#wife your captain and or first mate whenever possible | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angryschnauzer · 3 years

Text

Full Mast - Part 2

Summary: Your idyllic life as a trophy wife of a rich lord is suddenly disturbed with the arrival of a pirate ship and a kidnapping that goes wrong... leaving you in the care of a band of pirates that seem to treat you better than your husband ever did.

Part 1,

Fandoms: Henry Cavill, Sand Castle - Movie, Mission Impossible: Fallout, Night Hunter, Hellraiser Hellworld

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader, August Walker x Reader, Walter Marshall x Reader, Mikey (Hellraiser) x Reader.

A/N: This is a CRACK FIC. After a brief discussion with @nuggsmum about the cheap romance novels that you could find in the 80′s and 90′s, i called upon the awful storylines, plot holes, and general cheesyness of those books that walked so fanfiction could run. Read the warnings please.

Storyboard note: The only artwork i could find that was suitable to show a Henry-like character included the woman seen above. I tried to crop as much of her out as possible, the story itself does not describe the female reader at all.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex (F Recieving), Blowjobs, Multiple Blowjobs, Multiple Partners, Implied Age Gap (but never confirmed). Pretty Poly Pirates.

Only the finest organic free range typos for me, allowed to run wild and free.

Full Mast part 2

Standing in the grand cabin you took in your surroundings; the large table that was half covered in maps, the scattered chests and crates, the large four poster bed with messy linens. You wondered if the Captain had many other women between those sheets, or whether he kept his liaisons to his time on shore. At the mere thought of the man that had just taken your innocence you felt your stomach clench and another wave of arousal coat your already soaked petals.

A quiet knock at the door drew your attention, smiling when you saw Mikey come in pulling a large chest and setting it down in the middle of the room;

“So err… Captain says there should be some stuff in here that will be ok for you, so umm… help yourself Miss…”

“Thank you Mikey”

The young man must be at least 20 yet a blush covered his cheeks as you spoke to him, and with a nervous smile he nodded his head and left the room, half tripping on the rug as he did so before slamming the door shut.

Stripping out of your ruined clothing you saw a pitcher of water and a bowl on the side, using it to wash the Captain's seed from your thighs. Crossing the room in just your silk stockings you opened the chest and pulled out a number of items, gauging what would fit. Looking around you set the items onto the large bed, pulling the covers straight as you made your choice and a thought came to mind.

Sy stood outside his cabin, his hand hovering over the door handle. What had he gotten himself into? When he’d heard that his old friend Walter was having issues on the island, he’d set sail immediately and between the two of them and his right hand man Walter, they’d come up with a fool proof plan; kidnap the lord’s young trophy wife, demand not even a ransom - just what they were due, return her unharmed. Instead he ended up with another officer onboard, a woman on his ship that was said to bring bad luck, and the puzzle of what the hell to do with her now it had been made abundantly clear that her husband didn’t want her back. Taking a deep breath he entered the room, expecting the worst…

“Darlin?... Don’t be mad…”

He looked around the room, surprised that at first he wasn’t pelted with whatever wasn’t tied down, but when he couldn’t see you at all he frowned.

“Captain, over here…”

His jaw dropped when he saw you, kneeling on his bed, bare save for your stockings and a smile. Crossing the room he came to stand at the foot of the bed, licking his lips as his gaze traversed your naked body;

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes…I don’t know what i was expecting, but it wasn’t this…”

With a single finger he beconned you towards him, watching as you moved until you were up on your knees, his large hand at the back of your neck and you were kissing again, his glorious tongue exploring your mouth as your hands clung to his shirt. Deliberately falling back on the bed you pulled him with you, his mouth making its way to your breasts where he lavished each one with full mouthed kisses, his tongue laving over the hardened peaks before pressing a trail of kisses down your stomach before settled at the apex of your thighs;

“Gotta be the prettiest little Puss i’ve seen in a long time, bet you’re as sweet as a peach too…”

His tongue swiped a wide path through your folds, your fingers clawing at the sheets as his beard tickled you and he did to you things you’d only read about in the secretive books that were hidden in the depths of your husbands library.

“Oh Captain!” you gasped as his tongue dived into your soaked entrance, his nose rubbing at your sensitive clit and you could feel your stomach tightening with anticipation of the inevitable. Seemingly in no need of air he continued to work the thick muscle inside of you, driving you closer and closer to the pinnacle of pleasure until the point of no return was met and you came with a cry, your legs clamping around his head.

Finally he pulled himself free of your grasp, climbing up the bed until he was nestled between your thighs, his hardness pressing against your soaked core. Holding himself up on his strong arms he looked down at you beneath him;

“This time i’m gonna take my time and savour it…”

Your hands found their way to his breeches, unbuttoning him and gasping as his hot flesh sprung into your palm, heavy and weeping with need you guided him to your entrance. As he plunged into your depths the world seemed to fade around you; you’d had a taste of heaven and now you wanted more;

“You’re so big…”

“You want me to slow down Darlin?”

“No! It feels… so good…”

With practiced skill he rocked into you, slow but rough thrusts that had his length hitting a spot deep inside you’d had no idea that existed. The man had probably fucked his way around half of the Carribean but for a barely touched blossom as yourself he cherished the way your petals opened around him.

He continued to fuck you closer and closer to orgasm, feeling your body tighten around him and tremble, he slid a hand between your bodies and rubbed at your sensitive pearl, a grin spreading across his face as you came again with a shout of his rank;

“That’s a good girl, so fucking good… almost there…”

He quickly pulled out and spilled his seed over your stomach, watching as rope after rope of his creamy seed patterned your body, before he fell to your side, his chest heaving. Covering his eyes he let out a shaky breath;

“What the fuck have i gotten myself into…” He peeped out from between his fingers, smiling at you before pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, finally resting his forehead against yours; “Wait there a moment Darlin, i’ll get you cleaned up”

You’d dressed in front of your Captain, watching how he admired your choices from where he sat at the long table;

“Wasn’t expecting you to go for breeches…” he commented as you fastened the half length velvet garment, your stockings beneath the knee length trousers. A loose shirt with a wide leather belt fastening it at your waist was the only other garment you put on, standing in front of him and doing a little twirl; “Very nice… and practical”

“I spent ten years of my childhood aboard spice ships, running up ladders and rigging in skirts was a recipe for disaster.”

You crossed the room and sat across his lap;

“So, how is this going to work? You gonna drop me at the next port, leave me to my own devices? Wait until we’re in shark infested waters and throw me overboard?”

“What? Now why would i do that to a pretty little thing like you?”

“Well I know you didn’t end up with the outcome you were hoping for, and now you’re stuck with a ransomee that isn’t due any ransom”

He let out a sigh;

“I wouldn’t do that… it ain’t your fault your husband had the balls of a eunuch. No, i’m sure we can find a use for you, even if it’s just warming my bed… did you have an education?”

“Of sorts. Whenever we docked in Grace Bay i’d see a governess. I can speak spanish, french, and italian” you nodded to the maps spread over the table; “... and i can chart courses and know the currents of the Indies better than anyone that ever sailed on the spice route”

You gently stroked his beard;

“So Captain, what do you want me to do?”

“All of the above and more…” he stroked your cheek; “I won’t always be able to please you in bed, and from the signs of it you’ve got quite a carnal appetite...So, firstly you can call me Sy when its just us or the officers. When we’re on deck it’s Captain like everyone else. Secondly, if you want it, my officers could do with a bedmate, if you don’t mind sharing?”

Your eyebrows shot up so far you were surprised they didn’t meet your hair;

“Share me with your officers? Who…”

“There’s the Constable - who you’ll know from town - Walter Marshall, and the Armoury Officer - August Walker, and you’ve met Michael, he’s first mate”

“O-Okay”

“You’re alright with that?”

Stroking his beard you leant forwards and kissed him;

“Yes, yes I am. I’ve always wanted a little more adventure in my life, and now here it is”

“Well, you can be the one to decide when you want to go to the others, i’ll leave that move to you… i wont say anything yet”

“Thank you Sy, let's tell them Friday night. You can tell them.”

“Anything for my little Rose” he pressed his face to your neck and inhaled; “Still smell as sweet as that rose garden…”

“You can call me Rose if you like?”

“A new name for a new start?”

“Something like that” you grinned at him.

You’d spent four nights in the arms of Sy, some nights just falling asleep in each others arms, other’s you would fuck until dawn. That particular morning you’d taken him in your mouth and he’d taught you how to suck a man, working your tongue and lips over his hot flesh until he’d flooded your mouth with his thick salty seed. He’d held your jaw as he finished;

“Now be a good girl and swallow it”

You gulped down the mouthful before smiling;

“Tasty”

With a laugh he kissed you, before giving your naked ass a cheeky spank as he rolled out of bed;

“You gonna join me on deck?”

You stretched and sighed;

“I’m gonna try and find that earring i dropped when you had me bent over the table last night…”

Sy entered his cabin just as the ship’s cook was leaving, nodding to the meal he’d set out;

“Creole Stew tonight Cap’n, bread and ale like always”

“Thanks. Have you seen Rose?”

“No Sir”

Nodding Sy entered his cabin with a weary sigh, it had been a long day and all he really wanted to do was crawl into bed to sleep, grateful it was Friday which meant August took early watch on deck the next day, but he had dinner with the other officers and he hadn’t seen you for the last few hours, last he knew you were still on the hunt for your lost earring. Leaving the door ajar he sat at the table and started to eat, moments later Walter and August joining him.

“Where’s the others?” Walter asked as he sat, helping himself to a large chunk of bread

“Mikey is in the crows nest, he’ll be down shortly” August confirmed; “Haven’t seen Rose for a while though”

“Rose?”

“Sy’s bit of fluff. Decided as its a new start onboard she may as well choose a new name. Apparently its because Sy say’s she smells of Roses”

Walter snorted out a low laugh;

“She’s gonna be smelling of Sy sooner or later”

Sy listened to his two oldest friends banter back and forth, unaware of the surprise he was about to get. Hearing quick footfalls coming along the corridor he looked up to see Mikey at the doorway just as two soft hands pressed to his thighs from beneath the table. He nodded to Mikey to take a seat, before leaning back and peering down to his lap, hiding his surprise when he saw you on your knees beneath the table, hidden from the view of the rest of the party by the many overhanging maps and the low candle light.

Grabbing a chunk of bread he stayed leaning back but parted his thighs wide, wide enough to allow you to unfasten him and pump his hardening length and slip him into your mouth.

“Dig in boys, its gonna be a spicy meal tonight!”

As you worked quickly with your new found skills, sucking on the bulbous head as you fondled his heavy ballsack with your free hand, working quickly and silently as the men above you talked amongst themselves. You could feel Sy’s leg start to tremble, his hand sliding beneath the table to hold your head in place, and as you relaxed your jaw you felt his hot seed flood your mouth.

“WOO!” he exclaimed above you; “This stew is HOT!”

He took a deep breath and slapped his hand on the table with a laugh, before you tucked him carefully back into his breeches and you continued with your plan.

“Sy, we need to consider restocking the armoury” August started; “Scuttling the boats used up a lot of ammunitionnnnnnnnn”

Sy looked up and smirked, August looking at him wide eyed but recovering quickly, clearing his throat;

“Anyway as i was saying… umm... wow, the stew… the spice really hits after a while doesn’t it…”

August scrunched his face and rested his hand on his fist, before grabbing his tankard of ale and taking a large gulp, some of it spilling from the sides of his mouth as he spluttered on the liquid that did only a little to hide the groan. Sy shovelled another mouthful of stew into his mouth to hide his grin as August sat back in his chair, a half glare on his face.

Walter frowned at both of the older men;

“I have no idea what you two are on about, this stew is fine”

August wiped the slight sheen of sweat from his brow, before finally sitting straight and digging back into his meal;

“Walt, just wait, it takes a while to hit you but when it does… ooooh boy it takes your breath away”

The big bear of a man frowned and shovelled another mouthful in, before his eyes went wide. Swallowing awkwardly he nodded, shifting in his seat;

“Oh… oh yeah… its hitting… wow, its a good burn, ya know…” taking a leaf out of August’s book he grabbed his tankard, taking a gulp as he fidgeted in his seat, both Sy and August doing poor jobs of hiding their smirks, whereas Mikey was sat at the far end of the table without the slightest clue as to what was going on;

“Seriously? You guys must be getting old, this stew ain’t spicy”

Sy raised his tankard to his son and grinned;

“Just wait, it’ll hit ya… anyway, i got an announcement to make”

The three other men looked at Sy, Walter’s gaze faltering now and again as his focal point seemed to change, but he shifted in his seat and leaned his elbow against the armrest of his chair, his hand sliding beneath the table as he muttered about ‘cramp’, when in fact his large hand was holding your head in place as he pushed deeper into your throat. Sy cleared his throat and continued;

“We all know the events at the island did not go to plan. We’re down on funds and supplies, and we’ve increased the crew numbers with those that helped with the land mutiny… we’ve also of course got Rose to consider, she never asked for any of this, but we have come up with a solution of sorts”

“I think i might know what that solution could be” Walter panted out, his face contorting into something that resembled a grimace as he muttered about spiciness and cramps again before with a sigh a smile spread across his face; “Ooooh that’s it… the cramps are going…”

“Anyway” Sy interjected with a wry smile; “Rose can speak numerous languages, can read and chart maps, she’s probably the best educated of everyone on the ship”

Just then Mikey squeaked and jumped in his chair, a thud sounding beneath the table;

“S-s-sorry... my knee hit the table”

Sy nodded with a smile;

“No problem Son, carry on. So Rose will also be here for other duties, but only for the officers at this table tonight” he paused; “And i think you all now know what those duties will be”

August nodded as he eagerly mopped up the last remaining morsels of his stew with a chunk of bread;

“That sounds a fucking brilliant idea Sy. She has the greatest tits...” at that moment Mikey let out a groan and his head thudded against the high back of his chair; “... and i think we all now know she’s got a fucking brilliant mouth on her”

There was little point in denying what had just happened, the very fact it was still going on and Mikey had so little control of his reactions as you were sucking his meaty dick, having just done the same to the other three men in the room from the darkness under the table. In fact the three older men started to chat away candidly as you lavished Mikey’s beautiful cock with your tongue, before taking him in hand to move your mouth down to his tight ballsack to suck on the warm globes. His athletic thighs had parted enough for you to get much closer than you had done with the other three men - all of whom had thighs that could crush a coconut - and it meant that the top of your head could now be seen in his lap by the other men.

“Grab her hair Mikey” August shouted from behind his refilled tankard; “Get deep down in her throat, its fucking amazing, feels like she’ll suck your soul out of your dick”

You felt Mikey's hands curl into your hair, holding your head in place as he started to rock his hips up, filling your mouth and throat. Gripping hard to his thighs you could feel him start to tremble, preparing yourself for the flood of seed and as he came with a cry, looking down at you as you stared back with wide innocent eyes that completely ruined him.

Finally he released his grip on you, and as you looked down you smiled at what came into view. Seconds later you were climbing out from beneath the table, turning to smile at the rest of the men as you fastened the earring to your lobe;

“Look Sy, i found my earring!”

Walking around the table you took the tankard of ale that August held out for you with a smile, before sitting across Sy’s lap;

“I think they like the idea”

Sy looked at the men around the table, his trusted friends and family and smiled;

“I think they do, my sweet Rose”

He clinked his tankard to yours and you both drank, the joyous laughter filling the room as the night continued.

__________________________________________________________

I do not run a tag list. Instead please visit @angryschnauzerwrites and follow that blog and put it onto notifications. You will then get an alert when i post new stories.

Masterlist can be found on AO3, link here.

342 notes · View notes

dopescotlandwarrior · 4 years

Text

Sinners & Saints-Chapter 9

A special thanks to @statell for all your help and wisdom

Previous chapters on AO3

Chapter Nine (NSFW)

Claire and Maia packed all the personal belongings until late into the night. Claire and Jamie would leave with the helicopter in the morning and Darius would take the boat to the island of Mykonos where it would be stored in dry dock, under cover.

“Thank you for helping me, Maia. I think we’re done and if we forgot something I’ll buy it new. Get some sleep dear one, tomorrow starts early.”

Claire pulled on a black silk suit with a short skirt, tailored jacket, and starched white shirt. Black heels and the blonde wig transformed her into the billionaire’s wife, and she walked with purpose onto the forward deck with the kitten tucked under her arm. The men swiveled their gaze, stuck on the long legs coming toward them.

“Good morning gentlemen, this my engineer…” Claire froze mid-sentence realizing they had not talked about Jamie’s name for introductions. Jamie smiled and extended his hand introducing himself as Gregory Patton.

“Ah, yes, Gregory.” They piled into the chopper and watched Darius wave from the deck before running to pull anchor and make way for Mykonos.

Jamie watched the pilot openly flirt with Claire and shoved his hands under his legs to keep from balling his fists. Thomas was giddy with the almost three-hundred thousand he made in two hours of work, so he was oblivious to everything. When the yacht came into view Jamie was enchanted. It was all white and huge compared to the other boat with three decks in the back, and two in the front. He forced himself to look out the window at the ocean to hide his wonder.

Claire and Jamie walked into the saloon as the chopper was already in the air. They were met by the owner’s wife who looked very distressed. Claire smiled and held her hand out asking if everything was alright.

“Yes, Misses Dunn but I’m afraid Adso is very unhappy today and unwell. He forgets so much these days and he doesn’t want to lose his beloved boat. It’s time for us to go ashore and be looked after by our children. Please understand if my husband is short with you.”

“I promise, and I understand. Who would want to part with this?”

They found the owner on the upper deck sitting in shade looking like he lost his family, his dog, and his best friend. Claire felt tears press against her eyeballs and took a deep breath. At that moment she shed her impersonation and became Claire, the compassionate, loving, woman Jamie fell in love with.

“Mister Rosen! How nice to see you again. This is Gregory, my engineer. I understand the money has been transferred and you have papers for me to sign.”

He didn’t look up at her or acknowledge Jamie. Claire sat down next to him as his wife explained she had purchased the boat and they would soon have to leave.

“Before you do, I was hoping you could give me the history of the boat and what it can do. Like, what are the upgrades and why did you choose them, what is the farthest you have taken it?”

When he didn’t respond she asked, “what did you love most about this boat?”

He seemed to grunt and liven up a bit, looking at her and the kitten.

“What’s that?”

“This is my kitten. It will live here on the boat with me.”

“What’s its name?”

“Adso.”

“Adso? That’s my name.”

“Well, that is fitting, isn’t it? Now then, what kind of adventures can I have on this magnificent boat?”

That seemed to break the older man out of his shell. He reached out to stroke the kitten and smiled as he launched into his stories of the exciting places they had been on the yacht. Claire’s probing questions kept him talking and Jamie watched him look younger with each sentence. Claire talked to him like they were old friends, took her jacket off and put her feet up. Jamie was ready to burst with pride in her and her compassion for the old man.

After two hours of laughing and storytelling, the wife told Adso it was time to go. The man looked at Claire with such excitement and said he was glad she would live here from now on.

“One more thing, sir. Whenever you want to spend a day exploring please do it with me.”

It was a great way to put closure on a difficult transition. He would always be welcome. Adso’s wife hugged Claire hard, knowing she just spent two hours out of the kindness of her heart and she loved her for it. She took her husband’s arm and walked across the saloon where their trusted captain waited to tender them ashore.

