Gilbert stood on the deck of the boat, waiting for Mathew to board. They would be spending about a week at sea, crossing the Atlantic to Senegal, where they would meet with a man who would then get them to Switzerland, or at least Lichtenstein.

Gilbert never really was a "It's about the journey, not the destination," type person. In fact, the more he thought about it, the less he knew what to do when they got to "the destination."

Mathew was hugging Ismael, and exchanging teary-eyed farewells. Gilbert looked on, with a sort of jealousy. He had no idea why, but the idea of Mathew hugging anyone else was irksome to him. Then Ismael stood back and broke the hug, though he kept the touch. His hands slid along the waist of Mathew, and he moved a hand to cup his cheek, and move a tear. Perhaps they would kiss, and Mathew would want to stay in Cuba.

"Madew, lets goh!" He called, and then walked into the cabins of the huge freighter.

Now that he thought of it, after Mathew started to follow Ismael like a gay little puppy, he had started to look happier. Somehow, they had bonded, and left Gilbert out of it. They went to a night-club the night before, and Mathew didn't bother with anything else except Ismael. Gilbert was downing the tequila like nobodies business, and trying to avoid the stares. Yeah, he was an albino, so what? Is it really so strange to have such shitty genetics?

He reached into the bag that Ismael gave him once he reached the dark room he walked to in the cabin. He was given a bottle of rum, a bottle of tequila, a couple coconuts and Advil. It was an emergency bag.

Gilbert was angry, and he wanted to cling on to the anger. He could feel the boat pull away from the dock and motor into the rough waters of the Atlantic. He could hear Mathew walk into the room and dump his stuff. He was sniffling, obviously choked up that he had to leave his goddamn boyfriend.

Instead of attempting to comfort the crying boy, he got up and left to go explore the freighter. It was a good size, at least 40 feet with most of the room taken up by cargo space and rooms for the crew, and in this case, Gilbert and Mathew.

Gilbert walked down the dark hallway, since it just seemed impossible to properly light up the innards of the boat. Not enough sunlight shined inside, and it seemed cold. When Gilbert walked into the mess hall, he took a good look around. It wasn't even a mess hall, more like a micro cafeteria, and Gilbert had no intention of staying. Instead, he grabbed a glass of water, which was always allowed and left to go back to the room where he left Mathew.

He entered the room and set the glass down on a table which was covered in grips to keep things from sliding.

Mathew was lounging on his cot, thumbing through beads of a rosary. Gilbert took a small double take, since Mathew hated religious stuff, especially Christian religious stuff.

He sat down, and pretended to go through his bag just to seem like he had something he wanted to do. Suddenly, he heard Mathew clear his voice and he perked up.

"Gil…ahem, Gilbert?" He tested to see whether his attempt at socializing would be accepted. Gilbert sighed.

"vhat?"

"Thanks… for taking me… here…" He said awkwardly, "Thank you…"

Gilbert let what he said hang for a bit, and he swore he could hear Mathew bite his lip.

"Noh problem, Madew."

"Uh, do you want to play cards? Ismael gave me a deck…"

Gilbert sat up and turned on some lamps to light up the room.

"Vhy noht?" He grabbed the deck of cards, and started to shuffle them. He was flipping them skillfully when he noticed something. "Uuuuhhh… Madew? Dese ahre Pornographic Cards."

"Really?" Mathew questioned as he reached across to look at them. He looked at the card and laughed. "I'm such a fool."

"Huh?" Gilbert asked, urging him on.

"These are Ismaels very favourite cards. I suppose he's not gay after all." Mathew mused as he handed Gilbert the card.

"I guess he vas juhst a… flahmboyant hispahnic man." Gilbert let out a hissing laugh.

"I thought we had something… I guess not. I suppose he just saw me as a good friend, or brother or something."

"Vhy vould he see you like dat?" Gilbert dealt out the cards.

"Well, he went through the same thing as me. Well, kinda, he killed his best friend out of necessity, and he said he went through what I was going through."

Gilbert looked at him closely. What had changed in Mathew? Did the time he spent with Ismael really help him that much? He seemed a lot more gentle and calm instead of the sporadic and jilted Mathew from before. He seemed almost at peace, and he was opening up to Gilbert more. It calmed Gilbert down as well, since before then, it had seemed that the silence and distance between them was vital, like a tight rope they both clumsily walked.

"Vhat vere yoh going through?" Gilbert asked carefully, like testing uncharted waters. Mathew picked up his cards.

"…I…" Mathew started and hesitated. Gilbert passed him one more card and used it as an excuse to touch his hand. He let it linger, and Mathew clasped it.

"I saw Alfred. Everywhere I saw him, he looked like a demon, or a corpse. I was terrified, and he realized it."

Gilbert didn't say anything, but instead ran his thumb over Mathew's dry knuckles. Mathew was still in rough shape, Gilbert knew that, but he saw a change that he was thankful for. All he had done wasn't for naught.

He broke the hold and grabbed the tequila out of the bag.

"Doh yoh drink?" Gilbert asked.

Mathew gave a shaky smile as he reached for the bottle.

"I do now!"