#they begin to resent the role they were given but are too scared to destroy the chain that binds them to the other

[jeweled-blue-eyes]

AU where Roger had Ijekiel AFTER he learned of Jennette's existence. Where he literally made a child so he could marry it off to Jennette. Ijekiel was born to be her husband and give her babies. He'll never have any other purpose!!! Don't look back! don't look back! Don't yearn for something you can never have. You'll be the greatest man in the Empire if you marry the crown princess. And then he does look back and he dares to fall in love with Athanasia out of all people. The scandal!

[star-going-supernova]

So. Madison Russell. Godzilla vs Kong. Welcome to my ted talk.

From a writing perspective, they totally wasted her character. She, Josh, and Bernie were almost exclusively used just as a method of showing the audience what was happening "behind the scenes" at Apex. Pouring the whiskey on the computer was about the only thing of note they did, and even that didn't do much. Mechagodzilla was only slightly hindered by it, and if they'd just written Kong and Godzilla differently in the fight scene, they could have skipped the whiskey part entirely. They could have done so much with having people "on the inside" but Monarch as a greater organization barely had any presence at all, which negated the need to have people on the inside. 

Maddie's steadfast insistence that Godzilla wasn't a bad guy at the beginning had so much potential, but it became the conspiracy thing instead. It felt less like she wanted to prove Godzilla wasn't turning against humans, and more like she and her new conspiracy friend wanted to crack open a shady organization, which was frustrating. If they wanted to depict her as someone who was forced to become competent at a young age, which was part of the serious, intense vibe I got from her, instead of the inexplicable personality shift, they should have showed her doing something to help. Getting in contact with her dad/Monarch, giving them evidence to begin a city wide evacuation outside the Apex Hong Kong HQ, messing something up or making it harder for the Apex people to get Mechagodzilla up and running—just, anything. 

The fact is, we had Maddie being very proactive in KotM. Stealing the ORCA was the game changer. Instead of taking that to the next level in GvK and giving her an opportunity to continue that aspect of her character—that is, being someone who refuses to sit by when she can do something to help, even if it’s dangerous—they rendered her obsolete. 

The movie wouldn't have significantly changed if you took her character out. If Bernie went by himself and ended up in Hong Kong, nothing would have changed, because Maddie didn't do anything of personal importance. She went from being an active character in KotM to being a passive one here, which are a pet peeve of mine. If you saw my post about what I liked and didn’t like about Godzilla (2014), that might sound very familiar.

It would also have made so much more sense if she developed a love for studying Titans instead of focusing on conspiracy theories. Plot-wise, it would have given her claim to her dad that Godzilla was being provoked more credence, and could’ve opened an interesting dialogue between them to reinforce that she knows what she’s talking about. Monarch was obviously still a big part of their lives, given that Mark had rejoined, so it would’ve been the perfect opportunity for Maddie to pursue a Titan-related future. 

Now, don’t get me wrong. I loved Jia, and wouldn’t want to take her out of the movie or even diminish her presence in it. In fact, I think they should have focused on Jia, and only on Jia. 

Hear me out: Godzilla vs Kong should’ve been split in two. A Part 1 and Part 2 situation. 

For Part 1, we keep a lot of the GvK canon, especially the Kong-centric stuff. Include even more scenes showing us that he’s protective of Jia, don’t just have Dr. Andrews say that he is. Have him defend her from something dangerous, maybe even from some humans. Include their backstory, how he saved her during the storm. And start it even earlier, before Godzilla attacks Apex the first time. Keep the whole Hollow Earth plot, keep the fight scene in the ocean, keep the discovery of the temple and the axe.

And on the Godzilla side of things, start earlier on that as well. Keep the other Titans in, have humanity tentatively believing that a time of great peace is upon them. Their mere presence is restoring the planet. There was an emphasis of nature, particularly in relation to the Titans, in KotM that I really think they should have included more of in GvK to better tie the two movies together, if only they hadn’t swept all the other Titans under the rug. They wanted a movie about a fight, not about the Titans. So, undo that. Show us a little of what Mark does, do a sweep of the other KotM cast (cameos at the very least) to show how they and Monarch are working to uphold that peace post-Boston. I’d also have loved to see Boston itself, too, five years later. 

Instead of giving us a Generic High School scene, show Maddie learning about the Titans alongside the experts. Bring back the wonder and amazement she had when she saw Mothra for the first time, when she reached out and touched her. She’s second generation Monarch, make that mean something. When Maddie took the ORCA to Boston, she had a conviction. She couldn’t not have. She was there in part to lure Ghidorah in, but I can’t even pretend to believe her plan ended with that. She knew Godzilla would come. 

That sort of belief is hard to kill, and if death via Ghidorah wasn’t enough to scare her off, no way anything else in those five years afterwards did. Her belief that Godzilla is good survived to GvK, and should’ve been a main focal point of her character. Godzilla attacks Apex—she and every other Monarch person who has spent years studying the Titans knows something is up. 

Keep Mark’s character development regarding his opinions on Godzilla. He believes Maddie when she says something has to be wrong, not just because he trusts his daughter, but because he looked into Godzilla’s eyes and saw more than just an animal. 

They’re in Part 1 only minimally, just to establish their presence and how they feel about Godzilla destroying Apex. The focus is clearly on Jia and Kong’s side of events. 

Sorry, but I’m leaving Josh out and seriously dialing back Bernie’s role. Instead, the character we follow inside Apex is Ren Serizawa. We see his motivations, his ambitions, and he becomes a character with more than just a few lines. Does he resent Godzilla? Or does he resent his father, too? Serizawa’s sacrifice was willing, after all. He was no accidental casualty. 

Part 1 ends in the Hollow Earth, with Ghidorah taking control of Mechagodzilla on the surface. Alter the timeline just enough so that Godzilla has only just arrived to Hong Kong, and Kong’s still in the Hollow Earth. The final scene is Mechagodzilla emerging into the city as the sun rises. The post-credits scene is our KotM cast in the Argo, location unknown, watching a screen with Mechagodzilla on it. 

Part 2 begins with a reveal: Ren Serizawa isn’t dead. 

Backtrack. This part focuses more on the Godzilla side, and Monarch. It’ll have flashback scenes from the five years between KotM and now, showing exactly why Monarch as a whole firmly believes Godzilla is reacting to something instead of being anti-human all of a sudden. The Titans are not inherently malicious; destruction is a side effect of their size, no more, no less. He earned his title of King in KotM—make it mean more than just trying to make Kong “bow.” Make him a protector, a guardian. He’s nature’s balance. By definition, he must protect humans as well. 

What Monarch needs to figure out is this: what is he trying to protect them from? 

They investigate Apex in search of the answer, but knowing from past experience the sort of things Godzilla gets proactive about—the MUTOs, Ghidorah—Monarch mobilizes. They prepare for another fight, at Mark’s instructions. He witnessed both San Francisco and Boston firsthand, even if the former was from a civilian standpoint. 

Godzilla has more hunt scenes. He targets a second Apex lab after his ocean fight with Kong, telling Monarch that they’re on the right track. 

Maddie, being a minor and not dragged into the thick of things (yet), has to stay home. Remembering the podcast she sometimes listened to, when the topic was focused on the Titans, she tracks Bernie down, and he tells her about what he saw: the eye. 

The two of them go to the ruined Apex building and discover the eye is gone before getting caught. With Monarch currently breathing down their necks, they recognize Maddie to be Mark’s daughter and take her to Hong Kong. Sorry, Bernie, but that’s mostly as far as you’re involved. Timeline-wise, this is roughly when Kong puts the axe in the temple floor and Godzilla blasts a hole to the center of the earth. Monarch is following Godzilla, but they’re behind a bit thanks to the tunnel shortcuts. They’re still unaware that Maddie has been kidnapped and is en route to Hong Kong.

This is also when Mechagodzilla gains a life of its own. Walter Simmons is killed and Ren Serizawa becomes trapped in the link to Mechagodzilla, serving as the bridge between the robot and Ghidorah’s mind. Ghidorah is essentially controlling MG by controlling Ren, who is controlling MG. Make sense? He’s the puppeteer’s puppeteer. 

We reverse some things. Godzilla fights MG first, gets beat around but not as much as in GvK because he isn’t fresh out of a different fight. Kong returns to the surface through the tunnel Godzilla created, having carried the one remaining HEAV out himself, because Nathan Lind has never flown one before and doesn’t know how they work. Kong wants to protect Jia, and Ilene Andrews and Nathan Lind are very lucky that Jia likes them. 

Mechagodzilla sees Kong and takes off, and Kong decides now would be a great time to fight Godzilla, who’s having a pretty bad day. Monarch arrives, and half of them split off to follow MG while the rest stay to try and deescalate the situation. Other than Godzilla faring slightly less well, the fight goes mostly the same as in the movie, except for one big difference: one of the Monarch crafts pick up Jia and Co, and she’s able to get Kong’s attention from the back of an Osprey well enough to tell him to stop fighting. There’s a bigger threat out there, and Godzilla definitely needs to be okay enough to fight it. Either they work together, or they reschedule. 

She’s very stern about it, and though no one’s really sure what the two Titans decide on, they stop fighting. They leave together to go after Mechagodzilla, who is currently being slowed down by Mothra, because she deserves to be in this movie. The other Titans basically hinder Mechagodzilla as much as possible as it rampages, telling Godzilla where it is. Monarch finally figures out that it’s heading for the nearest entrance to the Hollow Earth, right around when they also figure out that Ghidorah is involved. With Dr. Andrews and Nathan Lind’s input, they theorize it intends to take more of the power source down there to further strengthen it. 

They do their best to clear the cities in its path, evacuating as many people as possible. It’s all they can do. As in the past, they must trust Godzilla to do the heavy lifting. Around the same time, an assistant tells Mark that some guy named Bernie called and is asking for him. This is how he finds out Maddie was taken to Apex’s Hong Kong location.

Meanwhile, the Apex guards and Maddie finally arrive to find the facility abandoned and damaged, MG gone, and Simmons dead. The guards more or less split, leaving her there alone. Maddie, being Maddie, goes deeper until she finally discovers Ghidorah’s skull and Ren Serizawa inside, trapped in his own head with Ghidorah. It’s killing him. 

He’s aware enough to have a conversation with her. They argue about the Titans. He wants Godzilla destroyed out of anger over his father’s preference for Titans, rather than his own son. 

(“You’re not the only one with ghosts!” she yells at him. “You’re not the only one who resents a parent for putting Titans ahead of you when you needed them!” He chokes out, “I do not resent my father—” “Coulda fooled me. Why else would you be spitting on his sacrifice like this? Who are you trying to help, huh? All the other kids out there who are losing their moms and dads because you let Ghidorah out? Sorry, mister, but the last time someone did that, your dad paid the price.”) 

Ren is getting worse. He’s going to die if he stays in the link much longer, but he can’t disconnect. Maddie, looking around, gets to work on something. The camera slowly pans around to show that there’s a second pilot seat, back-to-back with Ren’s. It would allow for seamless switching between pilots without MG ever not having someone at the controls. 

Even with the other Titans’ help, Godzilla and Kong are unable to stop MG from going through the tunnel and into the Hollow Earth. Monarch is unable to follow, because of the gravity issue. They’re both tired from the journey and their fight, especially Godzilla. This is their last chance. If Mechagodzilla reaches the power source, it’s all over. 

The fight doesn’t go in their favor. They’re both bad at working together, so their attacks are uncoordinated at best, actively hindering each other at worst. Kong gets flung off a mountain and MG pins Godzilla. Even thought he caught himself, Kong isn’t going to make it up in time to help him. 

Maddie puts on an identical pilot setup, and with Ren’s instructions, switches the link over to herself, freeing Ren. He collapses forward, immediately falling unconscious from the release of the strain. Fighting past the pain and overwhelming presence suddenly in her head, Maddie does what she does best: she causes Ghidorah problems. 

She screams, and it echoes like a roar through his skull. 

In the Hollow Earth, Mechagodzilla stumbles. 

It’s the beginning of the end. She can’t control it or even really stop Ghidorah, but she gets in his way as much as possible, giving Godzilla and Kong the edge they need to finally get their act together and use some teamwork to take Mechagodzilla down. They destroy it and return to the surface before parting on amicable terms. 

After too long, Mark arrives at Apex with a whole team of people. Ren Serizawa is found comatose but alive, and he’s quickly removed for medical attention. Though Maddie’s also alive, there’s something else clearly wrong. She’s still wired into the piloting gear, stiff and unseeing, as if she’s frozen. Her eyes are open but distant, pupils virtually gone from how constricted they are, and her jaw hangs open slightly. Despite how tense her body is, she’s limp. Nothing they do wakes her up, even after getting her out of the skull. 

They wheel her out on a gurney to where a handful of Ospreys landed, but as they leave the building and step out onto the roof, they find Godzilla has returned. He watches them, and he’s exactly as aware as Mark remembers. 

(“She tried to help you,” Mark calls out to him. No one knows exactly what happened in the Hollow Earth, during the fight, but the scene in Ghidorah’s skull was telling. “No, she—she did help you!” For the second time in her life, Maddie put herself in Ghidorah’s path and, ultimately, won. Only this time, her victory came with a price.) 

Godzilla snorts before leaning over the roof’s railing, moving toward the gurney. The humans all back away, even Mark, though he doesn’t go far. Spines humming, eyes flaring blue, Godzilla rumbles deeply. 

On the gurney, Maddie stirs. 

Later, much later, after Maddie and Jia have met—heaven help everyone else, honestly—they sit together on the edge of a pier over the ocean, Jia leaning comfortably against Maddie. It’s quiet. They’re alone, watching the sunset. A heavy footfall behind them, the feel of the vibration trembling through the wood, makes them turn around. Half concealed in the brush at the edge of the island’s foliage, Kong stands, facing them. 

They both wave before standing. They sign goodbye to each other, then part ways. As Maddie walks away to a waiting Osprey, we see behind her as Kong crouches to allow Jia to climb into his palm before vanishing into the forest. 

The Osprey takes off over the calm ocean. It has a different design than most, with a large door set in the side instead of at the back, more like an ordinary helicopter. It’s open as they go, Maddie secure inside as she stares out. A smile spreads across her face as jagged spines slowly breach the ocean’s surface, easily keeping pace with the Osprey, which lowers to be closer to the water.

For just a moment, in the fading light, Maddie’s eyes almost shine blue. The screen goes black to the sound of Godzilla’s roar.

[carewyncromwell]

Hey guys! POTC AU update time at last! Very sorry for the delay, but s*** is really going down now in this story...

One of my biggest criticisms for the climax of At World’s End is how, ultimately, both the Navy’s armada and all of the diverse pirates gathered together as part of the Brethren Court are ultimately pointless. We get our huge confrontation between the Flying Dutchman and the Black Pearl, which ends with both ships blowing up Beckett’s flagship...and then the Navy just hightails it away with their tails between their legs, even if they still outmatch the pirates and there would surely be a chain of command under Beckett that could take over. There isn’t even anything to show that the Navy lost their nerve after losing their “great leader” or anything or were reluctant to fight to begin with. And again, that ends up making the non-main-character pirates that we only just met in At World’s End, like the Pirate Lords, completely unnecessary to the narrative aside from giving up their Pieces of Eight, which easily could’ve been rewritten to not include the Pirate Lords. This is why I’m restructuring this climax so that all of the Lords (and the Keeper of the Code) have a role in the coming battle, rather than just having them stand on the sidelines.

Black powder is a much messier, more combustible precursor to modern gunpowder, which has a very strong odor and produces a lot of smoke when it explodes. It’s better used for things like fireworks and rockets than firearms, particularly since it’s even more vulnerable to moisture than regular gunpowder is. Black powder was first developed in China circa the 9th century, before its use in firearms was phased out in favor of the cleaner, safer gunpowder we know today.

Although the traditional “Redcoat” was developed as a uniform for British soldiers in the mid-1600s, the British Navy actually didn’t have official uniforms for its sailors until 1748. Before that point, only naval officers generally wore uniforms. My guess about why the Pirates films don’t follow this model and have even the lower-rank British Naval soldiers wear uniforms in AWE is for the sake of visual short-hand for the audience and to further accent the divide between the uniformity of the law-keepers (the army and Navy) VS the diversity of the law-breakers (the pirates).

Previous part is here, and whole tag is here! Jules Farrier-Weasley belongs to @cursebreakerfarrier, Samantha O’Connell belongs to @samshogwarts​, Ellie Hopper belongs to @that-ravenpuff-witch, Arjun Singh and Aishwarya Mehra belong to @hogwarts9, and Finn McGarry/Davy Jones belongs to @theguythatdraws! Also briefly referenced is Gwendolyn “Wendy” Gordon, who belongs to @drinkyoursoupbitch. xoxo

x~x~x~x

When Jules, Jacob, and Orion returned, they immediately convened a war council with the other Pirate Lords and their crews in the Hall of the Codex. There was a lot of strategizing that needed to be done before the battle the following day -- and as to be expected, Murphy McNully was instrumental in pinpointing what they needed.