“You know, I think the engineer is sweet on our Mary, ha!”

Claire watched the tender pull away from the boat with a tear in her eye. Strong arms encircled her waist and Jamie’s silky voice spoke his pride, devotion, and love into her ear.

“Are you ready to see your new home handsome?”

“Lead on love.”

They started below deck in the engine room and laundry, came up one flight to the guest cabins and crew area with a separate kitchen and living area, up another flight to the main saloon and forward deck with a shaded area and table for dining and a sun area with lounge chairs, they went up a flight to a second saloon with full media support for movies and television with a second forward deck. Up another flight to the bridge with the captain’s quarters and the sun deck. Jaime was confused because they reached the top deck, but he hadn’t seen the master bedroom. Claire led him down to the main saloon showing the dining area, the galley, and straight ahead was the entrance to the master suite that blew Jamie’s mind. The level of luxury was astounding and beautiful. There was a separate deck for this bedroom that gave them privacy from the world. Large windows in the bedroom and bathroom, and a sixty-inch flat-screen that rolled out on command.

“Well, how do you like your new boat sweetheart.”

Jamie stood and caressed her cheek, holding her to him. “This is Mary Dunn’s boat and I will think of you every day for the rest of my life, on this amazing yacht. It’s my gift Claire, a trinket compared to how much I love you.”

Claire wiped her tears and gave a brave face, “I have something to celebrate our new home, I hope the Rosen’s left some glasses.”

The galley had a full service for eight; glasses, dishes, flat wear, stem wear and serving bowls. Claire pulled two glasses and opened the one bag she brought on the helicopter. She set the bottle of fine whisky and two glasses on a tray and went to Jamie on the forward deck. They toasted their new home and kissed, another glass and another kiss, the third glass made them lose themselves in a kiss that was life-sustaining for them both and they stopped thinking of life alone.

“Jamie, I remember you have a birthday this month, is that right? It was in the Louvre when we spent the afternoon talking and admiring the art. I believe the date is the twenty-first?”

“What a memory mo chridhe. The only thing I remember from that day is your skirt being pulled up by the wind, and how much I wanted to kiss you.”

She pulled his arms around her and looked at his half-smile. “Am I right?”

“Aye, you’re a clever lass.”

“I want to make your birthday memorable, what is your pleasure?”

“Marry me, Claire Beauchamp.”

She had not heard her real name in quite some time and to have it linked with a proposal made her eyes sting with tears. Jamie hugged her and asked if that was a yes and then chuckled at her tearful response that it was. He hugged her to him and felt humbled that she would pledge herself to him with such an unknown future.

“I’m not going back, Claire. I figured I couldn’t outrun them with face recognition in all the airports, banks, even department stores. Fingerprint evidence left behind everywhere I went, they would catch me eventually so I didn’t see any possibility of running. All that changed when you bought this boat, Sassenach. We just stay on the water and keep moving.” He touched her cheek, “it’s not perfect, but I will be so damn grateful for every day I have with you.”

Jamie kissed both of her wet cheeks and then a long kiss to her mouth, full of promises and love.

The sound of a boat horn pulled them apart and they looked for the boat that was pulling up to the aft deck to offload all their belongings. Darius boarded the yacht and worked the hydraulics for lowering the back platform where they all pulled bag after bag out of the arriving boat. Darius thanked the man who shuttled them back from Mykonos and Jamie handed the man a one hundred dollar bill which made him very happy.

The platform was raised back to its resting position and Claire looked at an exhausted captain and first mate. It was quite an undertaking to prepare a yacht for dry dock. A checklist that required several hours to complete and then pulling their belongings to the transport boat that would take them back.

“As the owner of this craft, I order you two to your quarters until dinner. Take whatever you need to get out of those uniforms and disappear.”

Darius looked at all the bags to be brought in and Claire exerted her position over the tired captain.

“That is an order captain, be gone with the both of you.” She smiled at Maia and felt bad she handled so much alone, the poor girl was about to collapse. “Wait! You are both required on the front deck for five minutes please.”

Claire poured four glasses of whisky, thanked them from the bottom of her heart, and they threw them back. “Now you can go.” She couldn’t help the giggle that slipped out when she was commanding but noticed the other couple did not argue. They were too tired.

The day was overwhelming for everyone. Claire had tempted Jamie’s sexual appetite too many times throughout the day, with marriage proposals, touring the boat, an intimate introduction to their bedroom. By dinner time he felt like a live wire and could not relax. Claire surprised everyone with a lovely chowder of leftover lobster, snapper, potatoes, cabbage, onions, and spices. She served the other three at the table and set warm rolls on the table as well as a large salad. It was delicious and she seemed so happy to do it, even Maia was happy to be served.

The frumpled couple retired to their rooms straight away and Claire cleared the table and started cleaning up. Jamie held her wrists to prevent her from grabbing another plate to rinse and turned her around kissing her soundly.

“Let me finish so you can get ready for bed. I want to sleep for twelve hours with you in my arms, but we have other business to attend to first.” He pulled her hand to his concrete erection and she gasped, smiling slyly.

Jamie made short work of the remaining dishes and slammed the dishwasher closed. His long arms reached every last crumb on the table and counters and leftovers were stowed in the vast refrigerator. He locked up, turned lights off, set the alarm, and grabbed the whisky and glasses on his way to the master cabin. When he stepped under the rainbird shower-head he decided it was the most exquisite shower he had ever felt. Entering the bedroom he noticed the covers turned down, but he was missing one fiancé. He looked beyond the huge sliding glass door and saw his love reclined on a double lounge. She was naked and he stepped into a beautiful night with his love ready to ease his pain.

“On your back, soldier.”

She stretched her long legs on either side of him and brought her warm mouth down on him tenderly, slowly, feeling him fill her to her throat. He moaned and gripped the lounge to keep his hands from forcing her down on him. Jamie’s head was spinning in her erotic ministrations and groaned when she straddled him, sliding her body down on him with a moan. He watched her in the moonlight, so beautiful, so lost in her arousal. He knew she had changed in the time they were together but had not the brain space to figure it out right then.

Claire was swept away with carnal love and she watched Jamie’s face feeling more and more out of control.

“Come for me lass,” was the last thing she heard before the winds of erotic release made her deaf and her body left the earth in the pulsing delight that rolled through her.

Jamie held himself back until he watched her face in orgasmic release and he groaned pulling her hips down on him until he was spent. He carried her to the enormous bed, laying her on soft cool sheets, a gift from the owner. When he turned off the lights, he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, and it took a while to find his future wife. He held her close and thanked God for such a spectacular woman, come what may.

The tall man covered ground faster than the average human due to his extraordinary stride. Usually an advantage he appreciated unless he was on his way to a dreaded appointment, like today. The Senator’s secretary didn’t move fast enough for Hesser, so he strode into Frank’s office and told him to hang up the phone.

“Nice of you to barge in this morning. What do you want?”

Hesser almost felt sorry for the ignorant punk in front of him who could no more win the gubernatorial race than fly to the moon. He needed Hesser behind him and Doctor Beauchamp at his side if he had a chance in hell.

“We are running out of time to bring your bride back Randall, let’s take a look at some possibilities of where she might be. We know she was in Chicago, Paris, Italy, where else might she have friendlies that would give her shelter? What languages does she speak?”

When Frank didn’t jump to answer the question, Hesser stood up and grabbed his collar yanking him to his feet.

“You better take this seriously Randall, without her you lose and your career is over. You are here because we want you here, it’s not your merit or sparkling history in politics you sanctimonious idiot. Let’s add worthless to that list.”

Hesser was disgusted leaving Frank’s office and dialed his cell phone as he left.

“I need fifty more agents assigned to the Beauchamp case. I will send you their destinations in an hour. Make the travel arrangements and copy the dossier for each of them.” He clicked off his cell and tried to remember which of the Greek islands they visited on their honeymoon. He couldn’t remember a single one and barely remembered his ex-wife's face now.

The moment Claire’s eyes opened in the morning her heart rate bounced into the happy zone and everything she saw made her want to jump up and down. After a delightful shower, she pulled on a bikini followed by shorts and a loose top. Her shipmates were in the galley preparing breakfast, decidedly concerned over the lack of food.

“We have the same amount of food, it just looks sparse because the frig is bigger. Okay, okay, we will buy food today.” She laughed at the sad faces and left them to open the doors to the wonderful sea breeze.

Over breakfast Claire asked how long it was safe to sit on this anchor, “is it okay to just stay here for now?”

“No.” Darius finished his coffee and pulled Maia into his lap. “I need you to weigh in on this Maia so stay for a couple of minutes before you start cleaning up. I think it’s logical Hesser will search the Greek islands next because it makes the most sense, Italy to Greece. I say we move on to Croatia as soon as the supplies are restored. One more thing, you should go ashore as a blonde, just in case.”

“I agree Sassenach, or stay onboard and let the rest of us go ashore.”

“I need some things so I have to go, but I’ll wear the wig. Let’s split up, each with our own list, we won’t be as noticeable that way and only buy what you can carry to the beach.”

They went their separate ways and Jamie caught up with Darius on the bridge. He requested some time, so they sat in the captain's chairs and faced each other.

“You’re a captain of a ship Darius. Can you marry us?”

Darius looked long and hard at Jamie. “You’re both running for your lives and you want to get married?”

Jamie looked at his hands folded in his lap. “I suppose you feel there's a lifetime to do the important things, but I don’t feel that way. I asked her and she said yes, so we want to do this as soon as possible. We will say our vows in front of the Almighty and that’s enough for me.”

“Jamie, I can marry you in international water but I cannot file the marriage in Greece, or anywhere in the world, it will lead them to you.”

“It’s enough to know we did it and if something happens to us you can file the marriage certificate post humus.”

“Okay, that’s enough of that!” Darius got up shaking his head and turned to Jamie before he left the bridge, “I’ll marry you. We head 200 miles out for the ceremony and then set course for Croatia.”

Jamie felt tingling in his head and wanted to shout it out the window of the bridge. Several deep breaths and a smile that made his cheeks hurt were good enough. He joined the others for making lists to shop.

Claire ushered Maia into her room and led her out to the deck where they sat knee to knee.

“Jamie asked me to marry him.” She almost fell over when Maia launched herself at Claire in a happy hug. “I hope we can marry on the boat, but I want it to be special. I need a dress and some kind of decoration. Will you stay in town with me and help me?”

Maia’s eyes brightened and she stammered something about forgetting her whole list and sending the men back to the boat to unload.

“If we start early enough, we should have at least a couple of hours to shop.”

“Perfect! You are my best friend Maia.”

Little Maia blushed at that compliment because she had put Claire on a pedestal from the first day. She was deeply touched.

Jamie and Darius spent the afternoon spearfishing while Claire and Maia created lists for everyone, laid in the sun, and then gawked at the enormous lobster and grouper brought back by the men.

Jamie was fascinated by the hydraulics lifting the tender out of the water and seemed to never run out of questions when Darius was around. The next day he had the tender on the water, tied to the back of the yacht when Darius walked onto the aft deck.

“For a guy new to the water you learn fast. I appreciate the help and think it’s time you became a proper first mate if you want to.”

“Yes, I do want to but it will hurt Maia’s feelings.”

“That little beauty has very deep feelings but they’re limited to love, compassion, support, and stubbornness if that’s a feeling. You watch, she will start teaching you too and your head will spin from too much information.”

Jamie locked the boat alarm into his phone app and they piled into the tender to shop in Santorini. Between the four of them, Jamie carried the lion’s share of groceries back to the tender an hour later. Like on cue, Maia pulled a folded paper from her pocket and complained about forgetting most of the items on her list. Darius looked at all the frozen food and said he would be back to get them.

“So we meet here in four hours?”

“Four hours?”

Darius shook his head in agreement and the girls watched the tender speed away before they ran to a garment shop.

Claire was getting upset because she couldn’t find anything suitable. Maia looked around trying to help her friend and saw something perfect for the occasion. She brought it to Claire who looked it over with a critical eye.

“You will shine in this color Claire, the fabric is beautiful.”

Claire looked Maia up and down and strode across the dress shop to pick the same garment out for Maia who was thrilled with the gift. Claire would wrap herself in a soft sarong in deep blues and gold. Maia’s sarong was graduated pinks and dark green leaves sprinkled throughout. The garments felt luxurious and the women were happy. Claire inspected the men’s shirts and pulled a gorgeous white collarless linen shirt out for Jamie.

“Be a good girl and give this to Jamie tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, shit, there’s something else I need. Is there a place around here to get artist paint?”

“Yes, and I will get the decorations and champagne while you do that.”

Maia was gone in a puff before Claire could say a word. She found a nightgown that looked and felt much like the one she wore in Paris and then made her way to the craft store. Claire struggled with so many bags that were getting heavier by the minute. Maia swooped in on her and took half of them giving a puzzled look at the contents.

“It’s Jamie’s birthday tomorrow. I want to give him something from his past and hope he will try to paint again. I need to hide this stuff in a bedroom downstairs, can you help me?”

Maia looked at her like she was kidding and pointed to the tender as their feet sunk into beach sand. Fortunately, Darius came alone saying Jamie was preparing dinner and making quite a mess. Claire collapsed into her seat, exhausted from her shopping marathon. Once back at the yacht, Maia grabbed the bags with art supplies and pointed to others for Darius to bring. When Jamie came out he grabbed Claire for a long hug. He held her to him as he pulled the tender out of the water with the wench and stowed it safely in the boat garage, returning the back platform to its upright position.

“You're rather good with all these buttons handsome. It’s kinda hot.”

“That fits nicely into my plan Sassenach.”

“Which is?”

“Something to do with lobster, whisky, a slave to my pleasure and you … oh! Sorry love, I’m burning the rolls.”

Jamie ran into the boat heading for the galley and Claire shook her head and laughed.

Spirits were upbeat through dinner. They had food for several weeks, a plan to get to Croatia, and a wedding tomorrow. They were all very happy to embark on the next adventure. Maia cleaned up after dinner and Claire went up to the sundeck that had full-size mattresses across the deck that she could lay on. She smiled up at the stars and couldn’t wait to feel the wind in her hair when they were racing to Croatia.

“I’ve been looking high and low for you love. May I join you?”

“Actually, I think you will be very comfortable here Jamie. There are blankets under the bar if you get cold. I love you so much. See you tomorrow to take our vows.”

“But Sassenach, wait, what about a slave to my pleasure and ….”

“That I will surely be, tomorrow. It’s bad luck to be together before the ceremony sweetheart. I’ll miss you tonight.”

Jamie found himself alone on the upper deck, but the stars were brilliant diamonds sparkling in the black sky and he never tired of that grand view. He laid on his back and looked at them for exactly three and a half minutes then he fell asleep.

Claire arranged the canvases, paint, brushes, and other supplies in one of the bedrooms below deck. She prayed she was not overstepping but could not resist trying. He was a brilliant artist so how could he ignore such a big part of himself? She locked the door and went to her room. She was exhausted.

Darius went to sleep right after dinner. He would get up in a few hours and turn the boat toward the open ocean. It would take eight hours to reach international water and he hoped to be there before everyone woke up for the day.

Maia paced the lower saloon, checking her cell phone every other minute. She had slipped away from Claire when they were shopping to find the flower shop run by her brother’s best friend. He was happy to see her and helped her pick out three buckets of fresh flowers and garland. She gave him every penny she had, a gift to her friends. He was supposed to be here to drop them off and she started getting nervous. Another ten minutes and she got a text that he was at the aft deck. He kissed her cheek and waved, soon swallowed up by the black night. Maia stowed the flowers in the second refrigerator and sighed in relief before locking up and setting the alarm.

Jamie felt cool air on his face and opened his eyes. He could swear the boat was moving, and fast. It took a minute to remember why he was on the sundeck alone and by then he was sure they were moving. He walked downstairs to the bridge and almost scared the skin off of Darius.

“Jesus, Jamie, I didn’t expect anyone to be walking up on me. This baby is quiet, like a purring kitten. God, I love this boat!”

“Uh, where are we going?”

“You want to get married tomorrow, I mean later today, so we’re heading for international water, be there in four hours. I need something to munch on.”

Darius headed for the stairs to the galley and Jamie swiveled his head from the bridge to the retreating Darius.

“Don’t you need to drive the boat?”

Darius had a mouth full of food and shook his head trying to say autopilot. Jamie looked worried about going this fast with no one at the helm. Darius slapped him on the back, “if you’re not going back to sleep let me show you around the bridge. Why were you sleeping on the sundeck?”

“Claire says it’s bad luck to be together before the wedding.”

Darius laughed so hard he almost fell out of the captain's chair, “that’s rich, it’s what I love about women, they never make any sense when it comes to love.”

They could see the first rays of sunrise by six in the morning and it was the most beautiful sight Jamie had ever seen. He watched the colors change in the sky and on the water, purple, indigo, scarlet, orange, and a lite blue on the horizon. They were surrounded by water without a hint of anything else as far as the eye could see.

“Did you hear that?”

There was a crash below and both men stiffened and quietly crept down the stairs. Seeing a bucket of flowers come around the corner almost scared them half to death. Maia looked up at them on the stairs with a very strange expression and kept walking toward the forward deck. They got back to the bridge in time to answer the ringing phone.

"How long until we’re there?”

“Maybe an hour, why?”

“Drop it to five knots, the wind is blowing my flowers apart.”

Darius pulled the throttle back, “God she’s bossy sometimes.”

Claire stretched in her magnificent bed and smiled at the smell of bacon and sausage. When she realized this was the day she was getting married, she bolted upright in bed with a gasp. A minute later she was heading for the bathtub and panicked it was already nine o’clock in the morning. She opened the big glass door to the deck and looked around, she was pretty sure Santorini and all the moored boats were missing, in fact, she saw nothing but water on all sides and they were moving!

Maia brought a tray of food for her and explained that Darius left Santorini at one o’clock in the morning and they were now in international water.

“How does ten o’clock sound for your wedding?”

Claire swung her head from Maia to the bathtub to the sarong that hung on her closet door. Her face was pale and she nodded her head vigorously. Maia laughed and told her to relax and take her time.

Claire felt overwhelmed with bombarding emotions and wondered if Jamie was a basket-case too. He must be she decided. Meanwhile, Jamie and Darius crashed in the saloon watching a prerecorded game. Maia hung Jamie’s new shirt next to the couch he was sleeping on and decided to let them sleep for a while longer while she pressed Darius’s uniform.

At nine-fifty, Maia came down to the saloon with her new dress, makeup, and curly hair cascading down her back. He shook Jamie’s arm, and then Darius, and announced the wedding started in ten minutes. The two of them were blinking hard and shaking the sleep off as Maia handed Jamie the new shirt, clean jeans, and left giggling.

Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp and James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser said the traditional vows on the main deck surrounded by their two close friends and sweet-smelling flowers. Neither had a certain future, both were being hunted, and they would never stop running, albeit in luxury. They seemed oblivious to their circumstances and kissed like they were all alone in the universe. Afterward, Maia brought out champagne and fluted glasses to toast the newlyweds.

At the same time, CIA agents were landing on every Greek island with an airport, while others flew into Athens and hired a boat to their assigned island. Five agents were pulled off Italy and sent to Greece for a total of fifty-five CIA agents looking for Claire and Jamie with eight by ten glossy photographs of face and body. They were told to follow and get their location but do not engage, that privilege was reserved for Hesser.

