ranged from Angel Fish to Great White Sharks to Blue whales. Even sketches of his and Pierre’s journey to Atlantis.
Nemo couldn’t help but smile at each drawing, a gentle reminder that he had been here and made his mark. As Nemo neared the final pages of the book he was suddenly caught off guard, there looking back at him, was a sketch of himself staring back up at him. In it, he was giving one of his gentle smiles, often saved for Pierre. He turned the next few pages, each one with one or two drawings of Nemo, whether he be reading, making orders to his crew and even one or two from nights they had been together.
He noticed as well small writings from Pierre, whether they captioned the sketch or just something about Nemo, he tried so hard not to let his tears smudge the professor’s artwork as he read.
“He was so deep in focus here…” captioned a sketch of Nemo working with some charts.
“He always looks so stressed, even asleep” from a night they’d shared together.
But there was one, one drawing that made him fully break. It took up the whole page, but it was the two of them, together at the south pole. He stared at himself, there he was, beaming at Pierre when the two were truly happy. There was a single note on the back of the page when Nemo turned it.
“I love him…”
Nemo could not stop his ocean of tears.