“According to the Admiral’s intelligence, there are 34 Man O’ Wars out there waiting for us. We ourselves have a fleet of 73 galleons, brigs, schooners, sloops, and ketches. Now, naturally, that sounds like a lot, but keep in mind that each of the Navy’s Man O’ Wars has anywhere between 50 to 100 guns on each ship...meaning they have between 1700 and 3400 guns altogether. Even if we technically could have more guns numerically, there’s a 97.9% chance that our ships wouldn’t be able to withstand a full-frontal assault by those things. If we tried, we’d basically have to sacrifice our lives in the hundreds just to deal any damage, and even then, there’s less than a one percent chance that we could actually defeat the Navy, doing that.”

“It’d be a pyrrhic victory, at best,” said Ellie sadly.

Jae nodded. “I doubt any of us are much in the mood for a suicide mission, so we’ll need to come up with something better.”

“Especially since Carey’s on board one of those ships,” said Bill solemnly. “We can’t let him get hurt.”

Charlie, Jules, Jacob, and Orion’s eyes all narrowed at this. While Charlie and Jules nodded in agreement, Jacob’s jaw clenched and Orion clasped his hands in his lap and closed his eyes.

Ashe brought a hand up to squeeze Jacob’s shoulder, resting his head absently on top of his.

“Speaking from my own experience,” he said very dryly, “brute strength is hardly a be-all-end-all. Obviously one should think twice before attacking a larger enemy...but sometimes the element of surprise can turn the tide. Larger enemies often assume they have less to fear.”

“Aye...” said Jacob softly.

He considered the makeshift map and model ships they’d set up on the stained round table. Then he reached out to pick one of the miniature ketches and consider it carefully.

"We don’t have the firepower to defeat the Navy,” he said to the others, “but we do have stealth on our side.”

He immediately set about maneuvering the pieces around on the map, grouping all of the smaller ones together.

“The first thing we need is for a fleet made of the smaller ships -- the schooners, sloops, and ketches -- to carefully infiltrate the Man O’ Wars. Send a few of our men onto each ship in disguise, so they can load their lower decks with unlit explosives.”

“They could also easily sabotage their cannons and rudder chains, while they’re there,” said Orion softly.

Jacob shot a halfhearted glare at Orion out the side of his eye. Clearly even if they were allies and Orion brought up a great point, the Pirate Lord of the Atlantic Ocean was still a bit resentful about the Lord of the Caribbean Sea’s relationship with his sister.

“...Right. Then I say we -- meaning you, Captain Farrier-Weasley, as the Pirate King -- warn Beckett and the Navy that we’ll release Calypso, if they don’t turn back and let us leave Shipwreck Cove in peace. With Jones being with them, Beckett and the Navy either should already know or will immediately find out just how dangerous that is. Make sure to bluff Beckett that Calypso has so much power that she could destroy a Man O’ War with her little pinky, if she wanted.”

Samantha’s face lit up as she caught on to Jacob’s idea. “Oh! Then once Calypso is free and the weather starts getting bad...we can have the galleons and brigs attack the Man O’ Wars -- ”

“ -- and we can blow up the explosives on board with our cannons!” finished Charlie, exchanging an excited grin with Samantha.

Merula’s face burst into an huge smile too. “And it’ll make it look to the Navy like Calypso has given us this supernatural power boost!”

“Brilliant!” said Bill.

“There’d still be a 34% chance we’ll lose a few ships doing that,” said McNully thoughtfully, “but even if we’ll be outgunned and out-manned, the Man O’ Wars should be sabotaged enough that they won’t be able to attack right away. And the explosions we’d get would no doubt give those Navy officers a good scare, which might discourage them from fighting.”

Jacob nodded. “That fleet of larger ships can then keep the Man O’ Wars busy while Captain Farrier-Weasley and I sail the Revolution out to confront the Flying Dutchman. The Revolution’s probably the only ship we have that’s fast enough to compete with the Dutchman in a sea battle.”

“And we’ll need to overpower Jones, if we want to get close enough to Beckett,” said Jules, her dark eyes hard with determination.

“Jones is the Queen in this chess match,” agreed McNully. “He’s the most powerful piece on the board, so if we can topple him, we’ll have a much better chance. If we can then corner the King -- namely, Beckett -- we could use that leverage to win the whole thing.”

Bill and Charlie exchanged a look. Then the elder Weasley spoke up.

“...The plan’s great, Jacob -- but there’s a problem. Captain Hopper said that most of you lot were never soldiers. There’s a lot of training that you have to go through before going out to sea with the British Navy, and there’s just as much protocol you have to follow while you’re there. If one of our men makes a wrong move and gets caught, it could blow the whole ruse.”

“Then maybe we should go, Bill,” said Charlie. “We know the way things work -- we’d be able to blend in -- ”

“Not with that hair, you won’t,” said Merula dully.

“Face Paint is here at the Cove,” pointed out Skye. “They could fix that -- ”

Orion shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s still too risky. The Admiral indicated that Percy Weasley is also on board one of those ships. As much as I don’t think he’d ever wish to harm you, I don’t believe one could fool one’s family that long. And judging by how your last meeting ended,” he glanced at Charlie and Bill solemnly, “one cannot be certain he would choose family loyalty over what he believes is morally right.”

“Yeah, I wager there’s only a 35% chance he wouldn’t try to stop you two, if he saw you,” said McNully with an apologetic look at the Weasley brothers. “Though there is a 25% chance you might collide with Carey Weasley instead, and he could give you a hand...but I don’t think that’s a gamble we should take.”

Ellie’s lips twisted into a frown. “Still...First Mate Weasley’s got a point. It’d be probably best to send someone with the Artemis and the other small ships who already knows how to fit in with the British Navy.”

“If only Captain Moody were still here,” mumbled Barnaby sadly. “He was in the Navy for a long time, before becoming our captain...”

Charlie offered Barnaby a sympathetic look. Jae, however, looked rather thoughtful.

“...I do have...one contact that could be helpful.”

Everyone turned to look at him.

“He’s a bit of a loose cannon,” said Jae, “too impulsive for his own good and bull-headed as all Hell...kind of stupid, really. But he was in the Navy once, and he’s pretty good at working in secrecy. I work with him most often whenever there’s news of the East India Trading Company, since he’s got a contact who’s related to one of their most prominent merchants...”

Merula’s eyebrows furrowed. “...Wait a minute. You’re not suggesting Copper?”

Charlie and Jules both blinked.

“Behemoth Ben Copper?” said Jules in surprise. “The pirate who took out all three masts on an Italian frigate with one cannonball?”

“That’d be him,” said Arjun, and like Merula, he looked a bit skeptical. “Jae, I’m not sure. I don’t mean anything against Ben and all, but...well...it’s like you said, he’s a bit of a loose cannon. Ever since he mutinied against his captain, he’s just gotten more and more reckless -- leaving his crew abruptly with no explanation, rearranging his ship’s route on the fly...”

“He’s been acting weird,” agreed Aishwarya.

“Sounds like he’s the perfect choice, then!”

Everyone turned to look at Skye in bewilderment. Contrary to everyone else’s reactions, however, she looked perfectly undaunted, her lips curled up in a perfectly fearless, white smirk.

“From the sound of things, I’d wager Copper’s caught the same type of ‘weird’ that Orion’s had these last few months,” said Skye, shooting a significant look in her captain’s direction.

“And I reckon that kind of ‘weird’ would boost Copper’s motivation to help us by a good 63%,” said McNully very coolly from Orion’s other side.

Orion tried to feign a mild, patient expression as he bowed his head and avoided his crewmates’ amused looks, but he could not obscure the rosy color that was rising up into his cheeks.

“That settles it, then,” said Bill. “Let’s talk to him.”

Benjamin “Behemoth Ben” Copper did indeed boast an impressive height, being as tall as Bill with a scruffy blond beard almost as long as Jacob’s, a piece cut out of his left ear, and plenty of scars up and down his arms and along the base of his neck. He also came across as rather unpleasant, on first meeting. Although Jules had decided Orion and the Artemis would lead this smaller fleet in their mission, Ben seemed very skeptical of Orion from the off-set and was a bit forceful in trying to assert himself.

“For this mission, may us look to our friends, the cuttlefish, for guidance,” Orion said calmly as he addressed the small team of Navy veteran pirates they’d managed to assemble. “They change their appearance and attitude to blend into their environment, so as to evade the dangerous predators that might hunt them...and so too shall we.”

“The Navy isn’t that dangerous,” said Ben rather coldly.

Everyone turned to look at the much taller man, who was leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed.

Orion regarded him with patience, his hands clasping in front of him. “Not as dangerous as they’d like us to believe, true...but they do still out-gun us quite a bit.”

“That’d be more of a threat if half their new recruits weren’t so scared of the sound of gunfire that they all shut their eyes and can’t aim properly,” said Ben. “It’s not like most of those men have even seen combat like this, since England’s no longer at War.”

Orion didn’t respond, so Ben got up off the wall and strode over to look at him properly.

“Explain to me why we don’t just take down all of the ships ourselves, once we’re on board? We can more than take those lily-livered cowards...”

“We’re not doing that because it’s not the plan we agreed on, Copper,” Skye snapped. 

“Skye,” Orion said in a quelling voice without removing his gaze from Ben.

“They’d never expect anyone to actually try attacking them head-on, so the element of surprise will still be there,” Ben plowed on, his brown eyes flashing with righteousness. “I say we just take all of their sailors out, one by one, while that pig Cutler Beckett is too busy gloating to take notice.”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “‘Take them out?’ Oh, no. No, I’m afraid that won’t do.”

“You’re afraid of the ships and their firepower -- but the men on those ships are vulnerable,” Ben said sharply.

“All the more reason to not hurt them more than we have to,” said Orion. “If the Navy’s ships are damaged, most of the sailors on board will still have the time to abandon ship and leave the battle with their lives.”

“Those sailors mean to kill us -- to arrest and hang the ones we love and anyone who’s ever helped us -- ”

“Not all of them,” said Orion, and his patient voice for the first time dipped low into his throat and echoed with some edge. “And because not all of them seek to destroy us and the ones we love, we have more than enough reason to not destroy them ourselves. The ships are what we fear, as you said -- they are our enemy, not the men on board -- and without that weapon of theirs, those sailors will be unable to inflict the damage we fear.”

Ben’s brown eyes bore into Orion’s very critically. Then, exhaling through his nose in a short huff, he reluctantly nodded and stepped back.

Orion turned to Face Paint. “We’ll need to make sure all of our men look like they belong among the Navy’s ranks.”

Face Paint grinned. “Don’t worry! I’ve got this.”

With some guidance from the ex-veterans on the Navy’s usual dress code, Face Paint got to work covering up scars with make-up and dressing the team accordingly. Fortunately, unlike the British army, Navy soldiers generally had more freedom in how they dressed, so long as their clothes were neat and conservative. Once Face Paint was finished, Orion had a team of about eleven men who looked as out of place on Shipwreck Cove as he himself had looked on the streets of Port Royal.

Before Orion left with the Artemis and the rest of the fleet of small ships, however, Jacob rather sharply stepped in front of him and insisted on speaking to him in private. Skye and McNully looked notably concerned, but Orion agreed, and the two stepped aside so no one else could hear them.

“Don’t think I don’t know why you’re doing this,” Jacob murmured.

Orion raised his eyebrows, even though his expression remained grimly unreadable. “It was your plan, to send the smaller ships to infiltrate the Navy’s Man O’ Wars.”

“I was not including you when I said that!” snapped Jacob.

He took an aggressive step forward, right into Orion’s personal bubble.

“I know why you’re doing it, Amari, and it’s not just because Captain Farrier-Weasley asked you to be in charge of that mission,” he said in a very low snarl, rather like that of a territorial dog.

Orion’s eyes grew a little smaller, but remained too murky to read properly. “I daresay my reasoning is the same as why you arranged it so that you would be on the ship facing off against the Flying Dutchman.”

“Do not compare my motives with yours!” said Jacob fiercely, as his skull-like eyes flared like flames. “I don’t care what you feel for my Wyn -- you could never understand what she means to me! I would and will do anything I have to in order to protect her -- ”

“I know,” Orion cut Jacob off as calmly as he could. “I could never understand the bond you two share.”

His dark eyes flickered with a strange emotion.

“...But...I do understand what a beacon she is -- how, like a candle, she can light up a room enough to comfort you, when you’re most frightened. How the soft, warm light she gives off is for you alone...how the embers she leaves behind burn long after her light has left you. How she’ll...drain herself of whatever strength she has...just to make sure you don’t despair.”

Something cracked in Jacob’s eyes, betraying genuine vulnerability. A vein pulsed in his jaw and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Orion clasped his hands in front of him, regarding Jacob with a grim, sad expression.

“Care --...your sister...is a truly remarkable woman. She always has been, from the day I ended up on your doorstep back in Port Royal all those years ago. I can’t say for sure that I’ve loved her since then, but...when we found each other again, I realized that the freedom I have on the high seas is superficial at best...for I wasn’t free to stay with her...no more than she’s free to follow me. If she stays with Cutler Beckett...if she ends up impressed into service on the Flying Dutchman...”

Jacob’s fists clenched tighter and started to shake. Orion’s eyes rippled with pain and anxiety as he closed them.

“I can’t do nothing while Carewyn loses what little freedom she has left,” the taller captain burst out before he could stop himself. “However cruel Jones is in the legends I’ve heard, I know first-hand Cutler Beckett is a crueler master than he could ever be.”

He ran his pointer and middle finger alongside the inside of his wrist, where the “P” brand shone a tense white on his tanned skin. He breathed in and out through his nose slowly to try to calm his heart rate, before he opened his eyes to look back at Jacob.

“...I know our methods are different, but our goal is the same. Although I hope you succeed in overcoming Jones and force him to release her...I’m sure you understand why I have to take measures in case you don’t.”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed upon Orion’s face, but for the first time, there was confusion muddled with the distrust.

“I already told you that Jones won’t care if my Wyn gets married and takes on another name,” he said quietly. “He said she’d still be considered a Cromwell.”

Orion’s dark eyes softened sadly. “I know.”

Jacob’s eyes scrunched up further. Then they widened as he thought of something he hadn’t before. The thought made his face go very white.

“You...”

Orion did not respond, but Jacob knew he’d figured out what Orion was thinking. It made his fists shake at his sides and his pupils narrow to slits.

‘He’s...truly that selfless?’

Jacob didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t believe that this man loved his sister that much.

Despite himself, he couldn’t help but lash out.

“...I do not give my blessing to this! I don’t care what sincere affect you dance around with, I will never trust you with my Wyn’s heart, Amari! You could never deserve my sister!”

But Orion’s features merely prickled with the hints of a smile. "I know.”

Jacob gave an aggravated sigh, throwing his hand up in a violent smack at the air, as he threw his head back and rolled his eyes up in the direction of the ceiling.

He wanted to hate this man so much, but it was proving difficult when he wouldn’t rise to anything he said. He wanted him to fight back, to get mad -- then he could feel justified in protecting Carewyn from him...

But in truth, Jacob knew -- this man wasn’t someone to protect Carewyn from. Truthfully...he knew this man would likely do just as much to protect Carewyn as he would...

Jacob’s hollowed-out eyes ran over Orion’s face, narrowing critically. Then, at last, he said,

“...You were the boy, weren’t you? The one Wyn hid under her floorboards.”

Orion’s eyes flickered with fondness and he inclined his head in a small nod. Jacob inhaled slowly through his nose and then exhaled very heavily.

“I will stop Jones,” he said very lowly. “So your 'measures’ won’t be necessary.”

With this, Carewyn’s brother turned on his heel and strode away, his black boots clapping against the cobblestones as he went.

As the pirates set their plan into motion, Carewyn herself was finishing up business on the Flying Dutchman. She was meant to remain on the HMS Lion with Beckett for the battle, but she insisted on speaking to all of her men on the ship and leaving proper instruction before departing. After all, the Admiral argued, even if Rakepick was staying on board, she was not a Naval officer, nor was she their commanding officer. It also was the excuse Carewyn needed to speak to Davy Jones privately.

Jones looked to be in a fairer mood than she’d seen him last. Carewyn wasn’t sure for the reason for it, but she hoped it wasn’t in response to the impending battle. Regardless of how Jones felt about the pirates and Shipwreck Cove, she dreaded the thought of anyone actually anticipating the battle. Instead, however, she reassured Jones that she would pass along whatever intelligence she gathered about where Rakepick had hidden his heart.

“I know Rakepick said she was out for herself, but there are only so many places she could’ve hidden it,” she said. “Port Royal is out of the question: it couldn’t be used as any sort of leverage there. So she either one, was lying and has it close by somewhere on the Dutchman...or two, Beckett does know where it is, but Rakepick plans to backstab him.”

“I suspect the former,” said Jones lowly, his dark eyes narrowing as he shot a glance out the stained-glass window of the cabin. “I can feel my heart’s presence, so it must be close.”

Carewyn inclined her head slightly. “I see. In that case, you might be able to retrieve it yourself. I’m sorry I can’t be of further help.”

She paused. Then, taking a deep breath, she spoke again.

“Captain Jones, time is not on our side...but something’s been bothering me. When I first agreed to help you, you knew my real name, without me having told you. You said that was because you know everyone’s true name, but...”