25 notes · View notes

amarriageoftrueminds · 4 years

Text

@thedeftmegalodon replied to your post “Random HCs”

this was a ride, and I am HERE AS FUCK for this ride. I LOVED the js&mn book, and Hannibal as a fae makes so much sense. Would Hannibal also do some kind of fae business? I wonder if Will would unwittingly know some stuff about his kind, due to hanging out with the "wrong sort" at docks and shanty towns where there's superstitious sailors and people who still keep to the old ways, and Hannibal is like, omg dear diary it's like he knows me

buddy

SO much fae-ny business you have no idea

SUCH AS:

magic house full of astonishing Genuine art collection + giant magic library full of books of magic that are impossible to find in England (aka a giant Will Graham Booknerd trap)

and you remember in the book people are always using the scrying/water-in-a-metal-bowl spell to spy on other people WELP IMAGINE HANNIBAL he would be snooping round Will’s house and spying on him when the distance (like longer than five minutes) just Gets Too Much

but because Will is magically gifted/sensitive (one wonders if he’s maybe part Fae himself because he does have the Look), he’d have goosebumps or the hairs on his nape would stand up whenever Hannibal does it and he’d be staring round suspiciously so Hannibal would have to use it sparingly.

BUT ONE TIME he happens to do it during Will’s bath time and almost gives himself a heart attack when he catches him in this amazing Regency shower:

I think he’d be doing spells to find any alpha that had ever annoyed Will (like if Will mentioned that a lot of sailors get handsy in port if they don’t realise he’s a captain’s son and shortly after every single one of those alphas dies Mysteriously) and he’d also be visiting hell to talk to the spirits of sailors who died in the sea battles Will was at and taking the memories out their heads so he can watch adorable kid!will helping to saw someone’s leg off in the ship’s hospital

also if someone tried to hurt Mischa or Will while he was distant from them he would immediately magic himself over there (or if on horseback his horses would do that thing from the book where they fly over the earth)

the real reason Mason gets his face et by dogs is because Hannibal turns him into a fox during a Hunt Day as a punishment for doing something grotesquely unpleasant/discomfiting in Will’s presence (I’m thinking maybe a lot of people Hannibal finds Rude get turned into, eg. wild boar and hunted down by him; because he is a sportsman, after all.)

Every time Bedelia tries to escape him/arrives in a new town that he could not possibly have reached yet, her butler will be like ‘Ma’am, Lord Lecter has just left his card’.

Hanni throws Fairy Balls in the Palace of Memory (literal place in Faery) on very rare occasions with favourite victims friends trapped there and aware of it; the ‘boring’ people merely think they’re attending a party in England.

Everyone who knows what he is (but maybe not Will?) Hanni has under a sub rosa spell so they can’t warn anyone

Also, I’m thinking it would be pretty on-brand for Jack or Chilton or someone to Summon fairy!Hannibal to be their Servant (possibly while Alana is also unwittingly using a ‘Spell to bring true mates together’) using a spell that Will wrote and Hannibal is Livid but shows up in his Wendigo form to scare the spit out of them and is reluctantly impressed by the magic and of course this is how he ends up learning that there is apparently an intriguing magicianne in the surroundings who would be capable of Seeing him (and maybe Jack is like: first off, bring me a decent husband for this exasperating spinster godson of mine, are you single or rich Mr Fairy? and Hannibal is like are you fucking kidding me).

I’m thinking he maybe starts dosing Will with a ‘madness’ elixir because the mad can See fairies and he wants Will to see him (and because he’s a scholar of magic himself it drives Will closer to him because Will thinks Hannibal is the only one who can understand that he isn’t mad, all this weird shit really is happening)

Which reminds me, I was thinking this would be set in an otherwise unremarkable village (called, get this, Meryland; all the placenames must be Puns because Hannibal) that happens to be in the middle of excellent Hunting Country which is why you suddenly have all these rich obnoxious young alphas like Mason showing up; because they’ve rented hunting boxes/lodges or bought estates in the area for the hunting Season as that’s what the Fashionable people did back then

(and hence why Hannibal is there even though he prefers ... large game... to fox hunting; he’s there to be seen being sickeningly well-dressed and trend-setting on horseback). This also explains why the local Mamas are so hostile to Will because these rich young alphas are only around for a limited amount of time for them to get them interested in their sons/daughters... but of course... they all want Will...

oh! oh! and the reason Will is that unusual thing -- an only child -- is because his French mother was a bit of a Lad and abandoned him and his father after having him but it’s almost impossible to get a divorce, which put his father in the awkward position of being unable to father another, legitimate alpha heir without his wife; and this is yet another reason that Will is looked down upon (like any time he does something remotely unEnglish everyone’s all well you know his mother was.... French.)

and when Will was a kid he was like this fey witchy creepy child who was almost like a good-luck mascot on his father’s ships and was always doing weird witchy shit that saved the ship/avoided disasters, etc. etc. but since he’s trapped back in England he’s had to tone it all down and doesn’t get any of the credit because everyone knows magic isn’t real any more and even if it were omegas can’t be magicians.

also, if Will’s dad is actually dead by the time the fic starts I’m thinking like Nelson he would have had to bring his body home in a vat of wine and you Hannibal would immediately track down that wine and serve it to him

37 notes · View notes

ancientbooshartifacts · 5 years

Text

The Moonlight Spell

Author: Prepare4Trouble

Year: 2008

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Howince

The moonlight shining down on the faces of the Shaman Council cast them in an eerie yellow light. The ground was damp from rain earlier that day. Wet grass tickled the soles of his feet and squelched in-between his toes, and Naboo wished that he had thought to put shoes on before he left the flat. There was a definite chill in the air, and he folded his arms tightly across his body in an effort to block out the cold. “Naboo, the enigma,” the voice of the Head Shaman boomed out loudly across the table, “we have summoned you before us today to ask you a favour.” Naboo groaned inwardly, “This isn't going to be like the time you borrowed my magic carpet, is it?” It had taken hours to get the stains out, and it still had a funny smell whenever it got a bit damp. “Nothing like that, no. Actually, I was hoping to borrow your friends.” Naboo thought about it for a minute, “Alright,” he said, “but I've only got up to series six, and sometimes the last disk of series five won't play properly,” “Naboo, you plonker!” cut in Tony Harrison from his position on the table in front of Saboo, “He's talking about the moron twins - Howard and Vince, is it? - Not some crappy American sitcom!” “Oh, as if you don't love it,” Saboo said, “I saw you crying your eyes out when Ross and Rachel broke up.” “Do me a favour! I had something in my eye. The H-Man does not cry!” Dennis banged his hand down hard on the table top, “Can we please focus? Yes, Naboo, I need to borrow Howard and Vince. Just for a few hours. You can have them back straight afterwards.” Naboo's eyes narrowed in suspicion, “What do you need them for?” he demanded. “Oh, just a spell...” Dennis glanced from Naboo to Harrison to Saboo and back. All along the table the members of the Shaman Council were looking at him curiously, waiting for more information. “Oh, for goodness sake! It's a love spell, all right? It's a love spell to use on my cheating wife. I'm going to make her fall in love with me again, and then I'm going to dump her. Ha!” “That's ridiculous!” Harrison exclaimed, “I know that spell, the moonlight spell, right? You need a couple in love. They need to make love at midnight under the light of the full moon while you say the incantations.” “Harrison's right, Dennis,” Naboo told him, “You've picked the wrong couple, it's never going to happen.” Dennis shook his relatively small head, “I assure you, Naboo, that I have seen irrefutable proof that these two are deeply in love. Nothing you say will change my mind on this. It has to be them, I don't know any other couples that don't already hate each other.” Naboo rolled his eyes, “Look, it's not like that, okay? I know they're in love. You know it – though I don't know how – but Howard and Vince? They've got no idea.” “Then tell me, Naboo,” Dennis' eyes took on a menacing gleam, “Why is it that I saw them kissing on your roof during that awful party, just seconds after they both told me that they were in love?” “Dunno,” Naboo shrugged, “they've got a weird sense of humour, maybe it was a joke? Look, I'll ask them, okay?” “This is not a request, Naboo. Bring them here or face the consequences.” Naboo sighed, “Alright, alright, I'll bring them, but I can't guarantee they'll do what you want.” Dennis smiled, “All you need to worry about is getting them here by midnight on Friday. The rest, we have ways of making sure that will happen.” That didn't sound good at all. If he was less stoned, he might have been worried. Naboo shrugged and unrolled his magic carpet, “Fine. But don't break them, alright? I need them in one piece.” With that he jumped onto his carpet and disappeared into the night sky. Naboo arrived back at the flat to find Howard and Vince watching TV with Bollo. He ignored them, let himself into his room and sat on the bed. This was not good. This was very not good. How was he supposed to get Howard and Vince to go with him to the Shaman council? If he told them what Dennis wanted, there was no way. If he didn't, they'd demand to know why. And if he didn't tell them or lied to them to make them go, they would never trust him again afterwards. And...they kissed? Howard and Vince? Surely not. The head Shaman must have been mistaken. Or hallucinating. He was incredibly over-sensitive to drugs, maybe he spent too long in the same room as something and it affected him. Naboo lit some incense, rolled a joint and tried to think of any possible way that this could end without him losing two rent paying employees who worked for a pittance and didn't mind sharing a flat with an ape. He couldn't. A knock on the door distracted him from his thoughts and he looked up to see Vince's head poking around the door. “Alright, Naboo. We're going to watch Howard's new Captain Cabinets DVD, you wanna join us?” Naboo tried to take a drag on his joint, but it had gone out. He set it down in the ashtray Vince had made him for his birthday, nodded wordlessly and followed his friend out into the sitting room. *** As usual, Howard was the first one awake the next morning. He carefully moved Vince's arm, which had found its way to laying across his chest during the night, and crept reluctantly out of bed. He put on his slippers and dressing gown and headed to the kitchen to make the tea. As he crept through the flat in the half light of the early morning, he noticed Naboo still laying on the sofa, snoring quietly. His arm dropped down onto the floor, brushing the carpet just next to a bong that had been pushed over. There was water everywhere. Great, now the sofa and the carpet were going to stink of bong water. Sometimes, Howard wondered whether he should move out, find himself some more adult-suitable accommodation. But Vince loved it living above the shop, not having to get up until the last minute and still getting to work on time, or Vince's version of on time, something most people would consider to be outrageously late. Even Howard's most subtle hints that they look for their own place had been met with immediate rejection. And where Vince was, Howard was too. That was the way it worked. Besides, he'd never be able to afford somewhere on his own. Naboo stirred in his sleep and Howard froze. They were nearly out of teabags, the last thing he needed was to be denied his morning cuppa because Naboo woke up early. The Shaman resettled, and Howard crept past unnoticed. When he tried to sneak past again carrying the tea, Naboo was gone. *** Vince was late down as usual. Howard didn't mind, it gave him time to tidy Stationery Village and put on some music that might provide the customers with a little more ambience than Vince's usual electro pop. People were more likely to stay and browse if they enjoyed the music, and Howard knew that deep down, even if they didn't realise it yet, everyone liked jazz. Even Vince. Still, as much as he appreciated a bit of alone time in the morning, by the time Vince sauntered in two hours later, Howard was too bored and irritated to even ask for his excuse. Instead, he muttered “I'm going out,” grabbed his coat and a bag, and walked out of the door. “Hey! Where are you going?” Vince called after him, but the door was already closed, with Howard on the outside. Vince sighed loudly and looked around the shop for something to do. He surreptitiously picked up a few random items from Stationery Village and hid them underneath the counter, switched off Howard's jazz record, then sat down behind the till, crossed his arms and waited for something to happen. Being Vince, it didn't take very long. Less than five minutes later, Naboo stuck his head around the door leading to the stairs up to the flat, “Did I just hear Howard leaving?” he asked. Vince nodded, “Yeah. He wouldn't say where.” He thought about it for a minute, running through every possible explanation for Howard's storming out as soon as he arrived, “Maybe he's gone to buy me a present,” “Why? Is it your birthday?” Vince considered, “Dunno, maybe. I'm not very good at keeping track of the date. Why? I don't look older, do I?” Naboo shrugged, “A bit, yeah. Anyway, Vince, can you do me a favour?” Vince grabbed his emergency mirror from underneath the counter and checked his reflection for signs of ageing. “I suppose, depends what it is.” Naboo sat down on the other stool behind the counter and explained to Vince everything that the council had said. When he had finished, he spun around and looked at Vince, waiting for a response. Vince stared straight back, replaying everything the shaman had said in his head, then he laughed. “That's hilarious, Naboo! I didn't know you were funny!” “It's not a joke,” Naboo frowned to emphasize the seriousness of the situation, “If the two of you don't appear before the Shaman Council on Friday night, I'm dead. For definite this time, Tony Harrison's been itching to get back in that executioner's mask ever since you saved me that last time.” “Oh. But...” the side of Vince's mouth twitched as he tried to suppress another giggle, “There's no way. Look, Naboo, Howard's a good mate, the best, but I'm not going to shag him. He'd be rubbish. And even if I wanted to, there's no way he'd agree. Especially not with the whole Shaman Council watching. Yeah, if it was just the two of us in our room and I turned on the charm, I reckon I could seduce him – well, I know I could – but that lot leering at us, it might ruin the mood, y'know?” Naboo took a deep breath and tried to clear from his mind the disturbing image that Vince had planted there. “All Dennis said is I've got to get you there. I do that and I'm off the hook. You just need to refuse to play along, and that's it, there's nothing they can do about it, it there? Just say you're not in the mood.” “I did have other plans, you know. Why did it have to be Friday night? Couldn't they have picked a rubbish night, like Tuesday or something?” “That's when the full moon is, and trust me, you don't want to try getting him to upset his schedule.” Vince thought about it, then nodded slowly, “Fine, I'm in, but I dunno about Howard. I can't imagine him being up for it.” “Yeah, about that,” Naboo stood up and started walking back towards the door, “can you talk him into it? Cheers.” And then he was gone. Vince stared after him in irritation, then moved the paperclip and sellotape from under the counter and placed them carefully back exactly were he had found them. It was a good joke, but maybe he'd try it sometime when Naboo's life didn't depend on Howard agreeing to something so completely ridiculous. *** Howard strolled back into the shop in a much better mood than when he had left, with a spring in his step and his head full of music. He nodded to Vince as he walked through the door. As he passed Stationery Village, he paused for a second to reposition a paperclip and a piece of sellotape that seemed to have moved out of place while he was away, then he sat down behind the counter. Vince grinned widely, “Did you get me a present?” “What? I went to the gym for the morning jazzercise class. Why would I have got you a present?” “Naboo reckons it's my birthday,” Howard 's brow crinkled in confusion and he shook his head, “Your birthday's not for five months, Vince.” “Oh, right.” Disappointment clouded his features for a split second before another grin chased it away, “You doing anything on Friday night?” Howard nodded, “I am, as it happens. I've made plans to take Leicester Corncrake out to a jazz improv night in that new club. Poor guy, since he got decapitated, he doesn't get out much.” “Ah. Right. So, you're doing that all night then? Listening to jazz in some old people's club with a disembodied head for company.” Howard nodded. “That's right. Do you want to come with us? But I warn you, it can get pretty crazy at these things. People getting up on stage completely unprepared, some of their stuff is pretty raw.” “Yeah, sounds like fun but I reckon I'll give it a miss. What time are you going to be home?” Howard regarded Vince with suspicion, “Who are you, my mum? What does it matter what time I'll be home? Have I got a bed time? It isn't a school night, you know.” “Yeah. Erm, the thing is, I've kind of agreed that we'll help Naboo out with something. It's not til midnight, but you'll need to be back for, like, eleven so we can get there in time. So just be careful if you're gonna go into a jazz trance, yeah? Make sure you wake up in time to get back.” Howard dumped his bag of gym clothes on the floor and frowned, “What have you agreed to, Vince? This isn't like the time you volunteered me for a game of Pelt the Rabbit, is is?” “No,” Vince shook his head, “not exactly,” “Good, because I meant what I said, you know. About what I'd do if you did it again.” “I know,” Vince nodded. “Then what?” Vince sighed, “We've just got to go with Naboo to see the Shaman council and tell them we're not interested in shagging each other in the middle of the forest while they all watch,” he paused and bit his bottom lip, “Unless you are interested, that is.” Howard' mouth opened to reply, but there were, literally, no words that could possibly provide a suitable answer to that. Instead, he shook his head from side to side once in disbelief, picked up his gym bag again, opened the door and walked up the stairs to the flat. Vince grinned to himself and got back to his sketch of his own face that he was doodling on the back of a letter marked IMPORTANT.

