#But I broke the boat to release the llama and there's no sign of the trader nor the llama so I'm guessing they left together? idk

[theater-of-dimensions]

I love coming back to Minecraft after not playing for months or years, because some of the changes are so unexpected in the best possible way. I almost started crying today because I tamed a cat and when I got in bed to sleep it sprinted over to lay down on top of me, and when I woke up it had brought me a piece of string as a gift 😭

[unchartedterritoria]

Dangerous (Sam Drake x OC) - Chapter 26

*NEW CHAPTER*

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 * Chapter 2 * Chapter 3 * Chapter 4 * Chapter 5* Chapter 6 * Chapter 7 * Chapter 8 * Chapter 9 * Chapter 10 * Chapter 11 * Chapter 12 * Chapter 13 * Chapter 14 * Chapter 15 * Chapter 16 * Chapter 17 * Chapter 18 * Chapter 19 * Chapter 20 * Chapter 21 * Chapter 22 * Chapter 23 * Chapter 24 * Chapter 25

As always, you can read the story thus far on A03  HERE

Tags: @jodiereedus22, @shambhalala, @missdictatorme

Reviews and comments are always appreciated!

Summary: Sam and Faith finally get a bead on the location of the Lincoln treasure. Sam finds out Jasper is hot on their heels and finds out in the worst way he ever wanted to. 

Faith grabbed Sam by the hand and led him down the populated corridor. The sun was at its apex of the afternoon, sending tourists off the beach and into the gallery for some respite from the overwhelming heat.

The excitement Faith felt radiated off of her and Sam felt as if he was grasping a live wire. The neon colors that had awoken within her when they had first swiped that diary in Springfield had emerged and taken hold of her again. Sam saw suspicious glances in their direction, more of them being garnered by the second as she half ran, dragging him behind her like a bored dad at Disneyland. Seeing this, he pulled her back by his side to slow their pace.

“Slow it down, you got half the place staring at you,” Sam murmured in her ear. Draping an arm across her shoulders, he kept the two of them at a steady pace as the curious faces gradually turned away from them.

The portrait of a solemn, middle-aged Dr. Samuel Mudd hung square on the wall; the man's narrow chin hid behind a scraggly beard, a vast contrast to the baldness of his head.

A printed picture hung next to it, a large hexagon building of dark red brick floating in a vast expanse of bright blue ocean.

Written over the photo display was a story that Faith now knew by heart. The plot to assassinate the head members of the Lincoln government, the failure of Atzerodt and Paine to murder Johnson and Seward. The trial that indited Mudd as a conspirator for setting the broken leg of John Wilkes Boothe.

A black and white photograph of a cement doorway stood out atop the colorful contrast of the print beneath it. A heavy door with a heavy lock stood open in the shot while a small plaque hung above its entryway. The carved words wobbled, but the sign was still legible:

Whoso Entereth Here Leaveth All Hopes Behind

“Mudd's cell,” Faith said in a small voice.

Sam's eyes scanned over the small paragraph underneath.

"It was an inactive fort, so they used it as a military prison. He helped treat prisoners and soldiers while he was here when yellow fever broke out in 1867, that's how the asshole got his goddamn pardon," His voice dropped to a growl. Frustration pulled at his eyebrows, making his eyes seem to go dark.

“Even inactive, it's massive. If it's here in Key West, how the hell did we miss it?”

“That's because it's not in Key West,” Faith told him while she read the fine print at the bottom of the glossy picture, “It's 75 miles west of here in the middle of the Gulf.”

Her heart was racing as fast as the thoughts in her head. This had to be it. She could feel it, and Sam could feel it too.

Sam's mouth began to travel a mile a minute, spewing forth plans, how to get there, how to find his millions and how to spend it.

Faith stared at the portrait of the famed Dr. Mudd.

Sam's words lost meaning for her as she stared into the dark eyes of the painting, reduced to a dull murmur in her ears. The sound disappeared entirely, as heady anger began to form in its void. A swirling eddy of dark thoughts built up a fury within her that she hadn't felt since she was a teenager, the eyes of the portrait fueled the needless fire.

You son of a bitch. Look at everything you've caused.