She considered him warily.

“...It’s also because...you know my older brother...don’t you?”

Jones’s eyes narrowed. He considered her for a long moment, before he gave a clipped nod.

“...Aye. I know him.”

Carewyn’s heart sank. ‘Then Rakepick was right -- Jacob did make a deal with Jones. That must be why Orion said Jacob ‘would be disappointed’ -- ’

“...What does he owe you?”

Jones, for the first time, looked almost evasive. He turned away, casting his eyes to the opposite wall as he took a few plodding steps away.

Carewyn watched him move, her arms which had been folded behind her back slackening at her sides.

“Captain Jones, please,” she said, and some desperation echoed in her voice despite her best efforts, “I already might not have enough power to protect him from Beckett, I have to know what debt he might have with you.”

Jones was quiet for a moment longer. When he finally spoke again, his voice was very low, reluctant...even regretful.

“...The price...was a lifetime of service, from a member of his family.”

Carewyn’s eyes widened.

‘A lifetime of service...?’

Jacob’s intense, anxious reaction to the death of Charles and Blaise suddenly made sense.

‘He must’ve meant to give one of them to Jones,’ Carewyn’s mind raced. ‘Could he really have agreed to something like that -- enslave Grandfather or Blaise to Jones?’

Unfortunately it didn’t sound completely out-of-character for Jacob -- for as much as she’d hated Charles Cromwell and resented Blaise, Carewyn knew her feelings paled in the face of Jacob’s. Not only had he been older and thus forced to do more of their dirty work, but he’d also always loathed how much they hurt Carewyn when they were young, both to keep him in line and in a cruel attempt to “toughen her up.”

But now...now Blaise and Charles were dead. All of the Cromwells -- Jacob’s family -- were dead...except for...

Carewyn’s face was very white. Her lips came together and she bowed her head, casting her eyes into shadow.

“...I see,” she whispered, her voice shakier than she’d intended.

‘This is why Orion and Jacob want me off the Dutchman. Because I’m the only one who can fill Jacob’s debt.’

Jones glanced over his shoulder, his dark eye oddly ashamed.

“He did it out of love for you,” he said very quietly. “I confess, before we met, I’d seen irony in the situation. Now...I wish I could excuse the debt, but...”

Jones swallowed, and the tentacles of his beard gave a series of low pops.

“...Magical contracts...are not so easily broken. Once someone is marked with the Black Spot, the terms will be met, whether I want them to be or not. Fate will maneuver itself in such a way that you end up as part of my crew, even if I actively decide not to take you. As long as your brother and I both live...the terms are etched in stone.”

Jones then strode back over, fixing Carewyn with a solemn eye.

“Unless...you wanted to make a deal yourself? One soul could be comparable to another.”

Carewyn closed her eyes and considered this. After a long moment, she swallowed, and shook her head.

“That’s not something I can give you,” she whispered.

Jones’s eyes grew a little smaller as he faced the door. “I thought you might say that.”

He paused. His claw clicked together at his side.

“I...lament that a noble soul like yours is doomed to remain with me,” he murmured. “I will do my best to take care of you, as part of my crew.”

With another set of plodding steps, Jones walked over to the door of the cabin, opened it, and left.

Carewyn’s knees buckled out from under her. She collapsed onto the bench in front of the massive organ, staring down at her own booted feet without even seeing them.

She couldn’t thrust this burden on anyone else. How could she? No matter who they were...no one deserved to live their life in servitude. Carewyn knew she would never be able to live with herself, doing something so cruel...but...

It...it wasn’t fair! It wasn’t fair! She’d already had to resign herself to the knowledge that she couldn’t shield the others from Beckett -- she’d already had to resign herself to staying under Beckett’s foot. Not only was she helpless in helping the ones she loved escape Beckett...but now...once she was a member of Jones’s crew...she would likely never see any of them again. She’d never be able to make that world that they deserved -- a world where they could live free of the fear of being captured and hanged...a world where they could live and chase their dreams in peace.

She’d never see Orion again. She’d never see Jacob again. She’d never see Bill again. She’d never see Charlie again. She’d never see Jules or Percy again.

Carewyn took a sharp intake of breath, trying to contain her emotions, but it was no use. Her hands flew to her face, clutching desperately, as she tried in vain to suffocate the tears spilling out of her eyes and the sobs erupting out of her throat.

Little did Carewyn know that a red-haired woman much taller than her had been beside the window of the captain’s cabin and had heard the entire conversation.

Under the cover of the fog that  swept in that night, Orion’s team of Navy veteran pirates split up and stowed away aboard the Navy’s ships, each carrying one of the hundred black barrels of highly explosive black powder Jae had prepared for them. They would then be able to fetch more from one of the many sloops, ketches, and schooners floating among the armada the rest of the night.

As luck would have it, Ben boarded a ship that turned out to be the HMS Lion itself. He was glad of it, as he was determined to make sure that Beckett could never target anyone else again. Unfortunately, as soon as Ben arrived on board the ship, he was immediately uneasy. No one had spotted him arrive, but this ship wasn’t like any of the ships he’d seen during his time with the Navy. Everything was so unusually clean and precise and brand new, as if none of it had been touched -- and stranger still, all of the sailors, from their perfectly polished gold-buckled shoes to their blue and white uniforms to their gold-trimmed black tricorn hats, looked as identical as a set of dolls.

Little did Ben know that Cutler Beckett had higher standards of uniformity for the ship he was on than he did any of the other ships in his armada -- and so, even perfectly disguised as an ordinary sailor, Ben stood out like a sore thumb.

“You there!” said one of the lieutenants, upon spotting Ben on the staircase down to the lower decks. “Where’s your uniform, sailor?”

Ben faltered. ‘Uniform? Regular sailors don’t wear -- ’

He immediately put down the barrel he’d been carrying and turned around, putting on his strongest face as he stood up perfectly straight and saluted.

“...I’m only a new recruit, sir. I have no rank.”

“All sailors on the HMS Lion were given a custom uniform, when first they were selected by Lord Beckett,” snapped the lieutenant, his black eyes narrowing suspiciously upon the much taller man. “I ask you again -- where is yours?”

Ben immediately guessed that he’d made a huge mistake. Knowing that if he didn’t do something drastic, he’d blow the whole operation, his hand slid down to the pistol in his belt. Did he dare silence the man by force? Would that not alert the rest of the ship?

“What’s going on here?”

Another officer -- this one with a ginger red ponytail and almond-shaped blue eyes -- came down from the helm and over to the two men.

“A-Admiral Weasley!” said the lieutenant, straightening up immediately.

‘Admiral?’ thought Ben. ‘Then this is Carey Weasley?’

His brown eyes narrowed upon the frame of the Navy’s greatest hero.

'...He’s so...tiny.’

Carewyn looked from the lieutenant to Ben, her blue eyes narrowing.

“Ah, I suppose Captain Weasley’s sent over another new recruit,” she said smoothly. “Where is this man’s uniform, Lieutenant?”

“That -- I just asked that, sir,” the lieutenant stumbled over his words.

“Respectfully, I hope,” said Carewyn rather pointedly.

“That -- well -- I merely thought it was suspicious. We normally are all given uniforms, prior to boarding -- I hadn’t known that Captain Weasley was sending over any...”

The lieutenant looked a bit sheepish. It was remarkable how he looked and sounded so much more boyish around the Admiral, compared to how harsh and suspicious he’d sounded when he addressed Ben.

“No matter, Lieutenant,” said Carewyn, giving the young man a soft smile. “You thought of the safety of our ship and crew. That’s the right instinct to have, despite the circumstances.”

She turned to Ben, her eyes becoming a bit more solemn.

“What’s your name, sailor?”

“Cooper, sir,” Ben said at once, giving a salute. “Gordon Cooper.”

“Well, Mr. Cooper, you’d best come with me, before Lord Beckett sees you out of uniform. He likes his flag ship run just so.”

And so Ben reluctantly followed the Admiral down to the ship’s lower level and into the cargo hold. She fetched him a blue and white Navy uniform, but rather than just leaving Ben to put it on himself, she insisted on helping him put it on properly.

“I told you, Lord Beckett likes things just so,” she said. “I will not have any sailor under my command end up on the wrong side of him.”

“I can put on a bloody shirt,” Ben said before he could stop himself.

“See that you do, then,” said Carewyn very coolly.

Ben watched, perfectly bewildered, as the Admiral hung the blue coat she’d set aside for him off of a nail sticking out of one of the beams of the ship and smoothed the wrinkles out of it.

With a dull snort, he pulled the faded red shirt and brown trousers Face Paint had dressed him in up over his head and switched it out for the white Navy breeches, stockings, and shirt he’d been given. He tried to keep his back to Carewyn, so as to obscure the scars on his upper chest and arms.

As he changed, Ben suddenly realized he heard a soft, husky voice humming a tune in the back of their throat.

“Now some have died, and some are alive...and others...sail on the sea...”

Ben straightened up sharply.

“...With the keys to the cage and the Devil to pay,” he echoed, “we lay to Fiddler’s Green.”

He turned around to look at Carewyn, who still had her back to him.

“So you are allied with us,” he said under his breath.

Carewyn glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “‘So?’ You sound like someone already told you that, previously.”

“Two people, actually,” Ben corrected her, crossing his arms. “Orion Amari, for one. The other...”

He glanced off to the side absently, his brown eyes growing a bit mistier at the thought.

“...She...has family who works for the East India Trading Company. While one of their ships was docked in Port Royal, she’d spoken to some of the prisoners awaiting execution...and though most of them were no state to talk, the ones who were expressed their admiration for Carey Weasley -- how he was the only person on the Dutchman who showed them any kindness.”

The thought of Wendy’s face as she described what the prisoners had told her made Ben’s heart clench. 

“...That kind of decency...was something I thought the Navy lost long ago.”

Carewyn’s eyes grew a little smaller and grimmer as they fell down onto Ben’s shoulder.

“I’m afraid it has, for the most part,” she said softly, “but only because of those currently in command. Our men are still good men...just misguided.”

Ben couldn’t keep the disbelieving, resentful glare from his face. He strode past Carewyn to fetch the blue coat, but the Admiral bustled in front of him, fetched a gold-buttoned white vest, and set about slipping it over Ben’s shirt.

“Here -- you’ll need this, first.”

Ben’s mouth dropped open in bewilderment and irritation.

“Wha -- oh, come on, I’m not some little lost lamb!”

“Definitely not,” said Carewyn dryly. “You’re anything but ‘little.’“

She started buttoning up Ben’s vest. The pirate gave an aggravated groan.

“Seriously? Ugh...will you knock it off? You’re acting like my mother -- ”

“Well, you’re acting like a child, so I reckon that’s appropriate,” Carewyn shot back. She then added a bit more solemnly, “Look, I can’t help Orion, Bill, and the others while I’m stuck here...but I can help you help them. So that’s what I intend to do, whether you like it or not.”

Ben’s face darkened with an embarrassed flush as he looked away, shooting daggers into the far corner with his eyes, while Carewyn finished buttoning up his vest.

“I should probably help you trim your beard too,” said Carewyn absently. “Navy men don’t wear beards much these days, even when they’re not officers...”

“I don’t need you to trim my beard,” Ben said grumpily. “I can shave myself.”

“Oh, you don’t believe in the old superstition, then. Good...I’ve had to shave some of my men’s faces for them, so that Beckett wouldn’t give them a hard time for looking scruffy...”

Ah, then it was about reassuring the men who were too superstitious to shave on board so they could still follow Beckett’s dress code, more than simple smothering. That made Ben feel a bit better.

“...Hm, well...I suppose I have been meaning to cut it a bit anyway...”

Once Carewyn had finished buttoning up Ben’s vest, she adjusted his collar.

“When did you leave the Navy?” she asked without looking at his face.

Ben considered her for a moment before answering.

“...Four years ago. I’d gone to sea to try to rise above my station...to earn enough money that I could...well...improve my prospects. But I ended up on board a ship with a captain who sacrificed the lives of his own men, not to protect the innocent, but to protect a ship he held financial stock in. A ship owned by Cutler Beckett, transporting gold, spices, ivory, and slaves to the colonies.”

Carewyn was immediately reminded of Orion. “So you rebelled.”

“Not right away,” Ben corrected. “I tried to have the captain court-marshalled first. But the Navy only gave him a light talking-to and left it at that. They didn’t remove him from service or strip him of his rank, or even publicly reprimand him -- he was allowed to just go about his business like before. And worse, he knew I was the one who’d reported him -- so he ended up retaliating against me, since he was still my commanding officer. I, well...eventually I just got fed up -- so I stopped cowering and fought back.”

Carewyn’s light blue eyes narrowed. “I see. ...You did the right thing.”

Ben’s face seemed to soften slightly. “...Thanks. It hasn’t always felt like the right thing.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t.”

Carewyn fetched the blue coat and helped Ben put it on. This time, he didn’t put up as much of a fuss, even though he considered Carewyn with a more critical, solemn expression.

“Why haven’t you fought back against Beckett?” he asked lowly. “You know what he’s doing is wrong.”

“If I were to fight now, I’d lose,” said Carewyn, “and if I lose, then the ones I love will be in more danger than ever.”

‘My future is already out of my reach. My freedom is already out of reach. If anything happened to them...I’d lose the best part of myself.’

“... I need to wait for the right moments where I can actually make a difference...like this one, for instance,” she added with a slight smile.

Ben’s eyes grew a little smaller as he studied her face.

“...It’s hard for you to stay silent, isn’t it?”

Carewyn didn’t respond, but her eyes squinted a bit too, rippling with a dark emotion as she yanked a loose thread free of Ben’s coat and adjusted the buttons.

“There,” she said at last. “Don’t forget your hat, when you’re out on deck.”

She handed a gold-trimmed black tricorn hat to him, but Ben didn’t put it on, instead holding it loose at his side.

“I won’t be on deck long,” he said. “I’ll be here below deck most of the time...I’ll be gone by dawn.”

Carewyn blinked. Then her whole face seemed to light up in realization.

“...Sabotage,” she whispered. Her almond-shaped blue eyes were almost over-bright. “Black Jack Roberts planned this, didn’t he?”

Ben was startled. “Uh...yeah, he did.”

‘Oh, that’s just like Jacob! He’s always been brilliant...’

Carewyn’s eyes gleamed with warm, intense pride and fondness as she cast her gaze aside.

Ben looked at Carewyn curiously. “...You know Black Jack?”

Carewyn beamed. “Oh, aye -- we go way back.”

“How far back?”

“We grew up together.”

‘I don’t need to explain how we’re related,’ thought Carewyn. ‘If Orion didn’t feel the need to tell him my real name, I don’t have to...it’s not exactly necessary information.’

Carewyn’s response, however, sparked an interesting reaction from Ben. Almost instantly, his hard, overly serious expression had become much softer and warmer, betraying a genuine smile.

“Really...”

The faintest ghost of a laugh seemed to fall from his lips as he bowed his head, his eyes drifting down to the ground. Carewyn smiled slightly in return.

“Now then, Mr. Cooper...I’ll leave you to your work. The barracks are on the lower deck on the starboard side of the ship,” she nodded to the the hallway behind them, “and the officers’ quarters are just up the stairs from there. The walls are thin and most of the officers will be up and about doing nightly rounds, so be careful not to make too much noise. If they catch you ‘out of bed,’ do as they say and pretend to go to your bunk -- you can always use the shortcut that goes through the spirit room on the far right wall to get back out into the hallway without going out the way you came. When you’re up on deck, avoid the windows by the captain’s cabin at all cost -- Beckett can be up when you least expect it, and if he sees any movement outside his windows, he might see fit to investigate. I’ll try to keep the other officers occupied at the helm as much as I can, so they don’t notice you.”

Ben picked up his barrel again with a nod. “Thank you.”

Carewyn saluted him, and he returned the gesture with his arm not holding the barrel.

“By the way,” he added, “the name’s Copper, not Cooper. Ben Copper.”

Carewyn’s lips spread into a full smile. “Nice to meet you.”

She reached out and took hold of the taller man’s shoulder, giving it an abridged squeeze.

“Godspeed...and best of luck.”

By dawn, Ben had finished his preparations and left the HMS Lion, slipping onto the Artemis so that it could sail away before the fog dissipated. Ben had been the last one to finish and return to the fleet, so Skye had expressed the (rather irritable) concern the crew felt that Ben might have gotten himself caught. Ben confessed that he would’ve if it hadn’t been for the Admiral, and told them what had happened. Orion hadn’t said a word or drawn any attention to himself during the entire recounting, so Ben couldn’t have taken into account how the captain turned his focus up to the large, gold-trimmed Navy ship as they sailed away from it. Neither he nor McNully also never heard Orion pull one of his crew members aside and give him one of his gold earrings, explicitly instructing him to deliver it to Jules.

“She’ll need it, for the unbinding ceremony,” he said.

At dawn, the two Navies -- Royal and Pirate -- assembled for war. All of the Britiwhs Navy’s ships got into position, completely unaware of the trap that lay under their decks. The fleet of the pirates’ galleons and brigs -- including the Phoenix, Blackbird, Naga, and Treasure -- came up around the mouth of Shipwreck Cove like a wall, while the Revolution -- captained by Jules and assisted by her First Mate Bill, Jacob, and Ashe -- sailed out in front as the pirates’ flagship.