He hadn't really thought this through. If he had taken a minute to consider before blindly agreeing to Naboo's request, Vince would have realised that there were hundreds of things he could be doing on a Friday night that were more interesting than standing in a forest refusing to shag his best mate. There was that party, for example. Or he could sit around at home stabbing himself in the leg with a butter knife. Pretty much anything was better than coming face to face with the sword wielding psychopath that had tried to decapitate him. Especially since he had only escaped by convincing the head Shaman that he was in love with Howard. Now, what? They were supposed to stand there and confess that it had been a lie? He'd probably get his sword out and start swinging without a second's thought. They were sitting on Naboo's flying carpet, speeding through the air high above the city. Just behind him, looking less than happy, Howard was trying to read by the moonlight. The moon wasn't cooperating, and was deliberately shining his light in the wrong direction. “Howard?” Howard gave up and put his book back in his travel bag, “What?” “I've been thinking, and I reckon we should agree to do what the council wants.” Howard sighed, “Any particular reason?” “Self preservation, mostly. The head Shaman'll cut my head off if he finds out we're not really in love, and he'll probably cut yours off too for helping me.” Howard thought this over. He didn't particularly relish the thought of spending the rest of his life as a disembodied head. Leicester Corncrake seemed to have got used to it, but Howard was a man of action. A man of action required a body. But there were better plans than that one. “Has it not occurred to you, Vince, that even a couple deeply in love wouldn't particularly want to have sex in a forest, in the middle of winter, while being watched by a bunch of shamans?” Vince shrugged, “Some would,” “But not us.” “I dunno,” Vince told him, “I wouldn't mind actually, if I'd had a few drinks or whatever. Not with you, obviously. You'd ruin the mood with all your complaining.” “Naboo, turn the carpet around, we're going back to to the flat.” At the front of the carpet, Naboo shook his head, “Can't. It's a one-way stretch of air now all the way there, there's nowhere to turn off.” Vince rolled his eyes, “Relax, Howard. We'll say we can't do it. Just remember, no letting on we're not a couple, right? Any of you.” They flew on at high speed for another twenty minutes until they had left the city well behind and were flying over farms and woodland. As Naboo set the carpet gently down on the grass in the clearing where the council waited, Vince suppressed the urge to duck behind Howard in an effort to avoid the gaze of the Head Shaman. “Ah, the guests of honour,” Dennis' voice boomed out, cutting through the stillness of the night time air. “Just in time. Well done Naboo.” Naboo shrugged. “Very well,” Dennis continued, “Gentlemen, first things first, I would like to apologise for my reaction when I found out about your freakish and disturbing relationship. I imagine it seemed rude.” “Oh, don't worry about it,” Vince told him, “I've had much worse than that,” he smiled nervously and ignored the questioning look that Howard shot him. “Nonetheless, a Shaman should be more enlightened about such things. Tell me, how long have the two of you been together?” “Um...” Howard and Vince exchanged a panicked glance. “About six months...” Vince said, unconvincingly. The head Shaman's eyes narrowed in suspicion but before he had chance to respond, Howard leapt in to the conversation, “Six months? Try five months, two weeks and three days, less a couple of hours,” Vince frowned in confusion and stared at Howard. “I always know how long it's been since my last birthday,” he explained. It was a result of always being aware of how long he had left until the next one, and not – he was adamant about this – because he was keeping track of how long it had been since Vince had kissed him. He turned to Dennis and added, “About that, anyway. It was at the party. Vince said he loved me, he kissed me and I realised I felt the same way. We have you to thank for it, sir. If it hadn't been for you trying to kill Vince, he never would have admitted his feelings, I never would have realised mine, and we'd both still be miserable and alone.” “Hey! Speak for yourself, I was never miserable and alone,” Vince told him, then dropped his voice to a whisper, “and less of the him trying to kill me stuff, might not be the best thing to remind him about, yeah?” Dennis clapped his hands together in glee, “Excellent! “Then you owe me one. Okay, I'll prepare the spell, you two get naked.” “Yeah, about that,” said, Vince, “we were thinking that maybe we wouldn't do it. It's not really our thing, you know?” “What he means,” Howard added, “is that, well, we're not really comfortable with the whole exhibitionism thing, so if it's all the same to you, we'll give it a miss. But thanks for thinking of us.” “It's not all the same to me. Not at all. I need this spell to work, and the two of you are an integral part of it!” Dennis had risen from his chair and begun to walk around the table towards them. Howard and Vince backed away slowly, while Naboo slipped away into the trees to avoid being caught in the middle. Howard tried too keep his voice from shaking as he spoke, backing away without even realising that he was doing it. Vince clung onto his arm, tucking himself slightly behind Howard as though he might be able to offer some kind of protection. “Come on now, there's no need to be like this. Most people would have difficulty doing this kind of favour. I mean...” He stopped as he bumped into Vince, who had stopped after bumping into a tree. “Oh God. Don't kill me, please. I've got so much to give!” Dennis held his sword aloft in a threatening manor, waving it slowly from side to side, aiming first at Howard, then Vince, then back to Howard, “Simply make love and you are free to go.” Howard whimpered and closed his eyes in terror, he tried to back up further, squashing Vince against the tree. “Dennis, have you completely lost your mind?” Saboo's voice was barely audible over the thumping of Howard's heart. “Yeah, Den,” Harrison this time, “you can't expect them to perform under this much pressure!” Vince, sensing an opportunity for escape, extracted himself from the impossibly tight space between Howard and the tree, and took a few seconds to brush the creases out of his t-shirt, “Right! Exactly! Would you be able to get it up with a bald psychopath waving a sword in your face? I don't think so.” “Erm, not that you're a psychopath,” added Howard, giving Vince a quick elbow in the ribs, “you're obviously totally sane. And while this completely rational plan of yours does make perfect sense, and we'd be happy to help you out, we can't because...well, because...” a sheen of sweat appeared on Howard's brow as he tried and failed to come up with a reasonable ending to that sentence that didn't call the Head Shaman's sanity into question or insult him in any way. “Because...” “Because we're not in love,” said Vince quietly. The statement crept out without Vince's permission and hung in the air like a bad smell that just wouldn't waft away. All eyes were on him, and for the first time in his life, it made Vince uncomfortable. Dennis stopped swinging his sword between the two of them and focused his attention solely on Vince, “What?” He cleared his throat, ran a hand quickly through his hair and smiled nervously, “Yeah,” he said, “we're not. We made it all up to stop you from murdering me. I honestly never touched your wife though.” Dennis waved a hand dismissively, “Then you're the only one that didn't,” he told him, “I no longer care about her, the little trollop.” “Then why...” Vince glanced at Howard, but the other man was too focused on trying to back up through the tree to get as far from the sword as possible to pay any attention. Not having anyone to bounce the thought off of, Vince decided to continue anyway, “Why are you even doing this spell then? If you don't care about her, why do you want to make her fall in love with you?” “Because I... That is to say, I...” All eyes were now on Dennis, he shook his head and looked away, “I don't know. I suppose I do still want her.” “That,” Harrison's voice cut in at high volume over the awkward silence, “is pathetic!” “No it's not!” Dennis spun around, sword still in his hand and focused his anger on the the tentacled alien, “She's mine! She married me, I have a right to make her love me!” He turned back to Howard and Vince, “Please. You have each other because of me. Can't you let me have the same thing?” Vince rolled his eyes, “What part of 'we're not in love' don't you understand?” “I don't understand the part where you don't realise the truth,” Dennis told them, “I saw you on the roof, you don't kiss like that and not mean it.” He flexed his fingers in an odd way and and unnoticed by Howard and Vince muttered a few quick words under his breath. “Actually, he does,” Howard told him, “all the time. I've seen him, every time we go out. He has a couple of drinks and he's sticking his tongue down the throat of anyone who pays him the slightest bit of interest. It's disgusting, really. Not to mention unsanitary. And another thing...” His train of thought was broken by a finger being jabbed repeatedly into his ribcage. Howard turned and glared at Vince in irritation, “What?” “Maybe we should just do it. I know you said no way, but look at him, he's so sad. And he's probably gonna kill us if we don't.” Irritation turned to disbelief, “No!” Vince shrugged and chewed on the nail of his left thumb, making sure Howard caught a glimpse of his tongue as it flicked over his lips. The moonlight in his hair made it shine brightly and his eyes almost seemed to give off a light of their own, radiating out from somewhere inside him. He smiled in a way that looked just a little bit wicked and took a step closer to Howard, he raised himself onto tiptoes and whispered quietly in his ear, lips so close that they brushed against his skin, sending a shiver down Howard's spine. “It'll be good,” Vince said, “I'll make you forget where we are, why we're here. You won't even notice that lot watching. All you'll know is you'll never want it to stop.” “I can't. I...” Howard looked at the sword-wielding lunatic watching them now with excitement and anticipation in his eyes. The rest of the council wore expressions ranging from lust to downright disgust. Naboo and Bollo were nowhere to be seen, presumably having slipped away unnoticed between the threats and the humiliation. He looked back at Vince, who had dropped down from his toes, but was still standing so close that Howard could smell his shampoo. It smelled nice. This was so unbelievably wrong. He couldn't understand how this had happened. How does a normally completely sane person find himself in the middle of a forest, contemplating losing his virginity in front of an audience? And with his best friend too. No, he couldn't. Could he? Vince reached up and stroked a finger down the side of Howard's face, turning his head until they were looking each other in the eye, “Please?” he said. Howard bit his lip and swallowed hard, “Are you sure about this?” he asked. Vince nodded. “Then... yes. Okay. If... Look, I don't want anything to change between us, Vince. We've got a good thing, I don't want to break it.” Vince shook his head, “We won't,” he lied. Of course things would change, but maybe they would change for the better. His head was spinning, he felt out of control but completely safe at the same time. Vince hooked his arm around Howard's shoulder and pulled him closer until their lips touched. Somewhere at the edge of his awareness, he heard Dennis begin to chant. He couldn't make out the words, but they seemed to float in the air, settling on every surface, filling the clearing with magic. In the sky high above them, the moon spun around and grinned widely. He glanced around until he noticed what was going on below him, “I'm the moon,” he said, “I don't watch porn! Clouds, help!” Clouds began to gather around him until his view was blocked, “Bye!” he muttered, then spun back around so he wasn't facing Howard and Vince anyway. And then, suddenly, the magic was gone. The forest seemed to grow darker, and Vince and Howard, sensing that something was wrong, stopped what they were doing and looked around. Dennis stopped chanting and looked up at the sky in anger, “No! You stupid hunk of rock, I need you! Come back!” “No,” came a reply that seemed to come from nowhere. Vince glanced at Howard and shrugged, then unfastened the fly of his jeans and reached forward to help Howard with his. “Dennis,” Saboo's voice cut over Dennis's cries of anger, “If the moon's not going to help, there's no point us having to watch this either. Could you take off the lust spell?” “It's not a lust spell.” Dennis flicked his hand vaguely towards Howard and Vince and muttered a few more words. Howard suddenly realised what he was doing, standing in the forest clearing in full view of everyone, his trousers around his ankles and Vince's hand snaking its way into his underpants. He gasped and grabbed Vince's wrist, yanking the hand out and pulling up his trousers in one fluid movement. Vince had the grace to look embarrassed as he refastened his own jeans and glanced around in confusion. “What just happened?” He asked. “Lust spell,” Harrison said, “but Dennis here went and ended it before it got interesting.” Dennis shook his head, “It was just a spell to lower your inhibitions. To get you more in the mood.” “What?” Howard spluttered, “How dare you? You had no right to do that!” Harrison laughed harshly, “As if that's not the most fun you've had in your life! You should be thanking us!” Dennis sighed, “Now what am I supposed to do? It's a whole month until the next full moon!” As he spoke, Naboo and Bollo emerged from the woods and looked around at the scene. “How'd it go?” Naboo asked. Dennis looked at him with a mixture of anger and exasperation, “Not well, Naboo. You will have to bring them back next month to try again.” “I don't think so,” Howard told him, stepping forward authoritatively. “Vince was right. You, sir, are insane. Nothing could possibly convince us to come back here.” He shook his head in disgust, “Using that spell, it's as bad as drugging us.” “Yeah.” Vince crossed his arms across his chest and glowered at the Head Shaman, but kept Howard between himself and the man with the sword, for safety. Naboo shrugged, “Sorry Dennis, I don't think they're up for it.” “I'll do it!” Harrison's voice sounded out loudly across the clearing. “You?” Saboo wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Yeah, me and Mrs Harrison are still very much in love, I'll have you know. And she's very adventurous, it won't take much to convince her.” “Very well,” said Dennis “then these two are free to go.” Harrison grinned widely, “This will be great! Saboo shook his head, “I think I'll be calling in sick that night. It was bad enough having to watch these two, but you?” “Tentacle sex!” Harrison told him, “Don't be embarrassed that it turns you on!” Naboo motioned silently for Howard and Vince to follow him. They got on his carpet and snuck away into the night sky, leaving the Shamans to their bickering. *** The awkward carpet ride home finally over, Naboo and Bollo slunk into their room, and Vince into his. Howard hesitated in the sitting room, not sure what to do. On the one hand, Vince had been unusually silent the whole trip home and had shut the door to the bedroom, presumably wanting to be on his own. On the other it was Howard's bedroom too, and he was tired, and the sofa was a poor substitute for his bed. Only, it wasn't his bed, was it? It was their bed. Already there when they had moved in, neither of them had seen the need to waste money buying another one when there was plenty of room for two people in the one they had. Of course, neither of them had ever envisioned this situation. He put the kettle on to make a cup of tea, and made two out of habit. That decided it then. There was no point wasting a teabag, he'd have to go in and talk to Vince. He knocked softly on the bedroom door before he entered. Vince was laying on the bed, still fully clothed. His hands supported his head from underneath the pillow, and his gaze was aimed at the ceiling above him. As Howard walked in, his eyes flickered to the side and followed him as he walked around the bed to Vince's side. “Cup of tea?” Howard put a mug down on the table next to the bed, clearing a space for it by pushing Vince's moisturisers and make up out of the way, then walked back around to sit down on his own side of the bed. “Vince, are you okay?” He hadn't even acknowledged Howard's presence. Vince pulled himself into a sitting position on the bed, reached for the mug and took a sip, “'Course, why?” “I don't know, you just seemed a bit...” Down? Depressed? Disappointed? “Forget it. It doesn't matter.” More tea, sipped in silence. Howard tapped his fingertips on the duvet in time to the tune running through his head. “Howard?” “Hmm?” “Were you really going to do it?” Howard froze with his mug of tea half way to his lips. His eyes flickered over to look at Vince, but the other man's gaze was aimed far away, probably back in the forest re-watching the events of the night. “I...” The answer was yes, but for some reason Howard couldn't get the word to pass his lips. “I was,” Vince told him, “and I know it was because of the spell, but you were too, weren't you? I thought you might have chickened out at the last minute, but you were gonna go all the way.” “So were you!” Howard snapped back, “With your whispering in my ear, and touching my face, and all that eye contact!” Vince expelled air quickly through his nose in a kind of suppressed laugh, Howard ignored it, “You can hardly blame me for being confused. Anyone would think you actually wanted to...” “I did.” Vince put his mug down on the table and sat up straight, looking at Howard. Howard turned to face him and thought hard, “Well, yes, it was the spell, wasn't it? I was almost convinced myself.” “Yeah, um,” Vince scratched his nose and looked away, “the spell was just to make us relax though, wasn't it? Lower our inhibitions, or whatever he said. So doesn't that mean we'd only do stuff we didn't mind? ” “I don't know, Vince,” He really wanted this conversation to be over. Vince clearly wasn't picking up on that as he carried on, “'Cause the thing is... Is I kinda didn't mind. At all. If we'd done it, I would've been okay with that. Happy, even. I wanted to. Want to. I always did, to be honest. Well, not always, but...” he looked back at Howard, then away again, “Are you mad?” For a while, Howard didn't reply. He didn't know how. The silence stretched between them for almost, but not quite, too long, before he finally shook his head, “I'm not mad, Vince. But why are you telling me this now?” Vince shrugged, “I suppose it's because we came so close tonight, I just wanted to let you know that if we had done it, it would've been alright, If you'd wanted to... And I'm hoping you're going to say you wanted it too, because then I won't feel like such an idiot.” He bit on his bottom lip and ran a hand quickly through his hair, then looked Howard in the eye. Howard, for once, didn't flinch or look away. “Sorry,” he said, “It's the spell. I don't think it's worn off properly yet. It's making me make all this stuff up. We should go and tell Naboo, maybe he can take it off. Really, it's all the spell.” Howard placed his half drunk mug of tea down and brushed his fingertips gently across Vince's cheek, then leaned forward and kissed him. Vince stayed completely still, holding his breath, afraid that any reaction might startle Howard into realising what he was doing. Howard's lips brushed lightly against his own, without the spell to help him, much more hesitant and unsure than earlier that night. The kiss only lasted a moment, but it was enough. As soon as Vince convinced himself hat it had actually happened, he reached out and hooked an arm around Howard's back, holding him in place before he could move too far away. He breathed in deeply, drinking in Howards' scent, then he kissed him back. Howard wasn't as rubbish a kisser any more as he had been the first time on the roof. He'd had practise now, and he was surprisingly not bad. His lips were still pursed awkwardly, his teeth kept getting in the way, but it didn't matter. And this was a real kiss, in private, no one watching. Vince slipped his tongue into Howard's mouth and began exploring, investigating the contours of this part of him he had never seen before. His hand slipped underneath Howard's hideous shirt clutched possessively at the bare skin. Howard felt himself beginning to get hard as he leaned himself forwards, pushing Vince onto his back and kissed him more deeply. As he came up for air, reaching down at the same time to unfasten his belt, Vince half gasped, half whispered, “Howard, what are we doing?” “It's the spell,” Howard replied, breathless, “ just like you said. It's reduced our inhibitions, it's making us...” “Howard?” Vince interrupted. “What?” “It's not the spell, is it?” Howard thought about it for less than a second, then shook his head and moved his hand to begin unzipping Vince's fly, “No,” he said, “I think that's long gone.”

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #vince noir #howard moon #vince noir/howard moon #howince #howard moon/vince noir #the board of shaman #dennis the head shaman #kirk (mighty boosh)#saboo #naboo #naboo the enigma #bollo #methuselah (mighty boosh)

8 notes · View notes

devilsaurprimal-blog · 5 years

Text

Origins

“Hurry now, Dro’azi! The day is young! We must bring praise to Rezan. Rise up, my little devilsaur. Open your eyes!”

---

The sun had just sunk over the humid jungle of Zandalar. The citizens made their way to their homes. Though the threat of the Blood Trolls still lingered, Rastakhan’s own complacency was yet to be discovered. The people still believed in their King, and it showed. As each and every one of them found their beds that night, they assumed that they were safe, and that Rastakhan and his forces would slow the Nazmani.

But would they?

----

Nazmir was already a wasteland. A place of no return. A place riddled with death, sacrifice, and corruption. Here, was the home of G’huun’s followers. The matriarchal society of Trolls that worshipped blood magic. Even in the past, their numbers were cumbersome. Every day, warriors would leave the safety of their homes to embark on some journey of honor. Most of them never returned. And those that did, brought with them the horror stories of true savagery.

Even now, the King was hesitant to take action against the Blood Trolls. The borders were still well protected, but instead of deciding to eradicate the threat, Rastakhan let it lie dormant. Handling it as it rose to a head. This would prove to be his undoing in the future, without the assistance of his Loa. Because of this negligence, a small invasion force managed to push through the border, slaughtering any that stood in their way.

The invasion occurred at night, when most of the warriors were off duty. Sleeping. Unprepared. The only soldiers that protected the border were those of lesser rank, still seeking something to prove. These rookies would never reach their true potential, however, as the incursion began. None of them stood a chance against the sheer number, the absolute velocity of their foes. Nor did they expect one.

In truth, the border was easily penetrated. The men and women that watched over it were outnumbered two to one. They had no chance to repel the incoming assault. The Nazmani ripped through the jungle with ease, devastating every village and camp they stumbled upon along the way. Any semblance of resistance was overwhelmed, and suffered the same fate as their brothers and sisters.

The night was long, and merciless. The moon soared across the sky and barely illuminated the world below. Providing only enough light for the Blood Trolls to find their targets, it took them some time to finally reach the outskirts of the city. And when they did, they brought the merciless fury of G’huun with them.

----

The day was still young. The sun had just risen. A youthful Dro’azi was awoken from his slumber by his mother. A priestess of Rezan. “Hurry now, Dro’azi! The day is young! We must bring praise to to the Loa! Rise up, my little devilsaur. Open your eyes!” She exclaimed, pulling the covers from her son so that he would have no choice other than to crawl from his bed.

Mel’tana, was a kind woman. She had patience, and honor. She was not one to be underestimated. Nor was Juk’tulza, Dro’azi’s father. A renowned warrior that served Rastakhan for many, many years. The pair had dedicated their loyalty to the King, and pledged to find their homes outside of the city. Scouts, if one would assume.

This idea would be their bane, especially this day. The entire night had run crimson with the true savagery of the Nazmani. The jungle was stained red from the carnage. The very land they crossed was stained sanguine, while corpses were hung and others were posted on spikes for display. All sacrifices for G’huun.

As the sun began to shine through the doorway of their home, the jungle itself grew dangerously silent. The wildlife had evacuated, flying to safety. Juk’tulza found himself growing restless. He kept his eyes locked on the jungle. Nothing felt right, not today. Usually the road in front of his home was much busier. As the sun found its peak in the sky, this very path was left abandoned.

“Something is not right, Mel’tana. It is too quiet. This silence is almost deafening.” Juk’tulza growled, before turning to face his wife. “Do you think that they are holding merchants up by the border?” He asked curiously, approaching the table to set his sword down.

“I cannot be certain, my moon and stars. The days here have all been quiet. It would seem that there is.. Something coming. Even Rezan himself has come to me in my dreams. Warning me. But this warning.. Seems unjustified. There has been peace for some time, now. What could possibly happen..?” Mel’tana asked, sitting at the very same table.