"Faith." Sam tapped her on the shoulder, causing her to shift her glare towards him instead of the portrait.

“Whoa, hey. What?” He questioned, pulling his hand back quickly.

“Look at everything his caused,” Faith muttered, resuming her stare at the picture of Mudd.

“All he did was fix the guys leg.”

“And that leg belonged to the guy that killed Lincoln.”

“Not his fault, he didn't pull the trigger,” Sam retorted.

“Guilty by association Samuel.”

“Just because history made him out to be a Bad Guy doesn't mean he was a bad guy.”

“You don't know that.”

Sam brought his face close to hers, his tobacco laced breath wafting up Faith's nose.

“Guess what? Neither do you,”

Faith bit the inside of her cheeks, unable to come up with a response. She could only lower her eyes in silence.

“Alright, now, let's go get this thing,” Sam declared and began to stalk down the hall, a sense of purpose in his step, towards the front doors as Faith tried to keep up with his long strides next to him. “It's a fort in the middle of the goddamn ocean so, lucky for us, there can only be so many places to hide it. We'll hit the bar, Ronni should be workin' this afternoon, she's gotta know a guy we can charter a boat from.”

"You think I'll find my answers somewhere in there?" Faith asked. As the days had turned into weeks, her original search for answers about her family had warped into this larger than life treasure hunt. She had allowed herself to get swept up into Sam Drake's world and into Sam himself. What started with dipping a tentative toe in the water turned into a swan dive into a dangerous blue abyss where the warm water churned with excitement and showed no signs of slowing down.

“They're there, and if for some reason they're not, we keep goin' til we get them,” He assured her.

"What if the treasure is there, but my answers aren't?" She asked, giving the sleeve of his t-shirt a gentle tug, bringing him to a stop.

Faith's answers had always been secondary for Sam on this adventure. Finding that treasure was his primary goal from the moment that Nathan had uttered, 'worth a shitload' and he made no qualms about it either. He wanted to be rich; he wanted a find that was all his own. Finding Libertalia was fantastic for Sam, and as much as he enjoyed sharing the adventure and the discovery with his brother, there was that selfish part of him that kept him wanting more just for himself. In his mind, Faith was just this person he was in charge of. Keep her safe and get her home. Sam hadn't counted on the llama loving, personal demons dealing, Depeche Mode dancing Faith Spencer that had emerged from that dark blue dress two months ago and boldly stole his shirt, taking a piece of his heart and a sliver of his soul with her in the process.

So the question gave Sam pause for only a moment.

“Like I said, we keep going until we get them. It'll just be easier with me being a millionaire,” Sam the corner of his mouth raised into a cocky grin.

“We keep going? We?" Faith's heart fluttered in her chest. She had resigned herself to the fact that this crazy chapter, hell it was more like an insane novel, in her life was coming to a close. The Book of Sam Drake would end with a goodbye, and she had steeled herself for it. The possibility of an epilogue to their story hadn't been a hope for her, until now.

“Yeah,” He said softly to Faith, gently taking the tip of her chin between his rough fingers and tilting her head up until her eyes met his.

“We.”

It was a simple word. Short and to the point. Faith found its meaning in Sam's warm hazel eyes where the two letters spoke volumes.

He released her chin and stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his pants.

“I mean, that is, if you can put up with me that long. I've been told once or twice that I can be a real pain in the ass sometimes,” He said with a sigh, his playful charm back front and center, stowing away his emotional side.

“Sounds like a conservative estimate,” Faith rebutted bluntly. Sam scoffed and continued towards the entrance. After a single stride, Faith grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Wait! Hold up!”

"What?" Sam said, trying not to sound too impatient.

“I never saw Robert. Gimme two seconds!” Faith said, already jogging back down the concrete corridor before Sam could protest. He eyed the front doors of the gallery a few feet away and wrapped his fingers around the pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

Might as well have one while I wait, Sam thought and strode casually out through the entrance, positioning himself near the freestanding post ashtray next to the building.

Faith entered the WEIRDLY KEY WEST section of the museum again. This time, the tourist hustle and bustle had thinned out, leaving the exhibit all to herself. She headed towards the small room that held the doll, making sure to avert her eyes from the portrait of Mudd on the wall. For the next few minutes, she just wanted to revel in the quirkiness of something cool.