In the midst of all of this, the fleet of smaller ships were meant to retreat into the ranks of the larger ships, so as to offer support if any of the large ships were to fall and their crews needed to be rescued. But all of a sudden, the crew of the Artemis realized that Orion was nowhere to be found. Panic set in on deck as they searched for him, with crew members all frantically trying to figure out when they saw him last. It didn’t take long for McNully to put together where Orion had gone.

McNully wheeled his chair across the deck, looking with anxiety up at the HMS Lion, sailing just to the right of the Flying Dutchman.

Bounding up through the ocean waves still trimmed with fog, he caught sight of Orion steering the Artemis’s jollyboat into the Navy ship’s shadow.

Skye came up to the railing too. When she caught sight of the jollyboat too, she violently grabbed hold of the railing, her eyes very wide with horror.

“What’s he DOING?!”

“He’s going after the Admiral,” said McNully.

“The Admiral?” said Ben, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

Skye looked beside herself with anger and concern. “No, no, no, no, NO! Orion, you bloody dunce! Just because I said that your and Copper’s kind of ‘weird’ was helpful at the meeting doesn’t mean I wanted you to act on it in the middle of the goddamned battle!”

She whirled on McNully.

“We have to stop him! He’s going to get himself caught again -- ”

“There’s only a 21.3% chance of that,” McNully cut her off. “It’s a bit hard to be caught and stay caught when a sea battle is about to kick off. There’s a higher probability of him getting himself killed...”

The First Mate felt the urge to swear both out of frustration and out of anxiety, but he kept his head. He rolled his chair around to face the rest of the crew.

“Signal to the Kumiho and the rest of the fleet to continue with the retreat,” he told them. “We’re going after him.”

[mandochlorian]

FINE LINE (Kylo Ren x Reader)

summary: you’ve got my devotion. but man, I can hate you sometimes. in which you and kylo get into a fight, but it ends with the reassurance that “we’ll be alright”.

prompt list

general masterlist

star wars masterlist

warnings: angst, shouting, fighting

The whole time you’ve known Kylo Ren, he’s never been an easy man. You wonder if there was a time where he was happy, at peace, or even content with himself and his surroundings. It seems the last time he’s felt satisfaction was when he had Rey aboard his ship, unconscious, with the map to Luke Skywalker. He had felt as though he got the upper hand in this war. But just as easily as she was captured, she was gone. And with the droid too.

And now, you watch his black glove grip his lightsaber. The unstable weapon is high in the air, barely pausing before he brings it down against the control panel with such force it makes you take a step back. Snoke is dead. Rey won’t budge from her position. Han is never coming back. And Kylo Ren still feels the pull to the light side. 

It all piles on him, one thing after the other. It’s more than he can take. “Kylo,” you try to call out when he pulls his weapon away from the firey electronic, “Please. Stop this.”

You like to think he doesn’t hear you but you know he’s ignoring you. Either way, you watch the constant swing of his strong arms. He’s furious, you sense it all. It consumes him. It eats him whole. He’s nothing but a black mass of fury, resentment, and helplessness. Kylo sees the control panel turning to rubbish against his touch, and upon seeing the diminishing structure, feels a sense of disappointment. Not at himself; at the fact that there is nothing in front of him left to destroy.

You hear him grunt when he comes to a stop, though he still breathes heavily. “You need your sleep,” you call out to him, daring to take a step towards the fuming man, “Come on,” you reach for his hand, but he switches his lightsaber off and moves away from you.

Feeling like a fool, you let your hand fall back to your side. As he walks to the window, all you can do is watch his sunken shoulders. Kylo grits his teeth together, his face expressionless as he stares into outer space. It’s so calm out there, nothing but darkness and the distant glowing of stars. Kylo parts his lips, breathing for a second as if deciding how he should say this, “Your presence isn’t required here, Commander Y/L/N.”

There’s another pause. You freeze. He’s not that good of an actor, not in front of you anyways. You hear the slight tremor in his voice, and you notice the underlying tenderness of his tone. It only hurts you that he feels the need to put a mask on. You furrow your eyebrows, swallowing hard to hold back the pressing tears. “If you were wearing your helmet, maybe I’d believe you.” You admit to him, “I know when you’re lying.”

“You don’t know me that well.” He whispers back, not bothering to turn to you. The image before him becomes blurry with his growing tears.

“That’s what you’d like to believe,” you mumble back, your voice in a high and vulnerable tone, “We both know I do.” You take another step towards him, wishing he would look at you, “You don’t have to hide from me, Kylo... I’m here for you, just let me in.”

Now he turns to you, his face filled with resentment. The tears in his eyes only spill over to his cheeks when he sees your reaction at his words, “Are you deaf?” He spits, staring deeply into your eyes, “Get away from me.”

“Don’t do this to me,” you breathe, pressing your hand to his. Kylo doesn’t remove it. He wishes he was strong enough to do so. But he just squeezes his eyes shut at the feeling of being touched by you, by anyone, by the only person who hasn’t given up on him yet, “I can feel your conflict, your anger, your... resentment. Just... Let me help.”

Just as quickly as Kylo begins to lean into your touch, he pulls his hand from yours. Once again fleeing from your touch, you and Kylo revert to your normal roles; Supreme Leader and Commander. “Help?” Kylo repeats, “I’ve never needed anyone’s help.”

“Don’t,” you groan, knowing what’s coming next, “You don’t have to push me away, it won’t make you hurt any less.”

“What could you possibly do for me? Hm?” He sneers at you, almost disgusted at the notion that you could be of any aid to him, “I’ve had to struggle and survive by myself, my whole life. No one's ever given me a helping hand. I’ve lived that way since I was a child!”

You frown sadly, wishing it didn’t have to be that way for him. You know he’s good, deep down, you know it. “It doesn’t have to be that way anymore.”

“You offer me nothing... you’re of no use to me. Yet you insist on burdening me with your presence!” His voice is loud and thundering and you’re sure that people outside the room can hear every word. Kylo pauses, taking your expression into account but he continues, even more forcefully upon seeing you break in front of him, “Find a way to make yourself useful... Leave.”

Feeling tears coat your cheeks, you’re halfway between hurt and exhausted. “I hate you.” You whisper to him, looking down at your feet and wishing you didn’t feel for the man so deeply.

He pauses. Kylo’s tears stop building and falling. His lips are in a soft line. He looks outside the window, almost half in shock as he stares once again. “You don’t.” He says.

You shake your head, gritting your teeth together in anger, “I do. I do. I hate you... so much right now.”

“This moments fleeting.” 

“Until you lose your temper again... and again. Until you have no more anger left in you.” Kylo doesn’t see a day where he’s drained off all his spite and fury. He stays silent, turning to look at you instead. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” You order, pulling him back by his shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” He shouts, turning to you and towering over you as he takes a step towards you.

You don’t cower back. “I will not be your punching bag!” you shout at him, feeling your cheeks grow red and your heart aching at the way he’s staring at you, “I don’t exist for you to take your anger out on me. And I can’t do it. Not anymore... I used to think you needed me but...” You see the vacant expression on his face and it nearly makes you shake with anger, “Kylo, are you listening?” You shout, wishing he’d do something, say something. “Are you listening to me?!”

“Yes!” He screams back. 

“Look at me!” You beg. He shakes his head, staring at the ground, “Ben.” Kylo feels his breath catch in his throat. He looks at you immediately and you watch how his eyes change. You pause, seeing how he turns to face you fully now. His body is angled to yours. “I don’t want to fight you.” You admit to him, “but I don’t want to sleep in the dirt either,” you suck a breath in, watching how he stares at you. “You know what? I’m... I’m going.”

“I’ll...” Kylo cuts himself off, not wanting to sound too vulnerable as he turns to the window once again, “I’ll see you before you go to sleep.”

“No,” you shake your head, now wishing he doesn’t turn around. You take a breath, feeling the connection between the two of you grow. Kylo sees your intention.

“What?” He mutters quietly. He turns to face you. You don’t respond. “No, I...” he stumbles and you let him, “You’re leaving? You just said you’d be here for me.”

“You act like you want me to disappear,” you shrug simply, “I know you’re scared and angry... you’ve always been angry. I know you hold resentment for Luke, for your parents, for the world for not believing that you could be good. But... I believe in you, Kylo. I do. You have my devotion, my - my absolute trust. Kylo, you’re... you can be harsh, sometimes, and you act uncaring.” You admit to him as if you’re telling him something he doesn’t know, “But you can also be open... when you want to be. You’re a great leader, you hold power and respect. You’re lively, you joke around.” You smile at him, silently reaching for him once again. Kylo doesn’t move away this time. He opens his arms to you. Kylo didn’t know how much he longed to touch you until he held your hands in his own. You continue, looking into his eyes as you squeeze his hands tightly, “You’re the storm but you’re also the quiet peace before it, you’re light and dark, and you... you need to forgive yourself for being both. You need to give yourself permission to be both.”

“Forgiveness?” He shakes his head, “I don’t deserve that much.” His brown eyes glance to your lips before returning to your sunken eyes, “Not from you, not from anyone.”

“Yes, you do.” You respond simply and quickly, “Everyone deserves a second chance. You deserve peace after the life you’ve lived.”

“No.” He insists, “I don’t even deserve you, I know that. I’m ill-tempered... and I’m selfish. And you’ve put up with me for far too long,” he nods to you, his cheeks red and wet, “I can’t be forgiven.”

You pull your hand away from his. Staring up at Kylo, you place one hand on the back of his neck and pull him down closer to you. “You’re forgiven.” You tell him.

Kylo’s eyes flutter closed, taking a moment to just breathe, “I am sorry. I’m sorry that I doubt you. I’m sorry that - that I can never see the good in front of me. I’m just... I’m so used to everything just falling apart. So much that I... I never live in the present. I feel like I’m always looking to the horizon but never really seeing where I am.” Kylo stumbles through his emotions, his voice breaking and stuttering as he gets this all out. His eyes shut the whole time. 

“That’s why you push me away?”

He nods, staring at the floor, “It’s easier that way, isn’t it? You really believe I can be good... your faith is misplaced, and I don’t want to let you down. You the only person I’ve ever really... known.”

“Once you let yourself breath, and listen to yourself, you’ll never be at peace,” You gently rub the back of his neck, sending a small smile his way. He lets out a shaky breath, “Kylo, I don’t want to go. I don’t ever want to turn my back on you. But I cannot stay where I do not feel... wanted. Or... or lo-”

“Don’t say it,” his quiet beg comes in the form of a whisper, “Don’t say that word.”

“Kylo.”

“I’m barred from that word. From that feeling. It’s not something a man of my position is privy to,” he shakes his head, shutting his eyes tighter, “I do want you. I do,” he admits, taking a gulp as he finally opens his eyes to watch you, “I want you by my side. Y/N, you’re strong. You’re intelligent. You... understand. I don’t know how but you understand. And you listen.”

“Because I love you,” you blurt out purposefully, “And I don’t care if you have no use for the word,” staring into his eyes, you press your forehead against his when he lets out another heavy breathe, “I love you.”

Kylo pushes his lips against yours, hungrily. With his eyes screwed shut and his eyebrows furrowed, his lips move against yours slowly. His hands no longer bother holding yours, he wraps them behind your back instead and he pulls you closer to him. 

I love you too. I love you too. You can hear him, though he doesn’t dare say it aloud. His large nose bumps against yours gently and Kylo wishes the stray tears didn’t fall so heavily down his face and on your lips. Your eyes are closed, so you don’t see the gentle smile that makes it’s way to Kylo’s lips. The kiss falls into a halt, you both pull away gently.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers once again.

“What for?” You ask him, shooting him a worried glance.

“For every mistake I’ve made. And every mistake I’ll ever make.” He admits, his hand still on your back. But one comes up to rest gently on your cheek, “Just please... please, don’t give up on me.”

You give him a nod, shooting a gentle smile his way, “Despite everything, Kylo,” you begin, gazing at him fondly, “I really think that... in the end, we’ll be alright.”

[horrorkingdom]

The Haunted Game Boy Camera

“I’ll never ask for anything else again, I swear, Mom!”

As kids, we’ve all said it at one point. We find something that seems the most amazing item in the world and we just have to have it, no matter what. For me, it was the newest handheld, a Game Boy Color. It was the most beautiful thing to a six year old, especially when all my friends were getting theirs. Growing up with four brothers and sisters and not especially well off, my parents did their best, but we struggled to get by most of the time. They did their best to give us comforts and toys, but new electronics were out of the question. Hell, we were still working off an old television that still used rabbit ears. I was the youngest of the five of us, so that meant a lot of hand me downs as well. I was used to it, but still held some resentment to my siblings and of course, still begged for the Game Boy Color. They said they would do their best, bless their hearts.

Shortly after my birthday, my mom and dad presented me with a box. I was surprised, but they said they had found something they knew I wanted very badly and I had been good. My heart raced with excitement as I tore into the box, but sank into the pit of my stomach. It was not a Game Boy Color. This poor excuse for a handheld was a badly abused original Game Boy. It looked like it had been bitten and melted by something in the corners, as well as stained. Up on top, a strange camera stuck out of the cartridge inserted inside. When I picked it up, it read Game Boy Camera. They’d somehow managed to find it with the crappy little printer as well, complete with fading printer paper.

“You see? Daddy and I found it at a garage sale, it’s exactly the kind you wanted. It even has a cool little camera to take pictures!” They said, far more excited than I was.

I’m not sure if it was the fact that this was the first thing that had ever been given to me first and it still was someone’s used piece of junk, or that they had no actual idea what I had wanted, or maybe they had and just decided it was too much so a replacement would suffice and I’d never know the difference, but in my utter disappointment, I threw the worst tantrum I’d had since I was a toddler. I tossed the box on the ground and cried my eyes out, screaming how they were awful and I didn’t want this and I wanted my Game Boy Color. Well, you can imagine how that turned out. I got a good whooping from my father in front of all my siblings and a long lecture on gratefulness and how hard they work. In punishment for my selfishness, they gave my gift to my brother Ryan, only a couple years older than me. I was so angry, I didn’t care though and was happy to be rid of the thing. Ryan, being the jerk he was, teased me about it endlessly.

It was a few days after that that he figured out the camera and printing on it. He would tease me from his room, talk about how he got to play with the cool system and I was too little and bratty to ever touch it. I would either yell back at him or slam the door to my room and ignore it. Shortly after though, I heard him leave his room and call out to our mom, claiming the printer was acting weird. She was busy making lunch and told him it was probably due to being used, and to keep trying and see if it would fix itself. I heard him go back into his room, then go back out a little while later, saying it was probably busted and that he was going to go to his friend’s house.

Wondering what was wrong with it, I snuck into his room and found the papers lying on his bed. He’d taken photos of himself, making weird faces into the camera. The game system had been turned off, as expected. The first few pictures were normal, then they changed into those strange faces that everyone knew about. The way the printer paper was stained, they looked even weirder. As I looked down at the later pictures though, they looked…different.

Obviously, the camera in the game was not the greatest, so it was sometimes hard to see details of someone’s face or it would look blocky or blurry. The later pictures however…seemed to change. It wasn’t just scribbles or silly words written on his face. His features seemed to change, and there were dark spots around his eyes and mouth. His expression didn’t look goofy anymore; instead it looked scared. Each picture seemed to change it more and more. Eventually, the pictures changed to where it didn’t even look like he was holding the camera anymore, but that…someone was taking the picture of him. He got farther and farther away and what seemed to be a horrible story unfolded. It was showing Ryan running from the camera. The last picture was showing Ryan’s face half missing, dark pixels spilled out from the side of his head, and lying on the ground.

I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t even know the little camera was capable of things like this. It frightened me immensely and I jumped from the bed and ran to my mom, telling her about the pictures. She didn’t believe me and got angry I was playing with it after my behavior. She scolded me and sent me back to my room. I was too nervous to be angry though. I wondered what was wrong with that Game Boy. Why did it print those pictures?

I was immensely relieved when Ryan came back home that night for dinner. He seemed fine and after that night, I convinced myself it must have been a problem with the system since it was so beaten up, some kind of error. At some point later in the week, Ryan tried again to take pictures. I heard him call it a piece of junk and then chuck it into a drawer. He threw all the pictures he had taken in the trash can.

I didn’t think much of the Game Boy and the camera until the week after. I had been coloring in my room when I heard a terrible scream from outside and the sound of brakes squealing to a stop. Immediately, we all jumped up and ran outside to find out what had happened, along with our neighbors. The sight that greeted us all still is burned into my memory.

Ryan had gone to walk across the street to his friend’s house, just as he would any other day. A man had come speeding down the street and hit him. He’d been pulled under the car and his head half crushed under the tires as the man hit the breaks. My older brother’s brain and skull were splattered under, a pool of blood soaking into the street. I still remember the cry of agony and horror my mother let out, and the rage and grief in my father’s eyes as he pulled the man from the car and shouted at him, asking him what in the hell he had been doing to hit a child. My sisters pulled me back inside, trying to comfort me and shield me from the sight, but the damage was done. I’d seen exactly what the picture had showed me and I knew that Game Boy had been the cause. In my naivete, I tried to tell them, hoping they would believe me. They didn’t believe me at all and it made one of my sisters fall apart.