Their discussion was cut short. Very, very short, as a pair of Nazmani trolls ripped through the door, and tackled Juk’tulza to the ground. Even in this state, the massive man grabbed his two assailants by the tusks, and cracked their skulls together. This worked well, as the two were sent to the ground, stunned from the impact. But it did not stop the next pair of Blood Trolls from tackling him. There were too many.

Juk’tulza did his best, killing several of the Nazmani before he was overwhelmed by these very Blood Trolls. He had no chance at survial. The commotion itself caused Dro’azi to roll beneath his bed. To be woken up moments before your parents demise? The only words he could hear were those of Rezan. “Run, my child. RUN.”

Mel’tana suffered a similar fate. The priestess was no match for the sheer number of Blood Trolls that invaded her home. However, what she did manage, was gracing Dro’azi with a barrier. One that would protect him from the threat of these Blood Trolls. “Go, my wildfire! B-Bring glory to Rez-..” She was cut short as the maw of a Nazmani clamped around her throat, and began cannibalizing her corpse. It took no time at all for the pair to be left as mere disgruntled piles of bones.

Afraid for his life, the child rushed into the very same wicked wilds. The youthful Troll survived on berries and leaves for days, before being discovered on the very beach he chose to take refuge on. Each night was haunted by the very same wicked nightmare. His home being invaded by Blood Trolls, while he was left helpless to watch, and run.

One week had passed. A long, stretched out week, before a massive ship took harbor in the very inlet the youthful Zandalari had overtaken. Even now, he could not pose any threat towards these sailors. They were loud. Dangerous, even. The vessel was lined with cannons, and wicked looking sails. It took them no time at all to find landfall upon this very beach.

And it took no time at all for Dro’azi to be discovered by that very crew. “Ay! Dere be a youngling here! Lookit dis camp! How long ya been here, brudda..?” The chunky Zandalari asked, cracking a wide grin. “I be Zin’telwa! First mate o’ dis lil voyage ‘ere. She be known as the Slipstream of Paku. You look radda’ deserted, lil’ mon. How bout chu come an’ join us, eh? We will teach ya de way of de sea. How does that sound!?” Zin’telwa was kind. Jubilant. Very different from many of the Zandalari that Dro’azi had met by now.

Without much consideration, the youthful Zandalari agreed to join the crew. For years, he sat beside the captain himself. Nu’wanda. Learning everything that he could from a Troll with such knowledge. Navigation. Moon cycles. And shamanism. The pirate was his first teacher, and was quite the Shaman himself. He saw a certain potential within the child, and helped him further understand the art.

---

Years had passed, and by now, Dro’azi himself was an adult. He had earned his place upon the Slipstream, and everyone respected him. He was the voice of reasoning whenever Nu’wanda would stray too far from the path. Eventually, it had seemed that G’huun had seeped into the ranks of the Slipstream.

By now, Dro’azi was a well known seafarer. His growth was substantial. He took an immediate grasp of the Elements, and commanded them with true reason. The purpose: To guide these Zandalari to glory and victory, wherever they went. Many bridges were burnt, of course. Many relations spoiled by the selfish nature of the crew, but Dro’azi never let that truly get to him.

Nu’wanda, however, was influenced by G’huun. Promised false victories. He believed the words of the Blood God. A new Troll kingdom, led by the Zandalari. By Nu’wanda. It seemed possible. But by now Dro’azi watched his teacher sink into his own sort of insanity. Helpless.

Whispers fell heavy upon every ear. Each crewmen complete shocked by the fact Nu’wanda pledged his loyalty with the Blood God. Though the ignoramus saw the future as bright, he never truly observed the consequences of his actions. And this, in time, would show. Days would pass, and the crew grew more reckless. Ready for battle.

With the rumors of Nu’wanda floating around the ship, the crew had decided on the one person worthy enough to take down the captain. His adopted son, Dro’azi. Even now, the young man had witnessed enough from his former tutor, to understand that he was no longer the man he thought him to be. And so, he spent days meditating over the sea.

The meditation was clouded. Constantly disrupted by his crewmates. But inside, he knew what must be done. Nu’wanda had become too much of a problem. He threatened to be the very downfall of this crew he built himself. And when the moment rose to a natural climax, Dro’azi stepped forward.

“We will turn our cannons upon the decimated forces of Zandalar, and eliminate the innocence that fill the city. Together, we can rule this land.”

“You are no teacher of mine. False promises and power have muddied your perception of leadership, Nu’wanda.” Dro’azi’s words held purpose, and even Nu’wanda could see this. The youngling had matured into someone worthy of leading this very crew. But he would be damned if he would go down without a fight.

The crew was split. Half of them supporting Nu’wanda, while the others stood solidly with Dro’azi. They saw him as the future of this ship. The very man that would lead them all to the treasures they sought in life. Using his connection with the Elements to his advantage, the youthful Shaman called upon a wicked storm. One that would stop the Streamline in it’s very tracks.

“NU’WANDA! YOUR ACTIONS HAVE PROVEN YOU CORRUPT. YOU ARE NO LONGER FIT TO CAPTAIN THIS SHIP!” Dro’azi’s voice echoed out over the howling winds of his own storm. Lightning struck the water all around them, as the split crew fought itself. Half for Nu’wanda, and the other half, for Dro’azi.

It took no time at all for the two to meet, sat before the navigation wheel. The ship rocked violently in the storm, no anchor holding it in place. The motions caused both Dro’azi and Nu’wanda to stumble, before launching for each other.

“YOU HAVE TAUGHT ME EVERYTHING, NU’WANDA! WHY DO YOU WALK THIS PATH?!” Dro’azi exclaimed, finding himself beneath the man, locked up in a tight grapple. It was only for a brief moment that Nu’wanda was in control of this fight, before Dro’azi gripped the man by the tusk, and slammed him face-first into the deck.

This quick thinking provided Dro’azi with enough time to roll the pair, and with a hand clutched around Nu’wanda’s throat, the young man roared. “I HAVE ALREADY LOST MY FATHER TO THE NAZMANI. I WILL NOT LOSE ANOTHER!” Emotion gripped at the back of his tone, causing his voice to waiver. Here he knelt over the very man that taught him everything. The man that saved him from starving to death. The man that revealed the path of Shamanism.

This fight would go on for some time, the deck below ravaged by the battle between two halves. However, it had seemed the ones that had chosen Dro’azi as their new captain, were taking control of the heat. The Nazmani were relentless. This vessel would serve well beneath Blood Trolls forces.

But would it even make it that far?

The upper hand was presented to Dro’azi, who still had the advantage over Nu’wanda. “Stop this now, comrade! How can you find yourself beneath the control of the Nazmani! You SWORE to me!” The man pleaded, but his words were cut short as Nu’wanda dug a dagger into his side, turning the tables once more. With the knife stuck in his side, the young Zandalari saw red. As his heart began to pound, his survival instincts kicked into gear. Without hesitation, Dro’azi ripped the knife from his side, and jabbed it into Nu’wanda’s chest, as the deranged Troll attempted to bring a weighted cannonball upon his head.

The motion was stopped prematurely, and the sudden shock of death ripped through Nu’wanda’s eyes as that dagger found its home deep within his heart. The man twitched several times, before dropping the cannonball, and falling aside. Lifeless. It took several moments for Dro’azi to rise to his feet, before he stood straight, overlooking the remainder of this crew. His crew.

“COMRADES! BROTHERS AND SISTERS! WE FIGHT FOR OUR -OWN- GLORY. NEVER.. NEVER SHALL WE SUCCUMB TO THE WEAKNESS OF G’HUUN! WE CHOOSE OUR -OWN- PATH! STAND WITH ME, AND BRING THIS SEA TO ITS KNEES!” Dro’azi roared out, who was immediately overwhelmed by the cheering of his men below.

“We celebrate tonight! And tomorrow, we stake our CLAIM! Azeroth will forever tremble before our might. THE MIGHT OF THE SLIPSTREAM!” He pounds his chest, and soon after joins his crew below deck. As one could assume, they all partied. Drinking the last of their reserves, and raising their finest rations to their new captain..

The party lasted for hours, before the intoxicated Dro’azi made his way to the wheel. He ran his fingers over the smoothed wood, and grinned to himself. He had earned this. Himself. All of it. These men and women placed their faith within him..

And he still failed them.

Indeed, the story of the sunken ship was true. As the drunken Zandalari navigated his ship forward, he neglected to take a storm into account. The currents were too strong, and seemed to try and pull the ship below their might. But Dro’azi stood stalwart, doing his best to steer his crew from danger.

Truth be told, he never had a chance to lead that crew. As they all fell into a drunken slumber, the Zandalari struggled to pull them from that storm. It grew worse, and worse, before he discovered the situation was no longer in his control. The storm had blinded him, blocking his view from the southernmost reaches of Zuldazar.

He had no time. Not a single moment to waste. He let out a scream of dismay.. “LANDFALL! GET UP!” But his crew was dead asleep below deck. In these few seconds of clarity, it fell to a decision within him.

Abandon ship and survive, or sink to the depths of the sea with his crew.

He made the choice. And shook his head. As the ship propelled towards the rocky shores, the Zandalari threw himself from the starboard side, diving into the water below just before the ship made contact. It stood no chance, as the jagged rocks ripped it to shreds, devastating everyone inside. It happened so fast, and the crew within had no chance to scream as they were scrambled into the sea, drowned beneath the wreckage of the Slipstream.

The man would not return to Zandalar. He knew his fate, even now. With no hesitation, he began his journey for the sands of Vol’dun, anticipating nothing but death, and suffering.

As he so thought he deserved.

3 notes · View notes

astharoshebarvon · 6 years

Photo

Winteriron AU

Pirates of the Caribbean AU

Bucky/Tony

Part I : Here

“We are devils, we are black sheep, we are really bad...”

“I love this song,” Steve said with jubilation. He was in heaven. He had rum and a beauty by his side. Now, if he could only convince Bucky to do more with him. He pulled Bucky to him and they both fell on the sand in a tangle of limbs.

He was surprised when Bucky suggested they drink to their hearts content and start a bonfire.

“It must’ve been lonely for you Steve.”

Steve put a hand around Bucky’s shoulders, “Yes. But the company has definitely improved.”

Bucky saw where Steve’s hand was trying to go and raised an eyebrow.

“Mr Rogers, I don’t think I am drunk enough to allow that kind of talk.”

Steve smirked at Bucky. “I know exactly what you mean love.”

“What the black pearl really is Bucky ...”

Bucky gave Steve a disgusted look but let the man’s hand remain where it was. On his hip.

Steve woke to the sound of something burning. Smoke.

Steve was horrified by what he saw.

“No- no- no. Stop. You’ve burned all the food, the shade, the rum.”

Bucky threw another bottle in the fire.

“Yes, the rum is gone.”

Steve was feeling murderous. He wanted to strangle Barnes.

“Why is rum gone?”

Bucky turned to Steve. “First, it’s a vile drink which turns even the most respectable men into complete scoundrels. Two, that signal is over thousand feet high. The entire royal navy is looking for me...”

Steve really didn’t give a shit about what Bucky was saying.

“But, why is the rum gone?”

Bucky sat down on the sand and didn’t answer Steve.

“Give it an hour or two, Mr Rogers and you’ll see white sails on the horizon.”

Steve wanted to hit him. But he didn’t, instead he restrained himself and went on his way to the next island.

He did see white sails. He looked back to where Bucky was.

“There will be no living with him after this.”

Bucky tried to fight off the officers but his efforts were in vain.

“We have to rescue Tony.”

Clint and Fury looked uncomfortable as Bucky didn’t stop shouting.

Fury sighed. “The boy’s fate is regrettable. But, so is his decision to engage in piracy.”

Bucky could not believe his dad. He kicked one of the men holding him and went straight to his father.

“To rescue me father. To prevent anything from happening to me.”

Clint was looking at Bucky solemnly. Steve was looking at everyone with amusement. Damn, Barnes really was in love with the brat. He looked at Clint and felt sympathy for him. The guy looked like he was minutes away from crying. Well, he could understand Barnes appeal.

Fury shook his head. “You are safe, that’s what matters to me son.”

Bucky steeled his heart and went to Clint.

“Clint, do this for me. As a wedding gift.”

Clint’s eyes widened as he heard Bucky. Fury looked as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

“You are accepting Clint’s proposal?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, I am.”

Steve looked elated. “I love weddings, drinks all around.”

This should be good, Steve thought. Barnes was a bastard. He would play with this man’s feelings just so he could save his beloved. But he would have done the same if he was in Bucky’s position.

Too bad, he didn’t love anyone like that.

Clint came out of his reverie and looked at Steve. He had forgotten the infamous pirate was also with them. He directed his not so amused look at Steve.

Steve shrunk in on himself. “Yeah, I know, clap him in irons. Right?”

Clint sighed internally. He will agree. He knew it.

“Mr Rogers, you will accompany these fine gentlemen to the island of Isla du muerta. You will then spend the rest of the journey contemplating all possible meanings of the phrase, Silent as the grave.”

Clint gave Steve one of his looks. “Do I make myself clear Mr Rogers?”

Steve nodded eagerly. “Inescapably clear.”

Bucky kept on shouting at the men holding him.

“No-No, Rogers is lying. The pirates, they are cursed.”

Coulson smiled smugly at Bucky.

“Don’t worry Mr Barnes. A little mermaid came on the deck and told the crew the whole story.”

He locked Bucky in his room.

Bucky stamped his foot in frustration.

Bucky’s makeshift rope made up of curtains was almost done. Fury was outside his son’s room

“Bucky. I- I am happy you accepted Clint’s proposal. But a right decision made for the wrong reasons can become a wrong decision.”

Bucky tightened the knot. He wanted to shout at his father.

“You gave me no choice father. I will save Tony. No matter what.”

He climbed out.

When Bucky didn’t answer, Fury unlocked the door and closed his eyes when he saw no one but a rope made up of curtains hanging from the window.

“Son, what have you done?”

He looked at the sea with worry.

Tony was sitting in the cell when he heard voices. He opened his eyes and saw the giant blonde and the short man from before.

The crew of the black pearl were in front of him in their cell. Most of them looked up as he called the two men.

“You knew my father?” Tony asked the blonde.

Thor who was doing rounds with Bruce looked at Tony and sighed a little.

“Yeah, we knew him. He was one of us. But he didn’t agree to betray Steve Rogers. Loki got angry because of that. After we marooned Steve on the island, we threw your father from the ship. He drowned and died. He became one of the many people who will never be able to move on. It was only later we learned he had sent a piece of the treasure with you.”

Tony felt like crying but he didn’t.

“What do you mean he can’t move on?”

It was Sam who answered him.

“You know a little about, Davy Jones? Don’t you?”

Tony nodded. Thor and Bruce did not interrupt Sam.

Sam looked at his wife who simply nodded. Natasha spoke then.

“People who are murdered at sea cannot move on. They are stuck in Davy Jones locker. You must know a little about it since you made that threat.”

Tony nodded slowly.

Another crew member came down and asked Thor and Bruce to bring Tony up.

The black pearl’s crew flinched when Thor and Bruce grabbed Tony roughly and dragged him to the deck.

Clint, Steve, Coulson and Clint’s men were waiting outside the cave for Loki when Steve again gave in his two cents.

He looked at Clint and smirked.

“Why don’t you let me go? You blast them with your cannons as they come out unawares.”

Clint shook his head. The man was so tiresome.

“No, we’ll go according to my plan.”

Steve shrugged but continued nonetheless. “Well, there is still a certain danger to those aboard the Dauntless.”

Clint removed Steve’s hand from his shoulder. “Nothing, I’d lament being rid of.”

Steve smirked. “Well, the future Mr Barton might be in danger.”

Clint’s eyes widened in horror as he remembered that Bucky was on the ship too.

Steve smirked as he paddled to the cave. Clint was so easy to manipulate.

Thor and Bruce tried to placate Tony as they lead him in the cave.

“Just a few drops of blood, lad. Nothing to be scared of.”

Rumlow pushed Bruce as he went on his way muttering darkly.

“He is only half Stark. We drain him dry.”

Tony closed his eyes but did not say anything. Thor and Bruce shrugged as they dragged Tony.

“Well, that is something to be scared of,” Thor said nonchalantly.

Loki was again shouting about the blood to be repaid. Thor and Bruce were holding Tony above the chest by the neck.

Loki drew the knife again but before he could do anything his crew quietened. He looked to the place where they were staring and his eyes widened in horror. Captain Steve fucking Rogers was alive. Again.

“This is not possible.” Loki was equal parts horrified and amazed.

Steve pushed one of the crew member’s who was trying to stop him from going to Loki.

Thor and Bruce had released Tony and Tony was shocked to see Steve there.

“Where is Bucky?”

Steve really wanted to bang his head. Bucky and Tony were tiresome. Whenever they opened their mouth, it was to talk about the other. Maybe, that was true love.

“He is safe, just like I promised he would be. He is all set to marry Barton just like he promised. And, you get to die for him just like you promised. So, we are all men of our words Tony.” Steve smiled smugly at Tony.

Tony knew Steve was rubbish. This just proved it.

Loki was getting really irritated now.

“Shut up. You are next.”

One of the crew men grabbed Steve again but Steve simply kicked him.

He sauntered over to Loki and smirked at his ex-first mate.

“You really don’t want to be doing that.”

Loki was about to slice off Tony’s neck.

“No, I really think I do.”

Steve shrugged. “Your funeral.”

Loki took a deep breath. Yes, their mother always reminded them to take deep breaths when dealing with assholes.

He turned to Steve and pocketed the knife.

“Why don’t I want to be doing that?”

“Because the HMS dauntless, pride of the royal navy is just outside.”

The crew started shouting. Thor and Bruce looked ready to murder their own crew. Bruce had had enough with the loud noises.

Loki gave Steve a once over and then slowly walked towards him.

“I suppose you have a plan. And, you don’t want me to kill the whelp in exchange.”

Steve snorted. “Nah. Kill the whelp. Just not yet.”

Tony closed his eyes. He really was dispensable.

Loki and Steve came to a truce of sorts. Loki shook Steve’s hands as if Steve was beneath him. As if he didn’t want to touch him. Steve really wasn’t bothered by the look. Tony did notice Steve touching the treasure and he was sure Steve pocketed a piece of the treasure.

“You’ve been planning this. Ever since you learned my name.”

Steve waved his hand as if Tony was stupid. “Yeah, pretty much.”

The crew went to fight the navy.

Loki was eating another apple while looking at Steve who was going through the treasure.

“Well, I must say Steve, you are a hard man to predict.”

“Me? I am dishonest. And you can always count on a dishonest man to remain dishonest Loki. Honestly, it’s the honest ones you have to watch out for. Because you never know when they are going to do something incredibly stupid.”

With that Steve threw one of the swords at Tony. Tony kicked his captors and started fighting them.

Loki threw the fruit away and took his sword out. He knew the man was garbage.

Bucky reached the Black Pearl and freed the crew. He thought they would help him. Alas, he was wrong.

“Tony needs my help. We have to save him.”

The parrot of the crew, Vision, said some nonsense and Sam just shrugged.

“Vision is right. We have the pearl, Mr. Barnes. We don’t have to do anything.”

“You are pirates. Since when do you keep to the code? And, they are more like guidelines anyway.”

