"What trouble are you going to get yourself in this time, old fool?"
Rayleigh turns to give Shakky a wry grin. "Why would I get into trouble, my dear?"
Her eyes aren't as hard as her words. "Because it's today," she says, lighting another cigarette.
Rayleigh shrugs, as if he had no idea what she was talking about.
"Fine," she says, and he hears the echo of everything else she could have said, if things between them needed saying.
It doesn't. She doesn't stop him; he doesn't stay. But as the door to her bar creaks to a close behind him, the familiar phrase carries more emotion than he's used to. "Come back safe".
And he does. This time too.
Because in mourning he remembers, and in remembering Roger it's like his captain and friend could be standing right there in front of him when he opens his eyes.
He won't, not ever again, and that hurts in a way all the rum and bar fights and stupid drunken bets won't make go away - though it would hurt more without the rum, he knows.
Roger never had any choice about where he was going. Rayleigh does. And if Rayleigh chooses to follow his captain in this - well, the smile that shines so brilliantly in his memory would turn into a scowl, and there might be a punch or ten and Rayleigh would never get over the disappointment in his captain's eyes.
So he doesn't do anything too stupid, and he's back home after less than a week - a week can even remember most of (though he wishes he could forget the more fragrant parts).
Shakky orders him to bathe, welcomes him home, and sends him to bed, in that order.
He slides in between clean, cool sheets and thinks that this is the path he has chosen, for now. And it's good and soft and the edges of the pain have gone a little duller, and one year maybe he'll forget that there was a day when he stayed alive and Roger didn't.
He never does.