The next few weeks were miserable. My parents were inconsolable and my mother could barely take care of the house and us. My eldest sister Andrea took over her role and struggled with it, angry with us and dealing with her own grief. She also took over cleaning out Ryan’s side of the room that he shared with my other brother. At some point, she found the Game Boy and the Game Boy Camera and asked if I wanted it. I told her it was cursed, that it had killed Ryan. She said that I was being cruel to our parents by turning their gift that was meant for me into a guilt trip and that I needed to stop being so selfish. The funeral for Ryan caused even more money stress on the family and slowly, even at the young age I was, I could see they were not able to handle any of it well. I did my best at that point to keep out of trouble and didn’t say anything more about the Game Boy Camera.

I don’t know when she took them, but at some point, I guess she’d needed a distraction from trying to hold up the house. I went into my sisters’ room to find a missing sock and thought maybe it had landed into their clothing. Her trashcan had the same printer paper in it. An ice cold sweat came over my body when I realized. I couldn’t stop myself. I reached in and looked at the pictures. They were the same. Andrea’s face was slowly transformed into looks of horror and fear before showing her in a grotesque and terrifying position that I could only assume was a clue to how she would die. In the ending pictures, her face was barely recognizable and her skin was black.

I was definitely sure now. This thing had to be destroyed. I thought to myself that maybe if I could destroy it, I could save my sister from the same fate. I tore her room apart searching for the Game Boy. Eventually, I found it and the printer. As I held it in my hand, something chilling happened.

It turned on.

The screen flashed the logo before it began to make noises and music. The sound was wrong, as though it were being played backwards. I had been looking straight at it and suddenly, my face appeared on the screen. It began to print. In my panicked state, I went to shut it off, but found the button was down already. It should not have been running. I then proceeded to rip the printer paper out and the game out of the system. The Game Boy began to spark and error while the printer spewed out ink all over my Andrea’s bed. I felt it heat up in my hands and dropped it, watching the screen begin to smoke and the sparks fly out from both the Game Boy and the printer. After a minute or two, it seemed to die.

Needless to say, I got in major trouble when my sister came home and found her bed sheets stained with ink and the system broken. My parents were furious and forbid me from going out with friends at all, as well as no tv. I was now considered very irresponsible and not allowed to touch any of my siblings’ things. It didn’t matter though. I had saved her from a horrible fate and the cursed system was gone.

Or so I thought.

I think back and realize that of everything I did, the thing that may have saved me was not letting the printer finish. Six months later, my sister was killed when she was driving home and slipped on something in the road, crashing her car and being trapped inside as it caught fire. When the police came to my parents, they had told them that she was burned beyond recognition and the only reason they knew it was her was because she was driving my dad’s car. I couldn’t save her. I didn’t dare tell my parents about the pictures. I don’t think they would have believed me anyway.

Years have passed and we’ve grown up. My parents never really recovered from Ryan and Andrea’s deaths and they have struggled immensely. The three of us take care of them now, though we still have the old rabbit ears television for comfort’s sake.

There’s still one thought that haunts me though and makes it hard to sleep at night.

I never found out what they did with the broken Game Boy, the camera and printer. I pray to God every night that the damned thing made its way into some kind of trash compactor or is tangled with the plastic floating in the ocean. I fear that they still wanted it to have use, and donated it, or sold it for parts. And someone, somewhere is repairing it and putting in new paper. And they will see what it was trying to print of me.

Credit: AMD

[nellie-elizabeth]

Supernatural: Drag Me Away (From You) (15x16)

So like. Hmm. I... hmm. I don't really know.

Cons:

Honestly, I have no problem whatsoever with the fact that this is a "filler episode". I think people are forgetting that even in the best days of Supernatural, many of the episodes, even pushing right up against climactic finales, were your basic MOTW stories, woven in with themes and character development that had a bigger impact on the A-plot. So that's fine. No complaints in theory.

But... okay, so, young Sam and Dean have the story of Sam talking about going to college and Dean being like "no that's stupid" and then Dean not letting Sam go on hunts, and then at the end Dean softening a bit and saying "I don't know about college... but we make a good team." Sound... familiar? It's... the entire seasons-long subplot about Sam and Dean being at odds about the hunting lifestyle. Sam wanting to be "normal" while Dean wants to hunt and make his dad proud. Okay, I understand this was a huge theme of their childhood, but GUYS. We've got four episodes left after this. Is this a theme that's important to the end of the show? Are we still debating where Sam wants to be, what he wants to do with his life? I thought this had been settled. Ad nauseum. A lot of the flashback stuff with the Winchesters felt like a serious retreading of ground. Not only was this what the first season of the show was largely about, it's also been a significant element in almost every episode where we've seen younger Sam and Dean, in any capacity.

I've also got to say, that this show's treatment of Dean and Jack's relationship has been enormously uneven. I kind of thought we did the whole cathartic "Dean forgives Jack" thing when Jack died at Chuck's hands. But now we're back to him acting like Jack is a fully grown adult acting of his own free will and not an incredibly volatile three-year-old supernatural being in need of protection and care. Dean doesn't even seem to want to look for another option, seems to resent the very idea that Sam and Cas might want to find another way to end Chuck and Amara, without Jack ending up dead. Dude. That's... pretty heartless, man. And speaking of repeating themes, didn't we do this when Dean wanted to be thrown into a box and sunk to the bottom of the ocean? He was all "there's no other way" and Sam was all "we don't give up!!" and then Dean was all "okay Sam, you're right." In fact, isn't this was Dean's original Hell deal back in season three was about too? I don't know what it was about this episode in specific, but it really made me realize how much repetition this show has had over the years.

I won't repeat my complaint from last week about Jack's whole plan to die, I'll just reiterate that if this show actually goes with a tragic ending where any of the boys has to die in order to save the world, they will completely have missed the point of their own goddamn show. Thematically, they can do the bittersweet ending only if it's Sam and Dean taking over Chuck and Amara's roles or something... but if they just die? Or if Cas and/or Jack die, and that turns out to be the "only way" to save the day? Bad. Stupid. Wrong. Incredibly poor writing.

Also, Cas is spelled Cas, not Cass. I will stand by that every time I see canonical evidence pointing us in the TOTALLY WRONG direction. It matters so very much. ;)

Pros:

So, all that being said about repetitive themes in the flashback stuff... one thing I really liked was when the repetition felt intentional, and felt like it was building somewhere new. Like, the echo of Dean as a young boy not being able to admit to fear, and then later he tells Caitlin that he's always scared. That's a big, important thing. Dean has admitted to fear before, that's not unique, but showcasing the then and now of it really shows how far he's come.

And even more significantly, we've got Sam and Dean and secret-keeping, a theme stretching back to the very start of the show. I loved the final scene in the impala at the end, with Dean finally admitting the truth, that Jack has to die to kill Chuck, and Sam getting pissed. This is the kind of shit that feels relevant to the endgame of the show for the two of them. The lying, the breaking promises to protect each other/do what needs to be done... they need to be on the same page in the end for this to work. And that same page needs to be that Jack can't freakin' die just because Billie says it has to be that way. Come the fuck on.

As far as character tensions go, in theory I quite enjoy the tension of Jack being willing to die to earn Dean's forgiveness. If this show ends the way it should, there will be a moment of catharsis where Dean will tell Jack he forgives him, he loves him, he wouldn't want him to die in order to earn redemption. You know, a nice little echo, since we're talking about echoes, of what happened end of season eight, where Sam was ready to die for a good cause, in part because he thought Dean didn't trust/respect him, and Dean said no, that's not true, I'd do anything to keep you with me. Come on, Supernatural. Don't fuck up the ending. Please do not.

Just on a monster-of-the-week level, I liked this whole Baba Yaga story. It's always nice to be in a creepy, ugly motel, seeing disturbing figures approaching down hallways, fights scrabbling for a magic object to destroy... gave off some very good early-days vibes, and I'm not mad about that at all, to be quite honest with you.

I missed Cas this week, but I did like the moment at the beginning when Sam was like "did you guys get into a fight and that's why he left?" and Dean says "Cas is just being Cas." To me it actually spoke to a very fundamental difference in how Sam and Dean view Cas' behavior, in that Sam thinks Cas is always motivated by something important, and Dean thinks that Cas constantly leaving is more of an abandonment thing. If I trusted this show to do better, I would want them to explore that in some sort of endgame setup of their various relationships but... probably not so much.

I really appreciated that Caitlin and Dean had no romantic vibes going on. When they were kids, there was the tiniest spark of that, as Dean was kind of trying to be impressive with this pretty girl he met at a motel... but they didn't go anywhere with it, and it didn't feel like there were any vibes when they re-met as adults. It feels weird to praise a thing that didn't happen, but that's the deal with Supernatural, sometimes you've got to take your wins where you can get them.

I hope this review doesn't come across as too negative, because honestly I quite enjoyed this episode on its own terms. The pressure is on, given how little time is left, so I feel like I can't avoid looking at everything through that lens... and if they can stick the landing, I think a lot about the last couple of episodes will improve in my mind. If the ending is stupid, I think it's going to color this last run of episodes in a more negative direction for me, looking back.

7.5/10

[twilight-deviant]

Crazy lady again! Lol ☺ (Maybe I should just give myself a username...) Anyway, I think the Garcy shippers were wearing our Garcia and Flynn tinted glasses and more than one of us thought the were going to kiss in the finale. (I was sitting there, blinded, obviously, saying "Just do it!" Oh wait... This is canon...) But here is a prompt: What if they HAD kiss? Perhaps impulse of the moment? How would it have changed the episode? (A lot obviously...😝)

AO3 Link

The plan I first had for this prompt was more low-impact in the beginning and culminated with their final scene. But then I reread that it’s asking how it would affect the episode. So affect the episode I did.

Finale AU!

Lucy stared out the window, observing people pass in vintage clothes and classic cars. Her hands crossed in front of her, presenting a patient, dignified stance. She waited. Lucy knew it was not coincidence or bad luck that she and Wyatt were targeted by McCarthy’s men.

The door to her conference room cell opened without warning or knock. Flynn closed the door back behind him. They were free to speak in private, as they so often did.

Lucy began the mission to 1954 with reservations against stopping Flynn. Over the past weeks, the concept nagged at her more and more, growing in size and inescapability as it snowballed. She knew he was right, but even now, she could not support his methods.

Flynn announced his plan to destroy Rittenhouse that night. He exercised enough courtesy and compassion to let Lucy know her grandfather would be there. He warned of potential fallout and consequence in her life. He was guilty. He could not look her in the eye.

“Why are you telling me this?” Lucy questioned, and she turned to look at him with more than peripheral vision. She stared at him as he stared shamefully at the floorboards.

Giving every respect he held for her— since before they even met— Flynn said, “I thought you deserved the truth.” He attempted a smile that faltered and fell. The reassurance it attempted was a self-aware fallacy.

“So you told me.” Lucy did not know what reaction he expected. In all Flynn did, she gave him understanding. She could not afford support. “What do you want from me, my blessing?”

“I don’t want anything from you,” he quickly dismissed with a scoff, deriding the assertion as if it were absurd and unprecedented.

“You don’t want anything from me?” Lucy retorted. Flynn always asked for so much. He always wanted from her. They knew it was a lie even now. His eyes were big and scared. His insecurities were exposed before her. “Because I think you do. I think deep down there’s some part— some human part of you— that wants me to stop you.” She saw too much. Flynn did not interrupt. He did not contradict. “God,” Lucy said, “I swear this game that we keep playing— nobody wins, nobody loses, people keep dying. What’s the body count so far?” If Flynn had an exact number in his head, he did not say it. “And for what?”

“Okay,” he objected, cutting her off, knowing her opinion, “now’s the time where you tell me what a monster I am?” Flynn put words in both their mouths. It was an opinion he assumed on Lucy’s part but arrived at all on his own. He was wrong.

“I don’t think you’re a monster anymore.” She shook her head. “I used to.” Again, Flynn could not look at her. He only had confidence against Lucy when he was right and she was wrong. “But now, I just think that you’re sad,” such a simple three-letter word consumed and defined that strong man, “and you’re lonely.” He had no one. Flynn lost his family. He killed or alienated his allies. “I think you’re a broken person.” Flynn glanced at Lucy but slowly dropped his eyes to the floor, weighed down by the burden of her hard-hitting words. “Who misses the people that they love, just like me, just like Wyatt.”

Flynn could suffer any emotion but empathy. His loss, as he considered it, was greater than all others, greater than Lucy’s, greater than Wyatt’s. “Don’t talk about my family like you know them,” he commanded.

“You want to stop Rittenhouse,” Lucy said, “we’ll help you, but not like this.” Lucy was utterly, desperately sincere. She shared Flynn’s beliefs that something must be done. She could not ignore that truth, but she could not permit mass murder.

Flynn came upon her with great stalking steps. His shoulders came up as his back arched down. He towered over Lucy. She did not shy away. She did not show cowardice and uncertainty against intimidation, not even when Flynn asked a question she could not answer: “How?” His smile was wrong. There was no happiness. Flynn felt no happiness. He took what pleasures and reassurance he could find in life, like watching Lucy fumble for an alternative. If she could think of nothing, then there was truly nothing. Flynn earnestly waited for her suggestion. He waited until Lucy dropped eye contact in defeat. “You don’t know,” he presumed. Lucy tried to speak in her defense but had nothing to offer. Flynn was right. “Because there is no other way.”

Nothing more was said. They both knew, regrettably, that was the last word of a conversation neither wanted to end. Lucy did not want Flynn to leave and prepare for the unthinkable. Flynn did not want to say goodbye to Lucy.

Green and brown eyes stared into each other, delaying the inevitable. Flynn’s expression softened. His rage faded. He never could keep it going very long with her. The half-life of his resentment was always a fleeting thing, youthful and snuffed in its crib.

Flynn licked his lips, as he was wont to do. He glanced at Lucy’s, as he never did.

If it was to be their end, there was no reason to watch it wither with regrets and “what-ifs?”

Flynn leaned further down and closer in. He hesitated.

He hesitated.

He kissed Lucy.

There was little pressure and no force. Flynn gave her the right and the ability to back out at any time. The kiss met his want, his desire, but he understood if she did not share it.

Lucy was too stunned to react immediately. Flynn’s slow approach benefited no time for thought, not when she wasted those long, dragging seconds convinced she misread his intent— even when it was alarmingly obvious. For an equally long, and equally short, gap of time, Lucy stood there completely frozen.

Flynn kissed a still statue. He was the fruitless Pygmalion, and his desperation increased as his confidence waned. He misinterpreted what was between them, and he realized that.

Lucy wanted to grip his face or clutch his tie and demand from where such brazenness came. She did not. She experienced what she felt instead of acting on first impulse. Flynn was kissing her, and that meant something. It meant— as could not, and would never, be denied— he had feelings for her. The kiss he gave— the kiss he stole— was not platonic. He wanted more than that. Lucy wondered what would happen if she gave it to him.

Just when Flynn’s nerve finally failed and he pulled away, Lucy stepped forward. She kissed him back, and with his height, it was a difficult thing to chase. She leaned closer in her high heels and stood further on her toes.

Reversing roles, now Flynn was surprised. His shock was much more brief. He overcame it much more quickly. His head came back down, and Lucy’s feet touched the ground.

Strong hands hesitated and hovered in the air, not daring to touch. Lucy made the first move. She pressed her hands against his chest and moved them with a gentle, calming stroke. Flynn considered it permission given. His hands cradled her jaw, outlining her face, keeping her there, confirming her presence. Thumbs caressed Lucy’s cheek, and fingers grazed the nape of her neck. Flynn took such special care to not mess her hair. There was an unavoidable end to their dalliance, and they would need to look presentable when that happened. But it was an act neither of them wanted to end. Lucy did not want Flynn to leave and prepare for the unthinkable. Flynn did not want to say goodbye to Lucy. She complicated his choice further.

Lucy moved her hand inward. She grabbed Flynn’s tie and pulled him forward as she moved back, forcing him to follow. He did not break up their kiss. He continued it, changing the angle, spurred on by her initiative. The backs of Lucy’s legs knocked against the solid wood of the conference table. With barely any hesitation, Flynn picked her up and sat her on it. He leaned over her, across legs modestly bound together by a long pencil skirt.

Flynn’s hands rested on the tabletop, and he put his weight on them, surrounding Lucy on both sides with his arms, pressing against her knees with his body. An end could no longer be anticipated or predicted. It was decided for them.

The sole of a hard shoe walked over wooden boards in the hall. The person did not enter, did not disturb them, but simply the act of passing by frightened Flynn and Lucy back into their senses. They pulled away from each other.

Flynn looked ashamedly at the floor. He licked his lips and then wiped them with the back of his hand. Lucy stared at her lap before sliding off the table. Her skirt was perfectly in order, but she smoothed it out regardless. She touched her hair and stood up straight. Lucy found composure quicker than Flynn.