He could see Rocket, Virginia, Rhodey, Happy, Quill, Gamora wavering. But in the end not one of them stepped forward.

Bucky glared at the whole lot of them and went to save Tony by himself.

“Bloody pirates.” He kept on rowing with a single goal in mind. Save Tony.

Steve was dodging Loki’s attacks. It was a good thing Thor and Bruce had decided to go see the Dauntless get dragged to the depths. That would’ve been tough. He knew what Thor was like. And when it came to his brother... Yeah no.

Steve tried to dodge the attack but Loki drove his sword through his stomach. He staggered but didn’t fall. Loki looked afraid for the first time.

“What have you done?”

Steve looked at his bony hand under the moonlight and sighed. Ah, geez. He really hated being a zombie.

“Couldn’t resist mate,” Steve said while showing the medallion to Loki.

That was the breaking point. Loki lunged after him. Steve pulled out Loki’s sword from his stomach...Eww and again started fighting him.

Tony was bewildered. Steve was….a zombie now. But he didn’t have time to think about Steve. His weird captors were back. One of them tried to hurt him and was babbling about some pain and shit.

Before he realised what had happened the man went flying in a heap of bones.

“I’ll show you pain, you asshole. Get away from Tony.”

Tony couldn’t believe his love was here.

“Bucky!!!”

Bucky came to Tony and smiled radiantly at him. He’d missed him. God, Tony was okay. But then he saw two zombies fighting each other and he really had to close and open his eyes twice to believe that, yes, it was Steve. Fighting Loki.

“Whose side Steve is on?”

Tony sighed. “At the moment?”

But they couldn’t talk. Stupid zombies came back.

Loki fell on the treasure and smirked at Steve.

“How long are we going to fight Rogers? We are immortals. Are we to fight until judgement day?”

“Or you could just surrender,” Steve suggested smugly.

Loki got up with even more ferocity. Steve knew it was time to stop.

Bruce and Thor were eating on their boat, watching the fight on dauntless. But Thor had a bad feeling. He wanted to get back to Loki. Something was wrong.

“We need to go back Bruce. I think Loki is not …we need to go.”

Bruce nodded. He knew it was useless to argue with Thor where Loki was concerned.

Bucky finished off the zombies.

Steve threw the medallion at Tony and Loki pointed his gun at Bucky. Bucky stopped dead in his tracks. Then he flinched as he heard the gunshot. He was sure it was Loki who had fired it... but it wasn’t.

Loki looked at Steve with disbelief. “Ten years you carried that pistol and now you waste your shot?”

“He didn’t waste it.”

Loki looked at Tony and saw the blood on the medallion. Then he looked at the cursed chest of Aztec gold.

He was about to fall when strong arms enveloped him. He thought he’d heard his brother’s voice a second before. Thor had been screaming.

Thor glared at Steve as he hugged his now dead brother.

“You’ll die for that Rogers. Mark my words.”

Steve looked back at Thor with equal venom.

Bruce sighed. Loki was dead. And if he and Thor didn’t move, they would be dead too. At least, they weren’t cursed anymore.

He placed a gentle hand on Thor’s shoulder. “We need to go Thor. We need to leave.”

Thor got up cradling his brother’s dead body. He glared at all of them before storming away from the cave.

For a minute the three men didn’t speak. What Thor had said…had scared all of them.

Then, Steve started gathering treasure. Thor and Loki…were complicated. He knew Thor would not do anything. He might curse Steve to hell and back but he wouldn’t try to kill him. It won’t bring Loki back.

Now, that was the real question.

If it were possible, Steve had no qualms in admitting Thor would have happily killed all of them. Loki might have been the captain but it was Thor who was the strongest among the crew. Hell, Steve was sure he could take on anyone without his sword too. He would be the winner.

He went to Tony and Bucky who were now avoiding looking at each other. Bucky noticed Steve and glanced at the cave opening.

“We should return to the… Dauntless.”

Tony wanted to smack himself. Of course, Bucky had a fiancé now.

“Right. Right. Mr Barton must be worried.”

Tony knew he was minutes away from crying.

Bucky hesitantly looked at Tony and what he saw on his love’s face made him feel like dirt. He’d hurt Tony.

He stormed out of the cave.

Steve who was standing with a gold crown on his head ruffled Tony’s hair.

“If you were looking for an opportune moment lad, that was it.”

Tony just sighed and walked with Steve to the entrance.

“And, I’ll be grateful, if you could drop me off my ship.”

The three did go where the Black pearl was supposed to be. Only, it wasn’t there.

“I am sorry Steve,” Bucky said genuinely. He really did feel bad for the man.

Steve looked…resigned and disgusted.

“They’ve done what’s right by them. Can’t expect anything more.”

“This is wrong father,” Bucky said with anger. He could not believe they were about to execute Steve.

Fury shook his head. “My hands are tied son. So are Clint’s.”

Clint resolutely did not look in his fiancé’s direction.

Before they could say anything else on the topic, Tony came in front of them. He bowed to all three of them then he looked at Bucky.

“I should have told you from the moment I met you Bucky. I love you.”

Clint closed his eyes while Fury just sighed. Next thing they knew, Tony had caused an uproar. He was trying to free Steve.

Bucky kept on looking at Tony. He knew what he had to do. He was sorry for hurting Clint. But he knew he and Clint would be miserable together. He only loved Tony. And he would love Tony until he turned to dust. He knew Tony felt the same. His love was a brave man.

The guards captured Tony and Steve.

Fury came in front of them and shouted at Tony.

“When we came back, I forgave you for everything. And, this is how you thank me? By throwing in your lot with him? He’s a pirate.”

“And a good man, Mr Fury,” Tony said with his head held high.

“I’ve done what I felt was the right thing to do, if I die today too… So be it. At least my conscience will be clear.”

Clint came to stand beside Fury then.

“You forget your place Stark.”

Tony did not back down. “It’s right here, between you and Steve.”

Bucky knew it was enough. He slowly walked to Tony and gently took his hand in his. In front of everyone, he kissed his callused hand. It was so soft.

“As is mine, my love.”

He looked at his father and Clint and felt immense guilty as he registered the look of utter heartbreak on Clint’s face.

“Lower your weapons. Goddammit, put them down.” Fury shouted at the guards.

Clint didn’t know what to say. He knew this was the case. He always knew. He smiled sadly as he looked at Tony and Bucky.

“So, this is where your heart truly lies?”

“Yes, it is,” Bucky said without any hesitation.

Steve was shocked. Bucky had completely broken the commodore. The father was a different case altogether.

But he had to commend Bucky too. He really was loyal to Tony. Well, he was saved. That’s what mattered. Before Steve could say anything he heard it. The voice of Vision. His crew’s parrot. And, there he was. So, Sam, Natasha, Gamora and Quill did come for him. Damn.

“Well, we have arrived at a very special place. Don’t you think?”

Fury looked disgusted with him. Steve went to Clint and whispered in the blonde’s ears.

“I was rooting for you mate. Know that.”

Clint looked creeped out as he heard Steve.

Steve looked at Bucky and sighed “Bucky, it would have never worked between us darling. I am sorry.”

Bucky was speechless. He had no idea what Steve was talking about. There was nothing between him and Steve.

Steve looked at Tony and smirked. “Tony, nice hat.”

Tony just smiled good naturedly at him.

“You’ll always remember this day as the day, you almost caught Captain Steve...”

And Steve fell into the ocean.

“Idiot, he has nowhere to go but back to the noose, “Gillet said while grinning. But then they all saw a ship with black sails and Steve swimming towards it.

Coulson and Gillet looked at Clint for orders.

“Sir? What should we do?”

Fury sighed. “Sometimes, piracy itself can be a right course.”

Coulson smiled a little while Gillet looked confused.

Clint smiled to himself and stepped down.

“Mr Stark.”

Bucky tightened his grip on Tony’s hand in his.

“No, I won’t let you go. I’ll die with you.”

Tony shook his head. “I’ll take the consequences of my actions Bucky.”

Bucky shook his head. “No. No...”

Clint came in front of Tony and pulled out his sword. The sword Tony had made. Clint knew when to give up.

“This is a beautiful sword Mr Stark. I would expect the man who made it to show same care and devotion in every aspect of his life.”

Tony couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Clint looked….defeated. Not angry.

“Yes, I will.”

Clint nodded at Tony and Bucky and turned to go. Coulson and Gillet stopped him again.

“What about Rogers?” Gillet asked while looking at the ocean.

Clint smirked, “well, I suppose we can give him one day’s head start.”

Clint and his entourage left then.

Fury looked at his son and Tony and sighed. He knew they liked each other. But he didn’t know to this degree. Well, Bucky was happy with Tony. In the end, wasn’t that the most important thing.

“So, this is the path you’ve chosen?”

Both Bucky and Tony turned to Fury.

“After all, he is a blacksmith.”

Bucky smiled at his father.

“No, he is a pirate.”

With that Bucky pulled Tony in for a kiss. Fury looked at them for a minute then sighed. They were happy. That’s all he had ever wanted for Bucky.

Bucky continued to kiss Tony with everything he had. He’d always wanted Tony. Now he had him.

Tony couldn’t believe he was kissing his love. When they stopped Bucky gently pressed their foreheads together.

“We’ll always be together sweetheart. Always. You have no idea how much I love you Tony.”

Tony nodded with tears in his eyes. Bucky wiped them gently and hugged Tony. He didn’t let go. He will never let go.

Sam and Natasha threw a rope for Steve and Steve landed with a thud and looked at his crew.

“Thought you were supposed to keep to the code?

Sam smirked at his friend. “We figured they were more like guidelines.”

Natasha and Virginia helped Steve up. Guardians came and clapped him on the back.

He touched his ship reverently and noticed everyone was looking fondly at him. He shook his head.

“Alright, back to work, you fools.”

He pulled out his compass and smirked.

“Now, bring me that horizon.”

“Drink up me hearties yo-ho…”

Bonus

Bruce didn’t know how to help Thor. Thor kept on crying for his brother but Loki wouldn’t open his eyes.

“Thor, you need to stop.”

Thor shook his head. “NO. NO. He can’t be dead. I need him back. We were wrong. We’ve done terrible things but I –I need him back. He has to come back…”

As soon as the words left Thor’s mouth, he stiffened.

Yes, Loki could come back. He has to. He was one of the nine pirate lords. Calypso could bring him back. She had to. If she wanted to be free.

“We are going Bruce.”

Bruce looked confused. “Going where?”

Thor smirked as he got up and gently laid Loki down, “to Tia Dalma’s place.”

Bruce scrunched his face in confusion. “The witch.”

Thor shook his head. “She is not a witch Bruce. She is the goddess, Calypso. Bound in human form. She is the only one who can revive Loki. And she will. If she ever wants to return to her original self.”

Thor got up and started preparing for their journey upriver. They didn’t have time to lose. They had to be fast.

Bruce was looking at Thor with dread now. There was a manic glint in Thor’s eye now. He’d lost his right eye to his elder sister, Hela, long time back. Bruce knew Thor will bring Loki back. No matter what the price.

Tia Dalma was not amused with Thor’s tone.

“Lower your voice Thor Odinson. You are in no position to bargain.”

Thor smirked and caressed his sword lovingly.

“Oh? But I am. Without my brother, you will never be free, goddess.”

Tia Dalma flinched but didn’t say anything. She looked at Loki’s pale form and sighed. She has to preserve his body first with her spells.

She sighed again.

“You win Thor, but it will not be easy,” she said. She went further inside her hut to take out her book of spells.

“I’ll preserve his body. Then, I will revive him.”

Thor lost his balance and fell down as he heard that. He covered his face with his hands as tears overflowed from his left eye. His brother will come back.

Bruce smiled tiredly at his friend and even Tia Dalma cracked a smile. He was Thor’s little brother after all. For all their misdeeds, they truly cared for each other.

“Let’s begin, shall we?”

She started chanting and a blue light engulfed Loki’s body.

Okay, if I had waited a little longer it would have been a year since I updated. But, it’s done now. I was smiling the whole time while writing this.

Now, let’s move on to dead man’s chest and at the world’s end.

#winteriron #buckytony #tony x bucky #loki #thor #thorki

8 notes · View notes

qqueenofhades · 6 years

Text

the trash saga of flynn and lucy: xvi

GUESS WHAT PEOPLE. Yep, a year to the day since I posted this far-out-of-control-monstrosity on AO3, it has risen from the dead to (finally) be completed. So yes. Have 12k words of the Garbage Conclusion of the Trash Saga. For @extasiswings, @prairiepirate, @gwennieliz, @frankfreakincastle, @dragon-princess, and @rhymeswithtessa.

Since it’s been 84 years, if you need to catch up on the plot and developments and Garbage until now, AO3.

If Wyatt had more time to think this over, he is fairly sure that he would not have stolen a Royal Navy lieutenant’s uniform, especially one that is several sizes too small for him (he’s not the world’s biggest guy, but who was wearing this, Mighty Mouse?) They needed to get into the Gibraltar docks and try to find the abandoned Mary Celeste without raising suspicion, but the downside of Wyatt’s brilliant disguise is that people keep stopping him and either asking for information or expecting him to know what’s going on. Wyatt’s British accent may be a step up from Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins, but it’s still not great – not to mention he does not have a blessed clue which Navy ships are currently stationed here, and thus no idea which one to pretend to be from. Great. He was trying to be clandestine, but he might as well have hired a plane with a banner to announce that there are impostors among them. Also, it would really help if Rufus would quit snickering.

“Shut up,” Wyatt growls, after their fourth questionable encounter has left the longshoreman squinting over his shoulder suspiciously as they try to walk at a brisk, ordinary pace away. “This is not as easy as it looks. You wanna trade?”

“Yeah,” Rufus says. “Because the British Empire, at the height of colonialism and Darkest Africa and whatever else, is really going to buy that I’m a lieutenant in the Royal Navy. Guess you’re just going to have to keep it up, Officer Wedgie.”

Wyatt glares at him, while resisting the urge to pick the white canvas trousers out of where they have gotten uncomfortably bunched up, yet again. He is relieved, to say the least, that he wasn’t permanently stuck in 1829 and that he’s managed to recover Rufus, that they have some idea of where Rittenhouse ended up, and that they might even manage to see Lucy and Flynn again one of these centuries. Their outlook, however, is not terribly promising. Rufus has reported that the altered history and the CSA still exist in 2017, there’s not any record of Lucy ever being born, and that all their efforts to date still have not succeeded in restoring her. He could, he suggested doubtfully, try some massively theoretical override, go to 1983, the year of Lucy’s birth, and patch in the evidence of her existence to see if it takes, like a software programmer trying a complicated hack on a bit of malfunctioning code. But as Lucy’s life depends on whatever they figure out, Wyatt doesn’t want to go for that kind of Hail Mary unless it’s absolutely necessary. He can’t lose Lucy, or Rufus. Hell, he doesn’t even want to lose Flynn. God knows when that happened.

At last, they manage to talk their way into the salvage yard, after having Wyatt remove the jacket and pretend to be Canadian since he sounds far more Canadian than he does British, and because the Canadian ship, the Dei Gratia, was the one to bring the Mary Celeste in. The Mary Celeste herself, not looking like one of the most famous nautical mysteries of all time, is anchored at the end of the quay. She is a mid-sized, two-masted brig, and going from what little Wyatt scraped off Wikipedia before leaving the present, nobody ever figures out what happened to her crew. The Gibraltar salvage board thought the captain of the Dei Gratia had killed them, or deliberately wrecked them, or was trying to defraud them somehow, but none of that stood up with evidence. The passengers remain gone for good, their abandonment of a perfectly seaworthy ship never explained. And while all kinds of theories have been proposed over the years, from the mundane to the ridiculous, Wyatt has a feeling that the answer to this begins and ends with one word. Rittenhouse.

Looking as casual as possible, he and Rufus make their way down the docks. The ship is being guarded by a pair of bored soldiers, who nonetheless give the boys the fish eye as they approach. Word of the mystery is getting around, and these must not be their first looky-loos. “Step along, you two.”

“Actually,” Wyatt says. “I’m with the Canadian Navy. Dei Gratia is under our flag, I need to ask a few questions, take a brief inspection.”

The man stares at him suspiciously. “There’s no Canadian Navy.”

Wyatt curses under his breath – this is why Lucy is the historian, not him. He knows there definitely is a Canadian Navy now, because he had a friend who served in it, but apparently it hasn’t been founded yet. Still, whenever caught in a lie, the wise thing to do is always to lie harder. He cocks his head and stares angrily at the man. “Excuse me? I’m off the HMCS Nova Scotia, we’re anchored up the coast in Malaga. A messenger was sent up to me once the Dei Gratia brought her in. You want me to go back to my captain and tell him you’re impeding me from carrying out my job?”

Despite himself, the soldier is caught on the hop. “Who’s your captain?”

“Timothy Horton.” Wyatt folds his arms. “You really want me to bring him down here? I’m sure he’s going to be very entertained that you’ve been wasting my time and obstructing the inquiry, so…”

The soldiers exchange a glance, look at Wyatt’s uniform, and as ever, take no account of Rufus at all. Finally, grudgingly, they stand aside. “Ten minutes.”

“Thank you, sir.” Wyatt snaps a sarcastic salute and strides past them, Rufus hurrying after, as they make their way up to the gangplank and over the side to the Mary Celeste’s deck. The soldiers are still watching them, so Wyatt has to make a show of taking notes and jotting down quick sketches. Finally, they manage to get below, into the empty cabin, sunlight slanting on the floor. As they stare around, Wyatt says, “You have any idea?”

“Nope.” Rufus shakes his head, lips grim. “But I’ve been thinking. This happened in history, right? Our history. Before Rittenhouse had their hands on a time machine. They could be involved somehow, but… I’m guessing that for whatever reason, they wanted to stop the Mary Celeste from being abandoned and for it to complete its journey. Which means there was something, or someone, they wanted to survive the trip. Some secret Rittenhouse member on the crew?”

“No idea.” Wyatt pauses, then reaches for the captain’s logs. “Far as I know, everything seemed fine. That was why it was such a big deal when they vanished. But you may be on to something, and I don’t have any other place to start. So…”

With that, he pulls down the nearest book, flips it open, and starts going through it, while Rufus cocks a nervous eye at the door, listening for thumps or interruptions from outside. It gives Wyatt a headache to read so much elaborate nineteenth-century cursive, but at least he had practice during his extended layover in 1829. Finally he says, “Okay. The captain is – was – Benjamin Briggs, he seems clean. Total straight arrow. But the majority owner of the ship is a James H. Winchester, and I swear that name sounds familiar. The first mate is married to his niece, and he recommended the steward. Dammit, why isn’t Lucy here?”

“Winchester?” Rufus looks at him oddly. “Any connection to that crazy mystery house in California? The one built by the widow of the rifle guy?”

“I don’t think so. Unless they’re cousins or something.” Wyatt blows out a frustrated breath. “If we had Google, we could look this up in five minutes, but we’re stuck, what, card cataloguing it? Actually, even that is probably too generous. Hold on. Let me see when Winchester bought her. Uh… 1869, I think. So three years ago.”

“Look, with a name like Winchester, that’s got to be important,” Rufus says. “Anything you can think of? You’re the one who’s the gun expert around here.”