Faith opened the glass doors to find herself in a small room. The walls told the story of Robert, his origins and his mischiefs in the town, along with a warning: 'Beware! Ask permission of Robert to take his picture. If you don't do this, you do it at your own risk!' Faith smiled and looked towards the right where a giant blackboard stood. A layer of chalk dust coat it, little fingerprints letting the black base show through. A nub of chalk dangled from a string and magnetic metal clips dotted the boards surface, some with small pieces of paper attached. Above it all hung a sign, asking you to 'Leave a Message for Robert!' Faith smiled. Bubbly anticipation welled inside her as she began to formulate already what she wanted to write.

She finally approached the square exhibit case made of glass in the center of the room. Robert the Doll stood on a riser, bringing him to eye level. Faith had seen the Chucky movies, Annabelle and all of their horrid sequels. All of those films had been based on the doll in front of her. She had steeled herself, expecting something sinister looking and found herself to be very wrong.

Robert looked like any other doll in a museum that was made at the turn of the century. He was the size of a small child, dressed in a sailors outfit, complete with cap, and sitting up in a small wooden chair. A fabric casing simply stuffed with straw, his face was basic, and its features merely indented to define them. Small divets dotted the matte brown skin of his face where time had worn it away, giving him the likeness of a child with pockmarks. In the crook of his arm, he held a small stuffed dog with tightly curled tan fur.

Not in the least what Faith had pictured.

“Wow, anticlimactic,” She muttered to herself, studying the quality stitching that held the doll together. “No offense meant, just not at all what I pictured,” Faith apologized, taking a step back and blew out a nervous breath. “I know granting your wishes isn't your area but, if you have any influence, could you please help me find the answers about my family and why we have that Bible? I would really appreciate it.”

“I really like your little doggy by the way,” She added with a lopsided grin.

A large hand suddenly wrapped around her mouth and nose. Sam had done this to her before, which took away the startling feeling she felt the previous times. She began to roll her eyes and froze. The lingering smell of nicotine or the tangy scent of his aftershave wasn't there. Instead, the smell was sweetly astringent, bringing to mind a fruity tequila. It was also coming from a rough cloth pressed between the strange hand and her face.  

Faith clawed frantically at the hand, pulling hard, trying to scream as loud as she could. She stomped her feet blindly to make more noise and with the desperate hope of landing a foot of the man behind her but his strong upper body kept her forward. Her brain pleaded and prayed for Sam to hear the commotion. Her eyes searched for something to grab on to when a heavy mist settled in her head. Faith's thoughts became muddled as her limbs grew lead heavy. The noise from her decreasing struggle began to sound hollow. As her brain slowed and her sight darken, Faith saw a translucent reflection of the hand wrapped tight around her middle in Robert's glass case.  

The hand was deformed.

Sam checked the time on his phone. Fifteen minutes and two smokes had passed since Faith went to visit her funky doll. He contorted his face in annoyance.

"C'mon honey, it's a doll, we got a lot better things to go look at," He muttered openly to no one. He looked around the lobby of the building which had become eerily quiet as the tourists emptied back out onto the beach. He glanced absentmindedly through the doorway into the grassy courtyard. A meter long iguana dashed across the lawn, fast enough for Sam to register a whizzing by of green hues. Something didn't feel right.

She should be back out here by now, he thought, as goosebumps rippled across the back of his neck. Sam stalked quickly down the hallway, his expression darkened and his heart sped with every tourist he noticed was gone, the hall empty. Seeing the WEIRD KEY WEST sign, he broke into a sprint, calling out Faith's name. Sam strode purposefully through the exhibit.

“Faith?” He called loudly, making a beeline for the tinted window room where the doll was.

“Faith!” Sam shouted as he flung open the glass doors.

Save for the doll in his glass case and the decor on the walls; the room was empty. Sam's eyes scanned the room wildly. The writing on the chalkboard made him stop breathing, stop hearing, stop functioning except to read the words in front of him. Written in chalk, in flowing, perfect script.

I've taken your queen. Your move Mr. Drake. With kindest regards, - J.