“What was that?” she asked, retaining an authoritative persona when he could not. After all, they were not led by her impulse.

Flynn did not know. He was not sure and could not answer. “We may… not see each other again,” he lamented. “I wanted to…” There was no end to his sentence. He could not confidently explain the irrational.

“You wanted to.” Lucy helped him realize motive was unnecessary. She finished the statement where he left it hanging. That was all there was to it.

“Yes,” Flynn confirmed. He wanted to kiss Lucy, so he did. “Yes.” His voice was gruff. He cleared his throat and took a step back. He situated the tie Lucy had mussed, laying it back down the middle of his shirt and securing it with the metal tie clip. His hands crossed behind his back, maintaining a modest figure as he stood up straight and to his full height. Flynn looked perfectly presentable, ready to step out into the hall and attract no stares, no suspicions.

“Don’t leave,” Lucy asked.

Flynn was finally able to look her in the eye again. “If you think this changes anything—”

“It doesn’t.” Lucy was not foolish. Flynn was a master of detaching himself from his emotions. He sacrificed his soul for his mission. He could easily forsake a relationship before its start. It was a comparably simple obstacle. “Take me with you.”

“No.” He was rightfully worried over what interference she could manufacture.

“I’m alone,” Lucy said. “Just me. I’m unarmed.” She was physically weaker as well but did not comment on the obvious. “I can’t stop you, Flynn.”

“You saved General Grant,” he stated. “You let John Rittenhouse go. You forget, Lucy, I’m the one person who will… never… underestimate you. I’ve learned my lesson from the times I did.”

“Take me with you,” she asked again. “It’s not a trick.” Not even she could tell if that were a lie. “Take me with you and we can think of an alternative. We can carry out your plan if there isn’t one.” Lucy came closer to him. She touched his arm and pulled until he let it go from behind his back. She held his large hand in hers. “Let me save my grandfather. Let me keep him from the meeting.”

“He’s a leader,” Flynn argued, “invited to the summit for a reason. They all have to go, Lucy.” He was apologetic. He did not take back his hand and, instead, let it rest in hers like comfort and physical proof.

“He can’t rebuild Rittenhouse on his own.”

“It started with one man before,” Flynn reminded her. “It can happen again.”

“No, you don’t know that,” Lucy insisted. “Maybe he’ll give up. Maybe he…” She did not know the man and could not predict him. She used logic. “He can’t repair Rittenhouse to the state it’s in now. He can’t… redo two hundred years of progress in just sixty. It won’t be as operational in the present. Rittenhouse won’t be able to spare men to take out you and your family.”

Flynn gently took his hand away. “You’re asking a lot,” he murmured.

“You’re asking to risk my life,” Lucy replied.

“Your father’s already born,” Flynn told her, “a child.”

“But growing up without his father can change anything,” Lucy said, “everything.”

“That’s the plan.”

“What if he doesn’t meet my mother?” She was asking Flynn to spare her life. “Regimes can- can fall quickly, but they need time to gain power. One man,” she asserted, “can’t do it all. After I’m born…” It was a cold sentiment, but Lucy did not care what happened to her father. She did not care what happened to her grandfather. “You’re right,” she said. He was. “Rittenhouse needs to be stopped. But it can be done another way. It can be done without dozens of people dying, without me being a casualty.”

“It can be done one way,” Flynn maintained. He had a plan and he was convinced it was the only one. “But maybe we can…” It troubled him to concede, to leave anything to chance. “Maybe we can, uh, spare your grandfather.”

Lucy smiled at him, and it took all of Flynn’s resolve not to smile back. She headed for the door. “We have to get Wyatt.”

Flynn stepped between her and the exit. “No,” he refused. He could allow Lucy to tag along, but Wyatt was a gun and hand-to-hand combat. He was a kill order who could only be warded off through bribery of information. Flynn had none for him at the moment. “Wyatt can handle himself.”

“He can help,” Lucy insisted.

“He can,” Flynn agreed, “but I think we both know he won’t.” Wyatt despised Flynn. Mere hours ago, he talked about putting him down, taking him out, as had always been his mission. He was less willing to compromise. “You come with me— alone,” Flynn said, “or you stay here… in custody.” She had two options, no more, no less.

“Okay.” Lucy nodded her head. “All right.” She did not want to let Flynn out of her sight. She grabbed her coat, gloves, and purse. “Let’s go.” Wyatt could handle himself. If not, Lucy would come back for him. She would come back when it was all over.

“One more thing,” Flynn interrupted, stopping her from leaving.

“What?”

With greatly acted nonchalance, Flynn bent down and kissed Lucy one more time. It was quick and chaste, as if all he did was experiment— experiment if that prior spark remained or was a fluke. It was there. Lucy felt it. Then it was gone. Flynn opened the door. “That’s all.” Lucy walked through and Flynn closed it behind him. “We’ll take the stairs down the hall,” he said, “go out the backdoor. Strictly speaking, this is a jailbreak.” He grinned, finding humor in the fact that he made Lucy a prisoner and now a fugitive.

She followed Flynn closely and together, they avoided detection. He had a car parked down the street, and Lucy climbed into the passenger seat. They were alone.

“Where are your men?” she asked. It was not a rarity for Flynn to work alone, but a mission so important was best suited to have all hands on deck. “The one who’s always following you around,” she said, remembering his name was, “Karl, where is he?”

“Not here.” He gave Lucy no better answer.

“What else are you planning?” If Flynn was delegating tasks, spreading resources across a grand plot, Lucy felt she had a right to know.

“Lucy,” Flynn said in a stern voice, warning her against pursuing the subject, “drop it.”

She did, knowing he could kick her out and abandon their delicate partnership at any time.

“My grandfather,” Lucy said, “my mother told me that she met him once, that he was a White House aide.” She knew where to find him, where to abduct him.

“I know,” Flynn said. Of course he did. He hunkered over in the seat and grabbed insulated tubing that wrapped around exposed wires. He twisted two wires together and struck another two together. The car sparked to life.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Lucy remarked, and she was impressed.

“Pretty good,” he agreed. Flynn sat upright and put the car in gear.

The sun set early in February. Already, it hid behind tall buildings and cast long shadows. The work day would end soon.

Flynn drove right to her grandfather’s car as if he planned the route. They passed a sign that reserved parking for Ethan Cahill. The red convertible in the space was empty, so Flynn found the first vacant parking spot for them to wait in and watch from. He let the engine idle a moment before reaching down to untwist two wires. The car died. He waited and then twisted them back together, ready to go at short notice.

“Really good at that,” Lucy amended. Flynn certainly knew what he was doing.

He sat back in the seat. They watched the sun set, taking with it any warmth of daylight. A soft snow began to flutter down, catching in trees and on cars. It accumulated on their windshield but was not substantial enough to obscure the view.

Snowfall always brought dead quiet, even in a city. When Flynn spoke, it startled Lucy, despite its gentle volume. “You cold?”

“Uh,” she stammered, surprised by the considerate inquiry, “no.” She had gloves, sleeves, and layers. Only her exposed calves were a little chilly. “No, not really.”

Flynn nodded his head and resumed the silence. There was a discussion they needed to have, but it was clear neither of them wanted to address what happened in the conference room. There were more important matters at hand.

They waited for Ethan to leave work, but apparently he was devoted. Time slipped by. Flynn became anxious, and Lucy knew he was counting every minute he lost in the window to act against Rittenhouse. She said nothing, fully aware Flynn did not want assurances for a concern she did not share. Lucy busied her hands to fill time and ease tension.

Flynn stared at the parking lot. His focus seemed intense, but he betrayed that it was split. “What’s that?” he asked.

“What?” Lucy glanced out the windshield and saw nothing, no new development.

“In your hand,” Flynn clarified.

“It’s…” Lucy reached behind her neck and unfastened the small clasp. She handed the locket to Flynn, and he held it in the scant light coming in from a streetlamp. “It’s my sister,” she told him, “Amy. I always keep it on me because now I never know… I never know what will disappear, what I’ll lose.” Flynn did not dismiss Lucy’s sorrow. He did not hastily study and discard the pictures in the locket. “Is she in the journal?” Lucy had to ask.

“Yes,” Flynn confirmed, but he did not go into detail. He shut the locket with a click and returned it to her. “I’m more concerned with the fact you have this.”

Lucy fastened the locket back around her neck and let it slip beneath her blouse to stay hidden. “I don’t understand it either,” she admitted. “Connor Mason said that… because it existed outside time, outside of the… damn time change, that it was unaffected, even after Amy disappeared.”

Flynn let the information turn over in his brain. He was a very smart man, capable of connecting related and unrelated threads of intelligence. “Then you’re not at risk,” he concluded. “You exist outside of time, Lucy, and you were, uh, conveniently quiet about it.” He was very displeased with her over the revelation but was becoming acclimated Lucy’s duplicity. He leaned down to grab the hanging wires under the dash and jolt the car to life.

“Wait, wait.” Lucy put her hand over his, and he stopped. “It’s still a risk,” she said. “I’m not a locket, Flynn. We don’t… know what will happen.” He sighed and looked up at her. “Even if I survive, I might— I don’t know— not have a- a life to go back to.”

“I know people,” was all he said. It was enough to represent seedy relationships with individuals who could forge a new identity and paper trail spanning Lucy’s entire life. Flynn flicked her hand away and resumed striking the wires against each other.

“Please.”

He stopped again. One pitiful, pleading word and he stopped. He would trust Lucy. He would help his partner. With a long, frustrated growl, Flynn sat upright.

“Thank you,” Lucy said.

“Shut up.” He did not want to hear her gratitude. It was nothing but evidence towards increasing weakness. He let his left hand rest on the steering wheel, holding it with a lax grip, as if they casually drove down a long stretch of road. “We save your grandfather,” he permitted. “But I will take care of the rest of Rittenhouse.” It was their standing agreement.

Lucy did not repeat her acquiescence. She still had not come up with a better idea, and Flynn’s plot remained the best chance at taking down Rittenhouse. It was the most violent.

His right hand was a tight fist on the seat between them. When Lucy grazed it with a soft touch, he first flinched and then relaxed. She opened his hand up and held it. Flynn reciprocated, wrapping long fingers around her. Lucy turned in the seat, bringing her knee up and over as far as her skirt would allow. She gripped his hand in both of hers, holding the rough skin between the fabric of her gloves. Flynn watched Lucy raise it to her lips and place a tender kiss on the back, on his fingers, on each knuckle in between. He was so malleable, so hopeful, so delicate before her.

“I know that you’re not a bad man,” she said. He was a good one who lost his way. “I know that you’re hurting.” She pitied him. Her heart hurt for him. “I know you don’t want to kill all those people.”

Flynn sniffed. He moved his hand in Lucy’s, not pulling it away but not letting it rest deathly still in her grip. Their hands swayed back and forth like a slow pendulum. They watched only that hypnotic motion. “I don’t want to kill them,” he confessed. Lucy knew that. He simply confirmed. “I have to kill them, to put my wife and child back on this earth.”

Lucy doubted it would work, but she held her criticism until the last minute, when Flynn could not easily get rid of her.

She looked out at the soft, snowy night and saw, “That’s him.” Flynn pulled his hand away and reached for the door handle. Lucy grabbed him. “Not now,” she stated.

“Why not grab him now?” Flynn huffed.

“Someone might see,” Lucy said, “someone who could call the police.” It was dangerous to act while still in the city. The seclusion of the Rittenhouse summit was a much safer target area. “We know where he’s going. We’ll follow him to the meeting and grab him before he goes in.”

Flynn made an exaggerated gesture of turning his wrist over to check the time. His watch lit the cabin with a blue glow. “I have to prepare for the summit,” he said. “If you think you can run the clock down by leading us around Washington—”

“No,” Lucy interrupted. “That’s not it.” She knew Flynn would not tolerate or forgive such a ruse. “The car,” she prompted, “hurry.”

Flynn leaned down and set to starting the car. It took him a few tries, and Lucy kept an eye on which direction Ethan went.

They drove in quiet, tailing her grandfather down intersections, long roads, then twists and turns.

“This is not the way to the summit,” Flynn said. He had an address and, knowing him, had already memorized the route to get there.

“Maybe he knows a back way,” Lucy proposed, “a shortcut.”

“Or maybe,” he said, “he knows we’re following him.”

“You’re being…” Lucy did not finish her statement. She knew how Flynn detested being called paranoid, crazy. “Don’t you think,” she reasoned, “McCarthy could have been lying to you?” Flynn did not answer. He could not confidently contradict it. “I’m assuming he told you the information under duress.”

“I’ll give it another ten minutes,” Flynn granted. “Then I’m turning around. If your grandfather wants to drive across the city all night, he’ll save himself and we won’t have to.”

It did not take the full ten minutes. Ethan pulled up to an old, ornate building. It was not the address Flynn was given. He was beyond frustrated, and Lucy could tell. Either McCarthy lied to him or they were wasting time.

With a angered snort of air through his nose, Flynn turned off the car. His temper was a liability.

“Wait,” Lucy cried.

“What?” barked Flynn.

Lucy kissed him. She leaned across the wide seat of their stolen car, grabbed him by the sleeve, and kissed him. Flynn was immediately responsive. “Don’t kill him,” Lucy whispered against his lips.

“No,” he agreed around a quiet smacking sound. “No.” Killing Ethan Cahill risked Lucy’s life in one way or another, and she was convincing Flynn against taking that chance. He did not want to take it. Suddenly, he pulled away and shoved Lucy back across the seat. “He’s getting away.” Flynn got out of the car and slammed the door.

His moods were so wildly unpredictable, Lucy was obligated to follow. Flynn stopped at the corner of the building. Lucy kept going, but he grabbed her around the arm and squeezed.

“Too late,” he said. “I’m afraid your grandfather’s already inside.” He was sympathetic to Lucy’s plight for existence, but, “We can’t exactly walk in the front door.”

Lucy pulled her arm away and Flynn let go. “Why not?” she said. “Can’t look them in the eye before you murder them?”

As if to make a point and prove his determination, Flynn reconsidered an entrance. “Lady’s first,” he said.

“We’ll get him away from the group,” Lucy suggested. “Tell him there’s an emergency, a phone call.” Flynn grunted in reply. The lead was hers. Every foolish plan was hers— until he had to intervene.

They walked through the front door, and Lucy was prompted by a man to check her coat. She looked at Flynn, knowing he would not appreciate anything that delayed a hasty exit. He moved behind Lucy and helped her out of her coat. “We’ll leave it,” he whispered in her ear, sharing her thoughts and already accepting the worst outcome. Flynn left the coat with the attendant.

Soothing jazz whispered through the door and into the entryway. Flynn and Lucy stepped between curtains and observed the gathering. Lucy was anxious. Flynn was tense. He was on edge, calculating how long it would take to pull his gun. From the corner of her eye, Lucy watched him slowly undo the button of his jacket and make his weapon accessible. She put her hand over his to calm him.

The room before them was full of men who greeted Ethan warmly and rather affectionately. They whispered closely in each other’s ears and came away blushing. It was not the atmosphere of a manipulative terrorist organization.

“This isn’t Rittenhouse,” Flynn said, voicing the realization they arrived at simultaneously.

“No,” Lucy haltingly agreed, “I think this might be a gay bar.”

Flynn relaxed, but Lucy saw him compulsively check his watch. “It would appear,” Flynn remarked with a somewhat amused tone, “I’m only the second-most powerful threat to your having been born.”

“I exist,” Lucy said. She watched her grandfather order a drink and begin a conversation with a man at the bar. It all happened without their interference. It always happened.

“Which means,” Flynn reasoned, “Ethan is very, very covert with his, uh, extramarital affairs.”

“It’s 1954,” Lucy explained. “You could be arrested for being gay.”

“Excellent,” Flynn said, and it was not the response she expected. However, it preceded his next plan. “Then we’ll have no trouble getting him to come with us.” He buttoned his jacket. A gun would not be necessary.

“Don’t…” Lucy whispered before breaking off in a sigh. She yielded. “Don’t blackmail him too badly.”

“Oh, that depends entirely on him,” Flynn insisted.

Lucy reconsidered again. “Let me do the talking.”

Flynn deferred authority to her. “Whatever gets him in the car quickest.” It was no new development that Flynn cared more about the end result than the method imployed getting there. They waited to get Ethan alone and watched him have a superficial conversation at the bar. Flynn kept vigilance despite the unhostile environment. “Well,” he commented as he gauged the room, “I’m certainly getting a lot of looks.”

Lucy saw a young man a few yards away gander up and down his tall physique with a suggestive eye. Flynn nodded politely in response, and Lucy experienced an odd sense of jealousy. “I get the feeling it’s not every day someone like you walks in,” she said. It made Flynn grin, and surprisingly, she liked the ease with which they could now subtly compliment each other. Lucy went a step further and spoke outright. “You… are… attractive,” she admitted. It felt like coming clean about a lie, though she never said anything to the contrary.

“And you’re beautiful,” Flynn said with much less difficulty.