Wyatt wracks his brains. “There was – I think – a James Winchester who was in the Revolutionary War, and a general in the war of 1812. He knew Andrew Jackson, they founded Memphis, Tennessee together. He died a while ago, though, this can’t be him.”

“Well, that’s a bunch of hot spots together,” Rufus says slowly. “Served in the Revolution. Was also in the war of 1812, which is where – in 1814 – things got messed up for us in the present. Knew Andrew Jackson, in whose administration you spent a bunch of time recently, and Jackson was major Rittenhouse. All of that means this Winchester dude was absolutely Rittenhouse too. Probably fairly high up. If this James Winchester is his son or his grandson, I’m guessing he was using the Mary Celeste to run his evil little secret society errands. The crew probably didn’t know. But what if Captain Briggs – you said he was a straight arrow, right? What if Briggs found out? What if Winchester gave him some kind of secret money or letter or whatever else that had to get to his Rittenhouse contacts in Europe, Briggs read it, and flipped a shit. Realized what he’d been doing all this time. And knew that the only way to save himself, his family – his wife and baby daughter were with him, right? – and his crew from Rittenhouse, and make sure they never got the secret, was to…”

“Disappear,” Wyatt finishes with him, heart suddenly pounding. “Rufus, you’re a god damn genius.”

Rufus shrugs, looking somewhat abashed. “We don’t know that it’s true.”

“No, but that makes a hell of a lot of sense.” Wyatt blows out another breath. “That’s got to be what Rittenhouse wants. Benjamin Briggs and the crew disappeared with whatever important secret or artifact he was supposed to deliver, and they want it back. They don’t know exactly when Briggs and company abandoned ship, or where they’d be, so they have to come to the salvage hearings and try to work it out in reverse. If there’s a chance he’s still out there floating on the ocean somewhere, they can head off and pick him up.”

“What is it?” Rufus asks. “Whatever Briggs has that they want?”

“Could be anything,” Wyatt says grimly. “Money, or the secret to how to succeed in business without really trying, or something else that would make it easier for them to do what they do. But whatever it is, they want it. So yeah. We have to make sure they don’t get it.”

“Any chance we’re going to run into Lucy and Flynn?” Rufus glances away sharply as there’s a loud creak from outside. It could just be the ship rocking at anchor, or it could be someone coming on board. “I sent a message for them to join us here, but given how fiddly the connection between the Mothership and the Lifeboat is, I don’t even know when they are, or if they got it. There wasn’t any record of a Lucy Preston being killed at Salem, so I think they got out of there, but I have no idea if they then – ”

There’s another creak. Louder.

“Wyatt,” Rufus says tensely. “I think we have company.”

“Yeah, just…” Wyatt flips even more frenetically through the pages, as if he’s going to wring one more drop of information out of this blasted book. “Hold on, just – ”

“WYATT!”

“Okay!” Wyatt drops the log and grabs the sidearm concealed (with difficulty) beneath his waistcoat, hoping he doesn’t rip all the seams at once. He beckons for Rufus to get behind him, and Rufus dives into a pile of burlap sacks. The cabin door opens, Wyatt’s finger tightens on the trigger, and –

“Don’t!” a voice yells frantically. A very familiar voice. “Don’t shoot!”

Wyatt and Rufus’ hearts stop at the same time.

“Lucy?”

It has not been (it should be normal by now, and yet) the most outstanding few days of Lucy Preston’s life.

“How did you – ” That was her first question when she opened the door and came face to face with Emma Whitmore. Logically, there is no way Rittenhouse should be here. If Wyatt and Rufus have the Lifeboat, and Lucy, Flynn, and Iris have the Mothership, that leaves no extra time machines for Emma and her gang to use. They should have (they should have, and yet by now, Lucy has learned over and over the danger of underestimating these people) been stranded in Salem, maybe burned as witches themselves for that final, signature touch of irony. The only thing she can think of – that lurches horribly to mind and has to be forced away – is that this was some kind of long con on Iris’ part after all, that after she took Lucy and Flynn here, she went out, hopped back in the Mothership, returned to Salem, picked up the Rittencrew, and ferried them back. No, though. That’s not what happened. There are other, far easier ways to do that, and Iris wasn’t feigning. Not after everything that happened with her father and grandfather and Lucy. She didn’t.

“How did you get here?” Lucy repeats, somewhat more in control of herself after the initial shock. She feels Flynn’s hand close on her arm like a vise, trying to put her behind him, but she doesn’t move. “What do you want?”

Emma’s eyes flick between them, both still in a certain state of dishabille. She appears amused. “It wasn’t to ask for a three-way, believe me. As for how I got here, that’s action item number one. We had to build a mostly functional prototype to train Iris in, and while I had the Mothership, we copied out a basic software clone. It was good for about… two jumps, maybe. Last resort backup plan. After you pulled that fun trick in Salem, we sent the emergency signal, and headed out here. So. We will want the Mothership back.”

“Good luck with that,” Flynn says harshly. “Is Rittenhouse dead?”

Emma flinches, ever so slightly. “John? Yes. He’s dead. Your charming daughter killed him.”

“Because you taught her how to be a killer!” Flynn’s shout makes the fragile floorboards quake. If Lucy relaxed her grip the merest fraction, he would probably tear Emma’s throat out with his bare hands. “Because you – ”

“Please,” Emma says dismissively. “Like you would have taught her any different? It’s all you know how to do.”

Flynn goes quite still, even as Lucy, thinking of him back with Asher in Russia, holds tighter. “Is there a point to this?” she says harshly. “Did you just come to gloat and think we’d somehow be persuaded to hand the Mothership back as a result?”

“Not really.” Emma shrugs. “You see, Lucy, now that John’s dead, I’m the de facto leader of Rittenhouse’s operational arm. And I’m not going to fall for your – charms? You aren’t going to convince me that you want to join us, because I know you don’t. But you are going to work with us, one way or another. So let’s make it simple. You do what we want, or Iris dies.”

Lucy jerks. So does Flynn. “What?”

“Simple, really.” Emma is clearly enjoying this, revealing information bit by bit, baiting the hook, stringing them along. The woman is pathological. “We’re going to run a quick errand in the Mothership, and retrieve something that Benjamin Briggs tried to steal from us. Then you’re going to uninstall whatever program Carlin put into it, the remote override, and anything else that could mess it up. Then you’re going to give it back to us. I assume your boy band backups will be here soon, so three of you can take a ride back to the present in the Lifeboat, if you really want to go. The other two will stay behind with us, hostages for your good behavior. Do all that, and we’ll let Iris go. Otherwise, she dies, and so do all of you.”

“You – ” Flynn takes a step, pulling Lucy with him. “You have my daughter?”

“Of course we do.” Emma sounds bored. “I wouldn’t come here to threaten you if we didn’t. She’s only Rittenhouse’s most wanted fugitive after what she did to John in Salem, so the circumstances of her confinement aren’t exactly pleasant. Here.” She takes some Polaroid photographs out of her pocket and shoves them at Flynn. “Have a look.”

Flynn’s fingers suddenly don’t seem to work, and Lucy grabs his hand to steady them. She doesn’t want to look at the pictures either, even as the images burn themselves unavoidably into her eyes. Iris bound and gagged, hair down and eyes furious, surrounded by a bunch of Rittengoons smiling and giving the thumbs up to the camera like big-game hunters who have just brought down an endangered rhino in Africa. It looks as if she’s had at least one beating. Clearly, they wasted no time at all in snatching her when she, Lucy, and Flynn got here to Gibraltar. Iris is tough and terrifying, and if nothing else, probably knows all the tricks and tortures that Rittenhouse will try to use against her, but this –

“You’re despicable,” Lucy says quietly. “Truly despicable.”

“This wasn’t my call.” Emma looks affronted, despite herself. “It was your mother’s. I think she still feels that if she can get the Flynns out of the way, you’ll listen to her, see the light and return to the fold. What is it about you, Lucy, that gets everyone to act so irrationally? Why does everyone bend over backwards hoping you’ll join them and/or fuck them? Your mother, John, him – ” She jerks a thumb at Flynn. “You’re not really that special. Anyway, I told Carol that this wasn’t the way to go about it, that torturing Iris would just make all of you more angry, but you know how she gets. So. Are you coming or not?”

For a moment, Lucy can’t speak. She can’t just leave Iris to Rittenhouse’s tender mercies, she can’t let her mother get away with this, she can’t see a way out of this, and she can’t under any circumstances agree to be separated from Flynn. After a fraught pause, she says, “You’ll take us to wherever you’re holding Iris. I’ll see for myself. Then we can talk… terms.”

Emma smirks, as if to say it’s cute that they think this is a bargain, but fine, she’ll play ball. She shouts down the stairs – clearly she wasn’t dumb enough to come alone – and a whole passel of goons appear to take firm hold of Lucy and Flynn, march them out into the street, and bundle them into a hansom cab that they have apparently rented just for the occasion. Have to do your period-appropriate kidnapping in style, after all. Lucy is sorely tired of being abducted and manipulated and pushed around by Rittenhouse, and she is just about ready to do something drastic to ensure that this is the last time it happens. A muscle is going in Flynn’s cheek, and his hands open and close on his knees. Lucy reaches over to put her hand over his, and their eyes meet, communicating a silent promise. They are in this together.

It isn’t that long of a ride to the handsome brick townhouse on the waterfront that Rittenhouse has acquired for their 1872 headquarters, and in that time, Lucy has some – not much, but some – chance to think. She’s tired of being frightened of her mother, tired of fighting with her, and she still remembers what Flynn did for his father back in Russia. Obviously, that is not going to work as an exact blueprint, but as Emma says, this keeps coming down to Lucy. Lucy is the one on who everything turns. Going ten rounds in the ring with Rittenhouse, trying to out-bleed them, trading punches, one mission after another, rattling around like marbles through all of time and space, isn’t working. And since they’re on the verge of getting everything they ever wanted, this is it. Zero hour. Lucy figures out to outsmart them for good, right now, and end this, or everyone loses everything.

No pressure.

The hansom rolls to a halt before the house, and Emma comes around to get the door like an evil footwoman, offering her hand to Lucy with a faint smirk. Lucy ignores it, though she manages to trip on the step, and Flynn catches her from behind. He sets her upright on the muddy cobbles, managing an impressive amount of restraint given the fact that his daughter is presumably being held prisoner in that very house. The old Flynn would have drawn his gun and barged in, spraying bullets everywhere, but this new Flynn is – well, still inclined to cause calamity, but in a different way. He’s tense, furious, on edge, and frightened, but he’s keeping it in check. Following Lucy’s lead on this. Trusting her.

Lucy hopes it’s justified. Straightens her back, lifts her chin, and looks Emma dead in the eye. “I’d like to see my mother.”

Emma pauses, shrugs, and with an escort of armed goons falling in to either side, they enter the house, making their way to the elegantly wallpapered parlor at the back. Carol Preston is sitting in an armchair sipping tea, looking like a Pride and Prejudice extra, but gets to her feet at the sight of them. “Lucy.”

“Mom.” Lucy smiles sweetly at her, and even strides over to kiss her cheek. “You know that dress is very old-fashioned for 1872, don’t you? And you were the historian too.”

“I haven’t had much occasion to change.” Carol smiles airily back, trying to brush it off, but Lucy sees something almost like hurt in her eyes. “Things have been… complicated.”

“Yes, they have. Where’s Iris?”

Carol’s eyes flicker again, between Lucy and Flynn, as if trying to judge the likelihood of driving a wedge between them one more time. Whatever she sees, it doesn’t please her. Finally she says, “Downstairs. Did Emma tell you what we want?”

“Yes. Thoroughly.” Lucy takes the liberty of helping herself to a seat on the davenport, and after less than an instant, Flynn sits next to her, their hands once more reaching for the other’s. “What did the crew of the Mary Celeste have that Rittenhouse wants?”

“I don’t think that’s – ”

“Mom.” Again, that smile sharpened to draw blood. Lucy feels almost giddy, driven on something that isn’t even rage, isn’t hatred, but is forged stronger than both. Maybe she’s channeling her inner Flynn. “Haven’t you kept enough from me by now?”

Carol flinches, ever so slightly. She appears set to start into her usual spiel about this is what is best for Lucy, that she will come around to it, that she’s done everything to make her see it, but at last, it seems to taste as dry and withered on her tongue as it falls on Lucy’s ears. She keeps staring at her daughter and her – well, whatever Flynn is. There’s still no easy word for it. At last she says, “It’s a device made by Charles Babbage. It was taken to America a few years ago – 1869 – for tests, and for the Rittenhouse leadership to approve it. Now it’s going back to be installed. Or. It was.”

Lucy takes a moment to absorb that. The great Victorian inventor, engineer, and eccentric Charles Babbage is the man who, along with Lord Byron’s daughter Ada Lovelace, will be credited as the father of the computer in a century or so. He drew up prototypes for a Difference Engine and an Analytical Engine that never actually ran, along with just about everything else, and as far as Lucy recalls, he did in fact just die last year, 1871. Rittenhouse has stolen his stuff and is going to put it into practical application – or was going to, until someone on the Mary Celeste did a bunk with it. “So,” she says at last. “Rittenhouse was supposed to have a fully functioning computer, or computer-like machine, a full century before anyone else. You could graduate to the time machine about – when? The Manhattan Project?” That’s not a scary thought at all. “No need to wait until Mason Industries gets around to inventing it in 2016. You’d have it up and running long before any of us were born. We’d be out of the way at long last. No more missions, no more trying to change things piecemeal before we get there. You could have it set.”

“Yes.” Carol looks at her with that glimmer of pride she sometimes used to show, all too rarely, when Lucy tried and tried to impress her. “So you see it.”

“Yes,” Lucy says in turn, quite calmly. “Mom, you know we can’t let you do that.”

Carol seems to want to say something else, but it doesn’t make it to her lips. “Lucy,” she starts again. “Lucy, I – ”

“Emma said that three of us can go back on the Lifeboat, once we’ve given you the Mothership and retrieved this,” Lucy continues remorselessly. “But I can’t go back, because I’ve been erased. Which you know. And since I get the feeling that not a whole lot happens in Rittenhouse without you knowing, did you honestly stand by and tell whoever’s running this organization now that it was fine to delete both your daughters – I don’t know if you remember Amy, but I think somehow you do – in the name of world domination? Pull the switch, I’m gone? Did that really not bother you at all?”

“Of course it…” Carol rubs her thin fingers under her eyes, a gesture Lucy also remembers well, the one her mother always made when extemporizing about how she just wishes Lucy would try harder. “Of course I didn’t want to erase you, Lucy! I never did! I was – I was quite young when you were born, you know. The first time they laid you in my arms and I looked down at you, I… I swore I’d never let anything happen to you. It’s… it’s just… been hard.”

Lucy regards her mother in silence. For the first time in a very long while, she feels a prickle of sympathy. Carol Preston, born and raised Rittenhouse, meets an older college professor when she’s nineteen years old, gets wined and dined and seduced – what did Benjamin Cahill do, whisper dazzling Rittenhouse secrets in her ear? Carol’s probably made plenty of sense of it as an adult, rationalized it, justified it, but she was still a young woman taken advantage of by a major leader in the cult in which she has been indoctrinated from birth. She’s chosen to embrace it, rather than escape it, but she is a victim too. Knew it was her job to breed up good Rittenhouse stock, just like John intended to do with Lucy. She’s still doing this because she genuinely has managed to convince herself it’s best. Otherwise, she might realize what she has done, what she’s given up, and crumble.

The silence continues. Emma has positioned herself behind Carol’s chair like a bodyguard, but when Carol doesn’t speak, she gives her boss a pointed look. “Well? Should I get Iris?”

“I – yes.” Carol’s fingers twist the fabric of her out-of-date dress. “Go get her.”

Flynn tenses, and Lucy puts a hand on his arm, holding him back, as Emma vanishes out the door. After a few minutes, she returns, hauling Iris. The junior Flynn is battered and bruised, but Emma is still having to work hard, and Iris is struggling to escape her cuffs as Emma pushes her into the room. At the sight of them, her jaw drops, but she manages to avoid saying anything out loud. It’s Emma who has to prompt, “Well?”

“I see.” Iris works her jaw, as if checking for loosened teeth. “Congratulations.”

“They’re here,” Emma says. “So remember that if you don’t do as I say – ”

“Yes,” Iris says, sounding bored. “You’re going to kill me, kill us. You still think that’s the worst thing you can do, don’t you? You already killed me and my mother once. You brainwashed me and stole my second life, you’ve erased Lucy, you’ve done God knows what to Daddy, and yet – here we still are. All that effort for really nothing, I’d say.”

Emma looks unimpressed, but Carol flinches again. Finally she says ingratiatingly, “Lucy, honey. I’ll make you a deal. You can go free with Iris and… him.” She can’t bring herself to acknowledge Flynn by any sort of name. “When Rufus and Wyatt get here, they can join you. We will make you any sort of happy home you want, in whatever… configuration. Just get the Babbage device, and give it to us, and you can have anything, any life you please.”

Lucy opens her mouth, then shuts it. Rittenhouse has been leaning so hard on vinegar as a negotiation tactic that they were possibly overdue to bust out the honey, but it still takes her off guard. It’s plain that Carol is starting to buckle a bit, that the guilt is getting to her, that she has once more convinced herself that she’s making up for everything she’s done to Lucy, everything she’s used and deceived and lied and broken apart, if she gives her a golden parachute now. Happy life for you and your boy toy(s), Rittenhouse takes over the world, squaresies. Of course there would be a catch. They’d probably wipe their memories, they wouldn’t even know the terrible price they’d paid for it. And even if they did remember, they couldn’t interfere. Just sit back, and let the bastards win.

“That’s an interesting offer,” Lucy says at last, levelly. “But you know. I kind of already had a life I wanted. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. I worked hard and I was good at my job and people respected me. I don’t know if I just want to go back to being a Stanford history professor after everything I’ve done and seen and experienced, but I’d like to have the choice. But neither the existence or the world that I left are still there. It’s altered beyond recognition. So what? You’d make me some fairytale castle somewhere, far away from the world? I’m not a princess in a tower, Mom. I can’t be kept there. I want my sister back. I want my life.”

“We could…” Carol starts, and then stops. Knowing as much as Lucy does that in the timeline Amy exists, Carol is dying of cancer. Can’t figure out how to have one without the other, can’t finesse their way around it without more changes, and ones they have no idea where to find or make. Finally she says, “We could put you back. Into history.”

“Could you?” Lucy looks at her wearily. “Rittenhouse is really good at erasing people, tearing things down. Critics. Problems. Innocents who get in the way, or are even tangentially connected to them.” She nods at Iris. “I’ve never seen anything to suggest it can build again, at least in any image that is not completely horrifying.”

Flynn has been uncharacteristically quiet through this entire thing, letting Lucy and Carol play out their wounds the way Lucy let him face his demons with Asher, but at that, he clears his throat. “You don’t know your daughter very well,” he says to Carol, but his eyes also flick to Iris in a way that means he in no way exonerates himself from it, that he knows the same sin applies to him. “You don’t know that she’d still rather give up everything that matters to her, take on unbearable suffering, if it means she’d save the world. I don’t know how she became so damn heroic with you and the corporate avatar of Satan for parents, but she did. You keep offering her what you would take, or what I would. But she’s not us. She’s better than us. And you’ve had your daughter your whole life, you’ve never known what it was like to lose her as a child, and what have you done with it, with who she is? You’ve missed it. You’ve missed it. And even someone like you, one day you’ll give anything to change it.”