Lucy barely kept herself from blushing, and she was grateful that fortune gave her an out because she had no idea what to say next. “He’s alone.” The man at the bar walked away and Ethan watched him leave with an admiring gaze and a grin. He turned back to his drink. “Let me do the talking,” Lucy said once more, making certain Flynn remembered. He stayed an obedient distance behind her and tried to copy Lucy’s casualness when she walked up and rested her arm on the bar. “Excuse me,” she said. “Are you Ethan, Ethan Cahill?”

Ethan had a very pleasant smile when he lied to them. “No,” he answered, “sorry. You’re mistaken.”

Lucy did not have to look back to guess Flynn was frowning. “No,” she assured Ethan, “we’re not cops.”

That concerned him almost as greatly. He came closer and spoke to her in a subdued whisper. “I don’t know what you think you saw here,” he said, trying to maintain some authority, “but I have a wife and son to get back to, so—”

“We know,” Lucy interrupted before he left— before Flynn stepped in. “His name is Ben.”

“How do you know that?” Ethan asked. Lucy could not think of a good answer. She looked at Flynn for suggestions, but he refused to contribute unless asked outright. It was Lucy’s discussion, as she insisted. Ethan looked between them. He reached into his jacket pocket. “Okay,” he said, ready to bargain, “how much do you want? I’ve got about $50.”

“We don’t want your money,” Lucy said. She wanted compliance to his own kidnapping, but there was no tactful way to ask for it.

“Mr. Cahill,” Flynn butted in. He stepped around Lucy and stood at her side. “We believe it would be in your best interest if you follow us outside, sir.”

Ethan swallowed with fear, but they held every card and he could not disobey. He nodded and followed them to the entryway. Flynn helped Lucy back into her coat and they left the private establishment.

“Keep walking to your car,” Flynn instructed, and he may as well have aimed his gun for all the weight his presence carried. He was intimidating.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Lucy promised.

“No, actually it’s quite the opposite,” Flynn said. “We’re keeping you from attending the Rittenhouse summit.”

“Ritten…” Ethan was shocked at their knowledge of Rittenhouse but did not insult them by denying its existence, not like so many members before him. “How do you know about—”

“Give me your keys,” Flynn ordered. Ethan did not dare defy him. He handed them over. “Get in the front seat.” Flynn passed on the keys. “Lucy, you drive.” He climbed into the back with a gun in his hand, watching for any sign of treachery from Ethan, waiting for an excuse. There came none. Ethan was an obedient hostage. He was too confused and too nervous to act any other way.

They left the city completely and drove into a dark night with no stars. A waning crescent moon flitted in and out of clouds and lit the fallen snow, making it glow. Lucy drove where Flynn instructed. She took the turns he said.

A name was one thing. Knowledge of the summit was another. Exact directions to the summit let Ethan know they were perfectly aware of what evil they fought. He took them seriously, which meant that for a long while he said nothing.

Lucy peeked at Ethan while she drove. She was curious about him and got away with that peeping curiosity for several minutes. He glanced back at her, and Lucy quickly put her eyes on the road.

“You look familiar to me,” he said.

“My father is in Rittenhouse,” Lucy replied, and it was only a temporal lie. “Maybe you’ve met him before.”

“What do you want with them,” Ethan asked, “with Rittenhouse?”

“Does it matter?” Flynn spoke up from the backseat. “You won’t be participating in tonight’s event.”

“He’s going to kill them all,” Lucy said. She looked in her mirror at Flynn. He licked his lips nervously and looked at the floorboards ashamedly. “Everyone except for you.”

“Why me?” Ethan asked. He looked at Flynn and then at Lucy, feeling he had better chances getting an answer from her. “Why are you singling me out? What makes me special?”

“Lucy insisted on it,” Flynn said. “She thinks you’re worth saving. Personally,” he leaned forward and rested his gun on the back of their seat, “I’m waiting for you to prove her wrong.” Nothing would comfort Flynn more than complete eradication.

“You want to kill everyone in Rittenhouse?” Ethan questioned.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“Why?”

Flynn would not say, so Lucy answered on his behalf. “Rittenhouse murdered his family.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Ethan said, “truly. I mean it.”

“You work for them,” Flynn laughed. His tone was condescending. He did not care for Ethan, a man who benefited from the organization.

“I didn’t want to,” Ethan swore. “I’ve never… wanted to. I don’t want to.” He looked ahead at the dark road lit by headlights. “If Rittenhouse finds out the truth about me—”

“What, they’ll kick you out?” Flynn presumed.

“No, they’ll kill me, too,” he said. Lucy felt such sadness and offense for him. Ethan’s face contorted with despair. He sobbed without crying. His voice broke. “I love my wife,” he insisted. “I love my son. It’s just— It’s a bad habit. It’s a sick habit. I keep trying to stop. I- I tried the shock therapy. It’s just- it- you know…”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Ethan,” Lucy said in a calm, comforting voice, but it was difficult to instill progressive thinking in the past. “Nothing.” Ethan wanted to believe her. His desperation for that modicum of understanding was pitiful.

Behind them, Flynn added in, saying, “She’s right, you know.” He shook his head. “Well, insomuch as, uh, attraction is concerned.” Allegiances were another matter.

“Who are you people?” Ethan demanded. There were so different than any standard acquaintance in the 50s.

“We’re the people saving your life,” Flynn said.

“By not killing me,” Ethan remarked, separating the suspicious mercy from altruistic heroism.

“We’re people you can trust,” Lucy promised.

And Ethan believed her. Somehow, he believed her. He looked at Lucy with such soulful eyes, eyes that glistened with unshed tears. He nodded his head along and looked forward. “When I was eighteen,” he said, “my father caught me with a… friend.” He raised his eyebrows emphatically, implying something more, knowing they would catch onto what exactly. “And after he spent the better part of an hour whipping me with his belt, he sat me down and told me all about Rittenhouse.” Ethan paused and licked his lips. The truth troubled him to that very day. “At the time,” he told them, “I thought I’d rather he beat me all over again than be part of something like that.” Ethan’s timidity slipped away. His pervading emotions were a burning resentment and hatred. “If the two of you do destroy Rittenhouse,” he concluded, “I just might thank you.” Lucy watched Ethan and gauged his sincerity. He seemed completely honest in all he said, and she knew even Flynn had trouble doubting it. Ethan wanted them to succeed.

Lucy drove the car another half-mile and pulled over as soon as there was space on the side of the road. The brakes squeaked. She left the car running but put it in park. “I need to talk with you,” she said to Flynn, “outside.”

Flynn looked back and forth between Lucy and her grandfather. Whatever she had to say was important and secret. “If you get out of this car,” he warned Ethan, “if you try to run, if you… open the door for a little fresh air, I’ll shoot you.” He said the threat— the promise— so seriously it could not be disputed. “Do you understand?”

Ethan nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll stay here. I’ll stay right… I’ll stay here.”

“Good man.”

Lucy exited the car and folded the seat forward so Flynn could climb out. He closed the door behind them. Snow crunched under their feet as they walked a few yards past the car. Frigid air whipped through bare trees and bit at their exposed faces. Lucy’s coat protected her arms and body, but cold scratched her legs. She did not want to be outside any longer than necessary.

“What?” Flynn demanded. The closer they got to the meeting, the more impatient he became. He guessed the time had come for Lucy’s ineffective plan.

“Please,” she asked before he could start. “I don’t want to fight.”

“And yet you’re going to suggest something for us to fight over,” he assumed. “I told you, Lucy. I told you what I was going to do. I never lied. I never downplayed it. They’re all going to be in one place, and I’m going to end this, once and for all.”

“What if it doesn’t have to be that way?” Lucy said. Flynn scoffed and paced away from her, turned his back to her. “What you’re planning,” she told him, “it won’t work.”

Flynn rounded on Lucy and yelled in her face. “You don’t know that,” he claimed against her, pleaded with her, “and I know you’d do the same!” He took a deep breath and lowered voice. Warm air puffed out of mouth as visible vapor when he spoke. There were tears in his eyes. “You would do the same,” he said again, “for Amy.” Flynn thought it was a moral victory over Lucy. He thought she was no better than him.

“You’re right,” she admitted, saying exactly what he wanted to hear. “You’re right,” she repeated, saying exactly what he did not want to hear. “I would.” She was no better than him. It was what the trips were teaching her. Lucy was learning how far she would go. She moved her own boundary at every turn, pushing it farther and farther back. She knew that, in time, one day, she would easily catch up with Flynn. And that was why they had to stop. “We are all so caught up in our grief,” she said, “in our past, in our pain, and we can’t let go, so we just continue to hurt more people.” Her words hit Flynn and affected him greatly. It was their reality, their selfish reality.

“I prayed to God,” Flynn whispered, “for answers.” His lip quivered as he doubted his own conviction. He looked down the road and Lucy followed his gaze. There, almost a mile away, sat a mansion upon a hill, lit from ground to roof in a way that denoted a large gathering. Without asking, Lucy knew he looked at the Rittenhouse summit. It was so close to him. “And He led me here, to this.” He took a deep breath through his nose, and it stuttered like a sob when it fell from his trembling lips in a white cloud.

Lucy came closer to him, so close. She could almost feel his body heat. With utmost sincerity, with honest consideration, she said, “What if He led you to me?” It was not the response Flynn expected. It was not a response he might ever have expected. His head twitched in an erratic nod as he tried to process it. He was listening. He was willing to hear her. He would hear someone who thought they were meant to find each other and be together. He was listening. Lucy felt an overwhelming responsibility not to let him down. “I know a way that we can really take out Rittenhouse,” she said. She had a plan that finalized itself as she spoke. “We have to stop trying to fix the past and focus on the present. Please,” she begged, and Flynn was so desperate for an alternative, he kept listening. “I know what to do now. Please, before it’s too late.” Flynn sniffed. It was loud in the winter night, where the only other sound within a mile was the car’s engine. Flynn wanted to believe her. He waited to believe her. “The journal,” Lucy said, citing his guide, using his most trusted source of information, “didn’t it say that we were going to work together?” It was the goal he wanted third in life, behind the resurrection of his family, behind the dismantlement of Rittenhouse. He wanted their partnership. He needed her. “Today’s that day,” she asserted. “Look how far we got, Flynn, together. We did it.” He looked over her shoulder at the mansion on the hill. Lucy dragged his attention back to her. “You helped me today… Flynn,” she said. “You spared my grandfather for me. So please,” she asked, “please… let me help you.” She wanted to save Rittenhouse from death. She wanted to remove them from power. She wanted what was best for Flynn. She had no other motive, and from her, he had nothing to fear. “Do you trust me?”

Flynn looked at her with big, pleading eyes. He wanted to trust her. “What?” His voice was weak and broken. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What is it you have in mind?”

“We use Ethan,” Lucy told him. She explained it very generally because there were still finer details she had yet to iron out. “It can work.” A cold wind blew and Lucy shivered. Flynn stepped between her and it. He shielded her from the worst of the gust.

“I can’t,” he apologized. Her plan was too uncertain.

“You can,” Lucy stated. “And you want to.” She knew him well by now. “You don’t want to kill those people. Please.” Lucy had begged Flynn to forgo murder before, when she stood between him and John Rittenhouse. He denied her then. “Please.” Lucy’s hand was warm in her glove. She could not feel Flynn’s skin, but she imagined it was chilled when she took his hand in hers. “Please. I don’t want you to do this.” She wanted to save Flynn from himself. She wanted to preserve what was left of his soul. He was too reckless with the precious thing, and she took responsibility of its care. He wanted to trust her. He did. Lucy gave him a backup guarantee that would satisfy all doubt. “This isn’t the only meeting,” she said, “right? If this doesn’t work, we can- we can go back further.”

“We?” He put such fearful optimism in that two-letter word.

“We,” Lucy confirmed. She would go with Flynn, accompany him to however many eras and however many summits it took. She was all the guarantee he needed.

Flynn touched her face. His hand was cold, as Lucy knew it would be. She did not care. She rested her cheek against his gentle palm. Flynn leaned down and kissed her. His mouth was warm. “Okay,” he surrendered. “Okay, Lucy.” She won. He let her win. It was the victory they both wanted. It was a plan they agreed on together.

Lucy drew back. “Ethan could be watching.”

“Let him watch.” It changed nothing. Flynn was unashamed. He was excited to kiss Lucy and proud to show off their burgeoning relationship, even with her grandfather watching. He had all the enthusiasm and negligence of a teenager. He wanted to celebrate.

Flynn’s arms wrapped around her, and he was such a warm, comforting presence. He was so strong, and it felt good to be held by that strength instead of assaulted by it, dragged around by it. They moved back and forth in a languid sway.

When they pulled away, white vapor exited both their mouths before mingling, disappearing, and being immediately replaced. Lucy ducked her head down and rested it on his chest. Flynn’s gravely voice rumbled against her ear.

“You trust him that much,” he asked of Ethan, “a man you just met?” Flynn stroked her neck and fingered the short, stray hairs at her nape.

“I do,” Lucy said. She would not suggest using him otherwise. “Do you trust me?”

“I do.” If it were anyone else, he would never take the chance. Flynn left nothing to chance, and he did not consider Lucy’s ingenuity as such. “You stopped me too many times for it to be dumb luck.” Lucy pulled back from him and saw a smile. “Kiss me again.”

“It’s cold.” Lucy wanted to get back in the car.

“Kiss me.”

It was the least he deserved. She pushed her lips against his. She opened and closed them with audible little smacks. They tilted their heads to get closer. The tip of Flynn’s sharp nose pressed into her cheek. His hands rested tamely on her back, rubbing with gentle pressure. Lucy put her gloved fingers on his neck and on his face. She wanted to take off the ridiculous things. She wanted to feel him. But it was cold. Lucy broke the kiss.

“You’re pretty good at that,” she panted, trying and failing to not sound worn out from such a simple exertion.

Flynn shrugged with a smirk. “You’re not so bad yourself, Lucy.” As with most things (talking, acting, planning), they were very good together, naturally compatible. Flynn looked at the car and chuckled. “He’s probably thinking the worst about his situation.”

“Come on.” Lucy took his hand and led them back to the warm car. “We have to go to the Lifeboat,” she said.

“Why?” Flynn did not think Lucy escorted him to a trap, but neither was he willing to take a chance on her team.

“Because Ethan needs to know how it works,” she said. “He needs to see it work. Wyatt should be back there already. That’s the plan if we ever get separated.” She hoped Wyatt returned to the Lifeboat and was not out scouring the city for her. She hoped Rufus was not doing the same thing, especially with his gunshot wound. “I’ll go with you, Flynn,” Lucy promised, “in the Mothership. I’ll leave with you so I can’t… change anything after you’re gone.” She would not leave his side. “But we have to do this first.”

“All right,” he agreed. It made sense and he could not object.

They got back in the car. Flynn kept his gun tucked away. He had decided to trust the man, Lucy’s grandfather, her family.

“Well?” Ethan prompted, drowning in curiosity and concern.

Lucy put the car in drive and made a sharp turn to take them back the way they came. “Not today,” she said. Rittenhouse received a sixty-year pardon.

“Not to… When?” He was anxious for an end to it all. He would have to wait.

“I can’t explain yet,” Lucy told him. “But soon.”

“Don’t worry,” Flynn cheerily said. “You’re still not dispensable.” Ethan was safe.

By the time they neared the city, it was early morning. When they made it to the warehouse where the Lifeboat was stored, the sun was coming up. Lucy was so tired. She was three days without sleep and running on empty. But it was not yet the time to rest.

Ethan was more surprised by their reception than Wyatt and Rufus were to see Flynn. It was a hostile arrival. Wyatt pulled his gun as soon as he saw Flynn get out of the car. Lucy stood between them with her back right up against Flynn, leaving no separated space between them, no opening for a shot.

“Lucy!” Wyatt exclaimed.

“It’s okay,” she promised. “He’s not here to hurt anyone.”

“He had Al Capone shoot me!” Rufus yelled.

“He kidnapped you again,” Wyatt stated.

“I went with him,” Lucy said, proving freewill. “I asked him to take me. And when I asked him not to kill all of Rittenhouse, he listened. He didn’t do it. Please, it’s all right.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Rufus said. “We gotta get Jiya back home. She’s in the Lifeboat. Something happened to her.”

“What?” Lucy questioned. “What are you talking about?”

“Probably has to do with carrying too many people,” Wyatt said. They obviously spent the night talking about it, worrying about it.

“We gotta get her back,” Rufus insisted. He did not care about the showdown going on. “Now.” He looked between Wyatt and Lucy, urging them to drop it.

Begrudgingly, Wyatt put away his gun. He kept a heavy glare on Flynn. It was a safe enough assault that Lucy could step away. She went forward and explained time travel to Ethan. He met them with understandable disbelief.

Not needing more added onto the overwhelming moment, Lucy was grateful Flynn did not make a spectacle of them in front of the team. He kept a professional distance and did nothing so obscene as kiss her or lean in too close, whisper in her ear. He was an exhibitionist in front of Ethan. With Wyatt and Rufus, he knew better. He knew what could hurt them. He knew who could change Lucy’s mind, talk sense into her. So he stayed away. He acted decently civil towards Wyatt and Rufus. He spoke when spoken to, and he did not approach until the Lifeboat was gone.

Ethan believed in time travel.

When Lucy told him she was his granddaughter, his immediate response was to remark on how she looked like his mother, her great-grandmother. Following that, while still processing, his eyes drifted to Flynn with obvious thoughts. He saw them together on the road. He could not have missed it. What he ignored before with strangers carried a different weight once Lucy was related to him. If he felt a familial, gentlemanly obligation to object, he subdued it and said nothing, unsure of his place in her life.

Lucy kept them focused on what really mattered. She told him her plan, the plan to stop Rittenhouse, the plan that depended on him. Lucy made the decision— for them— to trust Ethan. Flynn trusted her. Together, they convinced him.

“You know how Rittenhouse operates,” Flynn said. “You know the consequences. You know how they make examples of failures, deserters, traitors.” Flynn knew more about Rittenhouse than Lucy. Ethan knew more than Flynn. “I want you to understand…” He came closer to Ethan, penetrating his personal space. “Understand that I am… I’m learning… their cruelty. Understand what they’ve done to me.” He inhaled deeply. “My daughter was five,” he stated. “Your son is two. But I think we can both agree, Ethan, that tragedy is not a numbers game.” Lucy did not think Flynn could kill a child. She had watched him struggle with it before. But there was also no telling what he would do when pushed to the brink. “Do you understand that, Ethan?” Flynn encroached even further upon the man. He dipped his head and stared into his eyes. “Do you understand?”

Ethan nodded but could not form words. He was terrified. Lucy intervened.

“Stop,” she said. “Please, just- just stop.” She pushed on Flynn’s arm until he allowed himself to be moved out of the way. She stood in front of her grandfather. “Ethan,” she said, “we don’t want to threaten you. We know you hate Rittenhouse, and we know you want to see them taken down just as bad as us. We can do that, but we need your help.”

“Yes,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll try.” They could depend on him. He would work within his capabilities.

Flynn walked to the driver’s side of the car but only to climb into the backseat once more. “You can drive,” he said, giving Ethan permission like he had final say. “Lucy?” His request was clear. Lucy got in the back with him.

As they drove, Lucy went over the finest details of her plan. Flynn was quiet, but she knew if he had anything to add, he would. He was satisfied with her explanation. He held her hand and rubbed his thumb across the back of it in a gentle caress. When her words ran out of momentum and the car went silent, Flynn moved his arm behind Lucy’s shoulders. His hand curled closed and he stroked her right cheek with the backs of his fingers. It was a very tender, sweet touch. It was very visible in the rearview mirror.

“You guys are, uh,” Ethan cleared his throat, “you’re married?” Flynn wore a ring, but if Lucy had a matching one, her glove covered it. He assumed. “You know, in the… future?”

“We’re…” Lucy sighed. There was no good explanation for it, not even by the looser standards of the 21st century. “We’ve known each other a few months now.” It was the best she could offer.

“I assure you, sir,” Flynn said, a noble statement almost undone by his smirking lips, “I have only the, uh, best intentions with your granddaughter.”

They kept his secret and did not judge. Ethan was obligated to return the favor. “Okay,” he said, “all right.”

Lucy knew Flynn wanted to kiss her again and make some sort of point. He forewent the uncomfortable display. Ethan knew about them— Ethan, and no one else. He was the only person they could carry on around. That Flynn did not take advantage of it told Lucy they were done for now. They would be done until they were alone again, and there was no telling how long that would be. They were mature enough to keep themselves off each other. But Flynn did keep a hand on her at all times, touching Lucy, taking advantage of the privilege.

“You’re tired.” He could tell.

Lucy did not bother lying. “Yeah,” she murmured. They would be done soon.

Flynn pulled on her shoulder, drawing her in until she rested against his side and laid her head on him. Lucy closed her eyes and dozed but did not sleep. She listened to Flynn give the occasional direction that led Ethan to the Mothership. It was a short drive.

Unintentionally, Lucy thought of when she was a child and pretended to be asleep in the car so her father would carry her to the house. That did not happen now, of course. Flynn patted her on the arm. “We’re here.” He let Lucy rouse herself and sit up before he moved.

They said goodbye to Ethan and let him return to his family after being gone all night. He insisted on staying to watch another time machine take off. It was an understandable fascination.

Flynn ignored all questions and comments from Emma. They left. When they jumped to Flynn’s hideout and disembarked, he stared at Emma until she took the hint and walked away. With such a demand for privacy, Lucy assumed he had something important to say or do. Flynn made no actions to verify that.

“Wish me luck,” Lucy said, starting the farewell conversation herself before she left to meet with her grandfather for his first time in sixty years.

“No,” Flynn refused, “I have… too much depending on this to rely on luck.” He had difficulty relying on anything other than his own two hands. “But I’ll count on you.” He tried to smile, but he was too anxious over the whole situation to keep it going. “You always find a way, Lucy. I’m putting my trust in your, uh, proven… effectiveness.”

Lucy felt every ounce of the burden Flynn gave her to come through for him. “I won’t let you down,” she promised. He nodded and said nothing. He waited for Lucy to do something. He waited for her to kiss him again— instead of the other way around. Flynn wanted a voluntary goodbye kiss. Lucy swallowed. She looked around the wide, open warehouse. Emma was nowhere in sight. They were alone. “Can you, umm… Can you lean down for a girl?” she asked with a nervous chuckle. Flynn smiled and obliged.

He no longer cared if he messed up her hair.

The goodbye after that was slower and less awkward. A possibility hung in the air, something to come back to besides business. Lucy found she liked it that way.

When she got to the city, Lucy called Wyatt’s phone. Rufus had taken Jiya to a hospital, risking detection for her when he would not even do it for his own gunshot wound. Lucy asked for company when she went to visit her grandfather.

Ethan was different, of course, very different after so many years, but he was the same around the eyes. He looked at Lucy, then Wyatt. “Where’s Flynn?”

“On the lam,” Wyatt answered before Lucy could, “like always.” He did not miss Ethan’s reaction. “But I’m guessing he probably forgot to mention he’s a terrorist.”

Ethan recovered quickly. “I know who Garcia Flynn is,” he said. “All of Rittenhouse does.” He looked at Lucy and confirmed for her, “I know he didn’t kill his wife and daughter.”

“I know.” Lucy lost her doubt long ago.

“I know who did,” he said.

Ethan gave them everything they needed to take down Rittenhouse. He recorded every name in the party responsible for the attack on Flynn’s family. Lucy was so grateful to him. She was glad to have the information for which Flynn depended on her.

Flynn was nervous when they met again, though Lucy felt a stranger would not pick up on it. She saw. She gave him the flash drive she promised. Flynn stared at it a moment then tucked it away in his pocket.

“I think maybe I’m owed the truth now,” he said. He did not need anything else from Lucy. She did not need anything from him. They could speak freely and jeopardize nothing. “Was any of it how you really felt?” A day apart gave him ample hours within which to second-guess and overanalyze everything.

Reluctantly, painfully, Lucy confessed, “It wasn’t.” She played along with Flynn, hoping to win his cooperation. It worked. “But then it was.” She fell prey to her own plot. Kissing Flynn opened two doors of opportunity. One was a strategy. The other was something else, something much more traditional. That thought concerned Lucy. It had since the moment she realized she enjoyed it, enjoyed him.

“Thank you,” Flynn expressed, “for telling… me… the truth.” Lucy knew it meant a lot to him. She wanted him to trust her. “I’ll be gone a few days,” he said. He planned on being thorough. One last trip and he would be done— forever. “When I get back, I might…” Flynn dropped his gaze down, down onto the concrete. “I might, uh, ask… you.. on a date.” He smiled at the ground. “Maybe do things the right way, get to… know each other… the right way, not in a journal or a, uh, classified file.”

He made himself so vulnerable and exposed. Lucy wanted nothing more than to take pity and say yes. She had to be more responsible than that, for both their sakes. “I think maybe,” she said, “you need to come back first, see your family, see what you…” She inhaled and blew it out in a tired sigh. “See what you still feel for your wife.” Again, Lucy felt jealous. Flynn picked up his head, ready to object. “Ask me again, Flynn,” Lucy interrupted, and she meant it. “Ask me again when you get back.” She would trust his proposal then.

“All right.” It was a mature, rational concession. Flynn read between the lines of her denial. All that was pending was the question, not the answer, and he had no worries on his end. How could he not smile over that?

Unfortunately, by the end of the next minute, Flynn would never trust Lucy again.

[sarahburness]

3 Things That Are Helping Me Deal with Stress, Pain, and Loss

“Being on a spiritual path does not prevent you from facing times of darkness; but it teaches you how to use the darkness as a tool to grow.” ~Unknown

Life has not been kind lately.

My aunt passed away in October. She had been suffering from cancer, but her family kept the extent of her illness to themselves, and hence I did not have a chance to see her before she passed away. I felt bad about that.

My father followed her a month later, just after Thanksgiving. He had been ailing from Parkinson’s Disease, but his death as well was not expected when it happened.

Two weeks after him, a friend of mine who lives abroad informed me of her diagnosis with a rare form of incurable cancer. She has since passed away before I had a chance to visit her. She was not yet fifty years old.

Right after that happened, the veterinarian diagnosed my dog with heart failure, and his days too are numbered.

In mid-January, my mother, who had been depressed after my father’s death, collapsed with a seizure. A tumor was discovered in her brain. Though easily removed, it was traced back to her lung. She too has a rare form of aggressive cancer and though outwardly healthy, her life will probably be limited to months or a couple of years.

The whole ordeal until diagnosis unfolded over the course of an extremely stressful month, and the future is both frightening and terribly uncertain. Because of this uncertainty, I have needed to change my life plans—I had been ready to relocate and change jobs.

In the last two weeks, I have had another friend in her forties diagnosed with advanced cancer with a poor prognosis, and my sister’s marriage has come apart.

Every week it seems brings some new tragedy. As just about everyone who knows me has said: “It’s a lot.” It certainly is.

I can’t put a happy face on this. Life has just been awful, and I wake up each day praying for no more bad news. There has been such a procession of misfortune that I feel more numb than anything else.

And yet, I haven’t been destroyed. I’m not depressed. When someone is depressed, whether it's situational or clinical, they often become self-obsessed and turn just about any event, however positive, into a negative commentary on their life. I’ve been there before, and this is not depression.

I’m scared, but I feel strong. I know I can handle this. And, I’m very thankful—thankful for what gave me the strength to endure these times: my spiritual journey.

In 2012, after a years-long series of illnesses, bad romantic relationships, frayed friendships, work drama, and general instability in my life, I had a total breakdown.

By “breakdown” I mean the whole nine yards—massive depression, professional psychological help, medication, and inability to work or even function normally. However, following this breakdown came the clichéd spiritual awakening.

This spiritual awakening taught me so many things, most of which you’ve probably already read about, for example: the ego, the importance of being present, the power of vulnerability, etc.

It was such a fragile period of intense learning and growth built atop a well of deep suffering. It felt terrible, but I learned and changed so much. Though it’s unlikely that I will experience such drastic spiritual growth in such a short period of time again, I realized that I had embarked on a life-long spiritual journey with no end.

Along the way, there have been fewer but no less rewarding “Aha moments” and new realizations made possible by the consciousness I had gained. Furthermore, there have been many spiritual tests, and each time I worry that I will fail to live the lessons I’ve already internalized, I surprise myself and come through.

And now I’ve reached an objectively extraordinarily difficult time. This is not a crisis of egoic drama or hurt feelings but real pain—physical suffering and death for so many people who I care about in a matter of months.

While the spiritual journey is a continuum with multiple themes that are difficult to unravel from each other, there are a few concepts that are sustaining me through it all:

1. Presence and the now

The weight of all of it has pushed me into a very intense NOW. I try not to hope because hope has let me down a lot recently, but perhaps more importantly, hope is focused on an unknowable and largely inalterable future. Though in the context of a lot of terrible events, rarely is there anything wrong with this very moment. Despite the pain of recent events, right now there is so much going right.

Choosing to focus on the good isn’t delusional—it’s an accurate reflection of reality.

My mother is dying. We don’t know when and there isn’t too much we can do, but thinking of that future is enough to ruin every day. And yet, with our time together now so valuable, I have no choice but to be fully present with her as much as I can.

I have experienced so much loss recently, but bitterly clinging to that loss will distract me from the precious time I have left with my mother and friends, and it will do nothing to bring back my dad, my aunt, or anyone else.

However, there isn’t much wrong with right now. My mom isn’t suffering, I’m lucky to be free from work to be with her, and my family has come together in support of each other. The birds sing each morning, the weather is fine, and the forest near our house is beautiful. That’s all real too, and there is much joy to be had in each moment.

Should something arise in the moment, that’s when I’ll deal with it. While I do occasionally find myself worrying over the future, that serves no purpose and only spoils the now.

2. Boundaries

In times of extreme stress when so many things are going wrong, it is critical to exercise self-care; you cannot be a positive force in the world if you’re falling apart inside.

Boundaries are key to protecting your time and energy, which are particularly challenged in very difficult times, from behaviors that drain them. However, most of the time life is much easier, so we allow people to skate by and “go along to get along” as not to be difficult. After all, we don’t want to seem mean or selfish or unforgiving. We aim to please.

However, while the importance of boundaries is particularly stark in times of crisis, even in normal times they play an important role in self-care and building healthy relationships.  This is clear when we see what can happen when we don’t enforce boundaries.

Oftentimes, trying to be nice and agreeable, we allow someone to repeatedly cross the line with no repercussions. As our resentment builds, we may act out in retaliation, doing nothing helpful for ourselves or the world.

A relationship of true intimacy and mutual respect should be able to easily withstand one party making his or her boundaries clear. If the other can’t handle that, then how deep of relationship is it anyway? In fact, establishing a level of trust with someone to feel comfortable enough to discuss boundaries is in itself a sign of a strong relationship.

Enforcing boundaries involves a level of honesty that can deepen relationships.

During my mother’s time in the hospital, frustrated with being confined to bed, she unleashed a stream of vitriol at me that were without a doubt the most hurtful words anyone has ever said to me.

As difficult as it was to do with her health in such a fragile state, I felt I had no choice; I had to enforce my boundaries. If I am to be her primary caregiver, I couldn’t endure a situation in which she directs her frustrations at me—it wouldn’t work for me, and it wouldn’t work for her. Unfortunately, it was a repeated behavior of hers over many years.

Without getting into the details, we had a very frank discussion about this, and to be fair, it’s something I let her get away with for a long time by not enforcing my boundaries.

While initially very painful, this talk led to me sharing deep dark memories and thoughts I never would have otherwise said and clearing a lot of what stood in the way of our relationship as mother and son. That very likely would not have happened had I not stood firm, and I never would have established that open a relationship with her.  However long she has left in this world, I know that this issue, my past hurt from her actions, won’t stand between us again.

3. Having an open mind

When faced with a diagnosis as dire as what my mom was given, unless you completely give up, keeping an open mind is often the only way to find good news that you would have otherwise overlooked.

For example, in beginning my research on this type of cancer, I was dismayed to learn that there has been no material change to the standard of care in about forty years. All of those recent breakthroughs in cancer treatment you’ve heard about, they don’t apply to this one!

However, rather than declaring defeat right away, I did decide to dig a little deeper. What I found was that there actually are a lot of clinical trials going on in our area for this type of cancer, many of which may provide a good second-line treatment option. Moreover, one of the trial drugs is very likely to get FDA approval in the next year, giving us some options where before there was none. Taking advantage of these would require changing hospitals, so these are developments I never would have learned about had I given up.

I’ve been reminded to keep an open mind about people too. My mother, typically pretty volatile, has faced this all with amazing strength and equanimity—certainly more than I’ve shown! For someone totally uninterested in spirituality, she shown a remarkable perspective on all of this in the context of her life, with which she is very satisfied.

My sister, also going through marital problems while taking care of her baby and usually very emotional, has coped perhaps the best of any of us and has exhibited some very healthy habits for staying even. My brother, on the other hand, himself a doctor, has probably been the most scattered and emotionally crippled by the recent events.

The point is that whatever you think you know about a person, it can change any day, any time. People can surprise you, for better or worse. While it’s totally rational to make judgment calls about peoples’ strengths and weaknesses, abilities and attributes, you must always realize that you can be wrong, or that the person might change—in fact, people are changing all of time!

Spirituality is not about finding a happy hiding place insulated from temporal concerns. It’s quite the opposite—it’s about moving through life with eyes and arms wide open to whatever happens. It’s the way we get down in the mud and go through the wringer and remain who we are.

Spirituality is a muscle. It gets stronger with exercise, and exercise causes discomfort. But once recuperated, you find you’re able to lift even more weight than before.

I’ve never had to deal with such a painful series of events, and hopefully I never will again. But however insignificant what I’ve already been through seems in comparison, that past started me on a spiritual journey that prepared me for this present time. Whatever happens, I know I’ll emerge stronger from this too.

About Joshua Kauffman

Joshua Kauffman is a recovering over-achiever and workaholic. Leaving behind a high-powered life in business, he has become a world traveler, aspiring coach, and entrepreneur of pretty things. Amateur author of a recent memoir Footprints Through The Desert, he is trying to find ways to share his awakening experience, particularly to those lost in the rat race like he was.

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