Carol’s face is the color of an old sheet. She can’t look Flynn in the eye. “But I’m giving you what you want, Lucy,” she manages at last. “Your friends, your – ”

“I need to find Wyatt and Rufus,” Lucy says levelly. “Are they here?”

“We – imagine they are, yes.”

“Good.” Lucy starts to get to her feet. “I think I know where I’m going to find them. In the meantime, you’re going to set Iris free, and you two – ” she glances at the Flynns, who aren’t exactly the most stable houseguests – “are going to stay here for now. Emma, Mom, you won’t do anything to them while I’m gone. Is that clear?”

“Lucy – ” Emma, Carol, and Flynn all start at once.

“I said, is that clear?”

They stare at her. Her voice cracks like a whip. She has never felt more powerful, and terrible, and strange, and strong. There’s no time for anything else.

After a pause, everyone nods.

“Good.”

As Lucy is heading down the hallway to the front door, scattering Rittengoons like the Red Sea as she goes, she hears footsteps running behind her, and the next instant, Flynn catches her arm, his entire face carved in a mask of distress. “Lucy. Lucy!”

Lucy wants to go, wants to get this over with, but she can’t shake him off. Or she could, perhaps, but she won’t, and she comes to a halt. If he keeps holding onto her, she might lose her nerve, and like her mother perhaps, she might crumble. In a different way, but still. As ever, she has to tilt her chin back to look at him. “Yes, Garcia?”

“What are you – ” Flynn glares the last goon into retreat, until it’s just them in the corridor, casting faint shadows on the Turkey runner carpet. He lowers his voice to a whisper. “What are you going to do?”

Lucy looks up at him, this contradictory, dangerous, stubborn, impossible, tender man. Words momentarily fail her as she brushes her fingers along his scruffy jaw. “What I have to.”

Flynn’s lips go grim, as if he knew that was the answer, he would give anything to stop her, and yet, by rights, he knows he can’t. She starts to move away, but he grabs her back, almost roughly, and crushes her to him, kissing her ferociously, both hands cupping her face and something almost desperate in his entire body, to hold her, to remember her. Lucy kisses him back just as hard, and then, in the breath between touching and parting, between presence and absence, between now and forever, as their noses and foreheads are brushing, as they are wrecked and shaking, she whispers, “I love you.”

She leaves before he gets himself together enough to answer.

She doesn’t – she can’t bear – to look back.

“So let me get this straight,” Rufus says. “Rittenhouse followed us here with the garage-cinderblock time machine. They want the thing Captain Briggs stole – the Babbage device that means they invent the actual time machine decades ahead of schedule, before we’re even born. And if we do that, your evil mom lets me, you, Wyatt, Flynn, and Iris go off into happy retirement and drink mojitos on the beach. While they’re Emperor Palpatining the shit out of everything and everywhere else, like they could convince Luke not to blow up the Death Star if they just gave him a fat payout and a new identity.”

“Something like that, yes.” Lucy’s eyes still aren’t quite meeting his or Wyatt’s. There were relieved hugs and disbelieving greetings, the way there always are when the Time Team is reunited after a long separation, but they haven’t seen Lucy in a long time (literally), there’s a lot of water under the bridge, and it’s clear to Rufus that she’s holding something back. All three of them have been through a hell of a lot, in their various ways, and this meeting feels different. They’re still on the same side, of course, but there’s more space than there used to be. Some of it is unavoidable. Some of it feels deliberate.

“We can’t do that,” Wyatt says. “We can’t just give Rittenhouse carte blanche to do whatever they want, even if we were somehow taking their word that we’d get a nice life out of it. That’s what we’ve been fighting to avoid this entire damn time!”

“Obviously.” Lucy’s voice is brittle. “I didn’t intend to agree.”

Wyatt looks at her worriedly. They’re sitting under a piling by the docks, the Mary Celeste still just a few dozen yards away, and he reaches out to take her hand. “Lucy, you’re scaring me.”

Lucy takes a deep breath, as Rufus reaches out to grab her other hand. “I have a hunch,” she says evasively. “I need Rufus to explain the science and tell me if it’s even possible. Then we can decide what to do.”

“Oh?” Rufus likes this even less. “What’s that?”

“I’m just thinking.” Lucy stares straight ahead. “All of this trouble, all this disruption to the timeline started with me. Things started going off the rails when Rittenhouse erased me in 1814, and all of our interventions with the war of 1812 messed up America for the Civil War, which led to – well, the present situation back in 2017. So it’s possible to argue that I’m the one factor in common, and that all our efforts to restore me have just succeeded in twisting and deforming this new timeline even more. We’re never going to put me back, and we’re just going to cause more damage trying.”

“Yes, but – ”

“Just let me finish.” Lucy looks like she’ll lose her nerve unless she can plunge through to the end. “I’m the wrench in the gears, don’t you see? We’ve gone off on some alternate reality, some diversion from the mean, because of me. Theoretically, if you cut me out before I did that, if you set the slate clean, everything would snap back into place. History would go back to normal, all the changes would unravel. And if that was the case – ”

Rufus gets it first. “No,” he says. “No. No, no, no.”

“What?” Wyatt demands. “What?”

“You have to,” Lucy says. Her face is dead white, but utterly, stonily resolute. “Then you, Wyatt, Iris, and Flynn go back to the present. The Lifeboat’s been modified, it can take four adults. Once you get there, you blow it up. It’s done. No more loose ends.”

“What about – ” Wyatt’s face freezes as he starts to grapple with a pair of very important omissions. “What about you and the Mothership?”

“Yes,” Lucy says. “That.”

“You’re – ” Wyatt gets it. “You’re going to sacrifice yourself?”

“Yes,” Lucy says again, simply. “We slingshot me back before the first time I’ve visited – the furthest back I’ve gone is Salem, 1692 – so you have to send me earlier than that. Then I just… keep going. If I’m destroyed before I’ve done anything, all my changes vanish. As I said, space-time snaps back into place like a stretched rubber band. Rufus, am I wrong?”

“I – ” Rufus has no idea how he is supposed to sit here and treat this like a cool theoretical science problem, when his friend’s life – her very existence – is the collateral of solving it. “I – yes, technically, I suppose. It could work. But Lucy – Lucy, you can’t – ”

“We’ve always known this turned on me somehow,” Lucy points out, with devastating pragmatism. “John Rittenhouse, Emma, my own mother, you, Benjamin Cahill, everyone. If I can fix it, if I can end this, I have a responsibility to do it.”

“No,” Wyatt says frantically. “No, Lucy. I’ll do it. If it’s just a matter of taking the Mothership back to, whatever, the Jurassic, and crashing it – ”

“You can’t.” Lucy’s voice is soft and very sad. “You’re not the one who broke the timeline. You could destroy the Mothership, but you couldn’t fix all the other stuff. Once I’m gone, everything resets. Benjamin Briggs went out to sea and never came back, to keep the Babbage device away from Rittenhouse. Made a sacrifice and saw it through. Now I have to do the same. It has to be me.”

“We’ll all go,” Rufus says. “If it’s a final suicide mission, blowing up in a blaze of glory together – we’ll go with you to the end, Lucy, you don’t have to – ”

“No.” Lucy looks at both of them with unspeakable tenderness, squeezing their hands. “No. We don’t have to all die. You two can live. Flynn and Iris can live. Iris was back before I got erased and started all this disruption, she’ll still be alive after I’m gone. No more time machines. No more Rittenhouse. Well, they’ll exist in some way, but they won’t have any more power than any other major evil corporation, and I can’t get rid of all the bad things in the world. But I can do this. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to never exist. I don’t want to forget you, I don’t want you to forget me. And yet.”

Wyatt tries to answer, and can’t. His eyes swim with silent, unshed tears, until he finally lifts Lucy’s hand to his mouth and kisses it. “I could never forget you.”

“You will,” Lucy says, very gently. “You will never have known me.”

“I don’t accept that. We’re here, we’re living this, we’re remembering each other right now How can that just… go away?”

Lucy touches his face. “Maybe it won’t. Maybe you’ll dream of me.”

Wyatt closes his eyes as if he’s been shot, and can’t come up with any other words at all. There is a long, impossible silence, and then Lucy rouses herself, looking at Rufus. “Could you do it?” she asks. “Could you program the Mothership to fly into the sun, so to speak? I get into it, and… go? Rittenhouse doesn’t get the Babbage device, or it, or me. Could you?”

“Could I program it for a self-destruct course into what, the beginning of time?” Rufus’s voice scratches in his chest. “The override is still in it, so… I suppose, but – ”

“Please,” Lucy says. “Garcia, Iris, and I came here in the Mothership, I know where it is. We have to go before Rittenhouse knows what’s up.”

“Just go?” Rufus isn’t sure he believes that. “Without – saying goodbye? To him? Flynn?”

It’s Lucy’s turn to close her eyes. “I said goodbye to him already,” she says, after a very long pause. “I think he knew it.”

Rufus opens his mouth, then shuts it. There is an almost physical ache in his chest, the refusal to face what is in front of him, to wrap his head around it, and yet it must be nothing to what Wyatt – much less Lucy – is feeling. He can’t do that, he can’t do this. His big nerd brain, crammed full of science and engineering and the most esoteric bits of bullshit known to man, scrambles for another solution. Anything. No matter what.

He can’t find one.

“Okay,” he says at last. “Let’s go.”

It’s not far from the docks to where Lucy and the Flynns have left the Mothership, and Rufus’s stomach turns over at the sight, the fact that he can’t put this off anymore. His hands are shaking as they cycle the overrides and climb in to look at the control panel as if this is a mildly interesting science fair project. But the unavoidable context is that Lucy is going to get into this, seal herself up, and fly up the ass of time and space, a trip from which she will not return. They have done everything together, it is unfathomable that it should end with one of them alone. But Lucy is Lucy. She’s always been the best of them.

Rufus forces himself to do this dispassionately, to avoid the desperate urge to cheat. He can’t half-ass this, and yet he so badly wants to, as he plugs into the main console and starts tinkering with the parameters for a final jump. This feels like something that a white dude named Steve should be doing, taking a plane out to sea to save everyone and dying in the process. Rufus can’t be sure how early is too early to send Lucy. Can he just, say, plonk her down in the medieval era somewhere, or should it be ancient Rome? Cavemen? Is she actually the meteor that kills the dinosaurs? This is ridiculous. He was never trained for this.

Finally, Rufus settles on the only thing he can think of. He has to send Lucy as far back as the Mothership can go, however far this pocket of altered space-time exists, and out the other side. But there’s a scientific principle known as quantum suicide, which operates along the same lines as Schrödinger’s cat. Basically, if the many-worlds interpretation of reality is true – which Rufus now knows for a fact it is, given the number of timeline changes they’ve made – death isn’t really death. Under certain circumstances, if you die in one world, you have to spawn a competing one where you survive. Maybe that explains the afterlife; you die in physical reality, but you’re reborn somewhere else. If Lucy dies in this alternate history, there’s a chance – the tiniest, most ridiculous, mathematical technicality of a chance – that the reality where she survives is their own. That one day, who knows when because time doesn’t really apply in its normal dimensions, she can come back. Maybe that’s years before or after. Maybe she comes back here, in 1872, and lives a life never knowing them. Maybe it’s centuries in the future (if Trump and the North Korean guy don’t blow it up first). But she could still live. Maybe. Maybe.

Science has always been Rufus’s comfort and solace. He has to take what he can get.

Finally, Rufus’s work is complete. The Mothership is programmed on a straight dead run, as far back as can be gone, and then when it hits the edges of reality, it’ll explode, because there will be no more time left to traverse. He’s almost jealous of Lucy, in a sick way. No other human will do this, will so thoroughly transcend all mortal limitations. It’s almost apotheosis, fittingly. She is going out by sticking two middle fingers up Albert Einstein’s ass. So to speak. Might see all of history flash before her, know it as if she was there, a final gift for someone who has loved it so much and studied it so long. He hopes.

Rufus raises a hand, far too steady for the situation, and punches the button to lock in the coordinates. The trajectory can’t be changed now.

“Well?” Lucy says. “What do I need to do?”

“You hit that lever there.” Rufus points. “The autopilot is engaged to do the rest. You don’t need to steer, after all. You just need to…”

He can’t finish the sentence. Lucy does.

“Go.”

Wyatt has been standing with his back to them, unable to watch, but at this, he turns around. He has lost his battle with the tears, and they’re dripping down his face as he swipes it roughly with his arm. “Lucy – ”

“It’s all right.” Lucy looks a little teary herself, but her chin is firm. “I’m not scared.”

Rufus and Wyatt look at her with helpless, impossible love and admiration. They reach out and take each of her hands, walking her slowly to the Mothership for the last time, unable to countenance the prospect of getting there. They drag out each step, but they know that as ever, the clock is ticking. This needs to be a fait accompli before Rittenhouse gets any wind of it. Lucy’s told them where to find Flynn and Iris. Grab them, get to the Lifeboat, and back to what should be a no-more-terrible-than-usual present, back to normal. Except there’s no Lucy. There won’t be again, according to every decent set of odds in the universe.

It’s too much. They can’t do it.

But Lucy isn’t going to let them avoid it.

They reach the Mothership, and communally freeze. They close their eyes, draw in a breath and then out. Lucy squeezes their hands tight enough to hurt, as if this, among others, is the last sensation she will take into the supernova. That this, she will remember.

She turns to them. Leans down and kisses Wyatt, then Rufus, and they reach out to crush her in their arms in a tangled three-way hug. They’re shaking, but she’s not, and she’s the one who has to push back and start up the steps to her own tomb. Then she stops.

“Flynn,” she says. For the first time, her voice shakes. “Tell him.”

Wyatt and Rufus can’t fathom doing that. Tell Garcia Flynn that he’s lost another loved one, even like this? He could grab the Lifeboat and try to crash after her, leave them stranded here, or – well, just about anything else terrible. But they both nod. As if they’d do anything else.

Wyatt says, “Okay.”

Rufus says, “Okay.”

Lucy looks back at them, filling herself with the sight of them, the sound, the memory. Then she turns back, climbs the steps, and seals the door.

For a moment, even if the alternative is worse, Rufus hopes he’s made a mistake. That he programmed something wrong. That it won’t go where it’s going, and it won’t do what it’s doing. But he knows himself too well. He didn’t make a mistake.

The blue lights flash. The gyration starts to build. He can’t see Lucy, but he can imagine her, sitting calmly in the pilot seat, facing the lever she has to pull. If there’s a moment of fear, of weakness, if she sobs, if she puts her hand over her face and gives into the sheer grief of losing, of ceasing, of the sheer, simple mortal fact of finiteness, nobody will ever know.

The Mothership flashes white as a burning star, as Rufus and Wyatt shield their eyes but don’t look away. Whirls faster and faster.

Then it’s gone.

Garcia Flynn doesn’t know what’s going on, but he doesn’t like it.

To be fair, it would be surprising if he knew anything, could remotely focus on it, could have attention to spare for anything at all, when Lucy’s last words are still rattling around in his head. She said – she said – she said – and it’s succeeded admirably in freezing all motor or higher cognitive functions. Good thing she didn’t wait around for an answer, as Flynn’s brain was still making a noise like a fork in a garbage disposal, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s missed his chance to say it back. If he could get himself to the point, after all. But she said it, and now she’s gone, and he doesn’t know how long it should take to track down Wyatt and Rufus and ask them – whatever she was going to ask them, but it feels as if it should have been long enough. There’s an unease in his stomach, a prickling on the back of his neck, that doesn’t merely derive from waiting in a parlor across from – now that John Rittenhouse is dead, just as Flynn tried to do so long ago back in 1780 – the organization’s two highest-ranking CEOs. However Rittenhouse hierarchy works, Carol and Emma have to be near the top, and they’re just sitting there. Flynn should be throttling them.

But he – but they – promised. Promised Lucy. They can’t.

To distract himself, and because his head won’t shut up about failing her again, Flynn looks at Iris. She looks more or less fine, if you can discount the refreshing spot of kidnapping and beating that she just went through – painful, but not life-threatening. She doesn’t look broken, in other words. The Flynn family is too used to violence for it to be anything new, or that they can’t recover from, and after a glance at Emma and Carol, Iris gets up and moves to sit next to her father. “I’m all right,” she says quietly. “They can’t hurt me anymore.”

Flynn lets out an unsteady breath, and takes her offered hand. There are plenty of things he could say and think about the fact that they have hurt her this much already, but for once, he doesn’t. The four of them continue to sit there in the world’s most awkward détente, until something on Emma’s wrist beeps, and she looks down, then frowns. “Something’s going haywire with the Mothership.”

“What?” Flynn jumps to his feet. “You send some pit crew to steal it while our backs were turned?”

“This isn’t us,” Emma says sharply. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t – ”

“What is it?” Carol gets to her feet, looking alarmed. “What’s going on?”

“I still have a link to the Mothership’s CPU.” Emma waves her wrist at them. “It’s – I’ve never seen readings like this, it’s – ”

She stops.

“It’s what?” Flynn half-shouts. “WHAT?”

“It’s running backwards,” Emma says, almost uncertainly. “It keeps going faster and faster by exponential magnitudes, it’s like it’s malfunctioning. Or like it’s – ”

She doesn’t finish the sentence, but Flynn has acquired a fairly close competence with the Mothership’s inner workings, and he doesn’t think that it could be plunging by itself through time, if someone wasn’t driving it. He doesn’t know what happened or how, but he is convinced at that moment that he knows who is. And that he was right about the kiss earlier. It was more than just their last one for now. It was their last one ever. That’s why she said it.

“Lucy,” he says. “Lucy!”

“Carol!” Emma whirls to her boss. “Carol, we can still stop this. Give the order, I’ll get the team, get to the Lifeboat and intercept her before she goes totally off the map. We still have something like five minutes to cut her off. Now, otherwise we’re going to lose – Carol? Carol! Listen to me!”

Carol Preston has remained rooted to the spot, a look of awful realization coming across her face. Her lips move around something that might be her daughter’s name.

“Lucy?” Large chunks of information are falling into place in Flynn’s head, like crashing boulders. “LUCY!” As if she can hear him. As if she can hear anything. He snatches for his gun and is set to tear out after Emma, not even knowing what he’s going to do after that, just that he can’t stand by and let this happen. The bleeping from Emma’s wrist is getting more and more frantic, frenzied and scrambling, a long, piercing electronic whine. The Mothership is doing something it was never designed to do, and it’s doing it fucking fast. If Lucy’s aboard, if she’s doing it, if it was a choice to take this to the end –

“Carol!” Emma shouts, snapping her fingers, looking as if she’s on the brink of shaking the older woman. “Carol, orders? ORDERS!”

Carol still doesn’t move. It’s not clear if she remembers how. But as Emma clearly realizes that she’s on her own in this, and lunges for the door, Carol suddenly comes back to life. Moves at the same time, jerks open a desk drawer, and pulls out a modern Glock handgun with wildly shaking hands. Aims it – not at Flynn or Iris, but Emma – and pulls the trigger.

The sound of the shot is deafening in the small parlor. Emma’s lunge turns into a stumble, and she goes down hard, the back of her left thigh swiftly turning red. “Are you out of your mind?” she yells, face twisted in pain and rage. The electronic whine from her wrist is now almost at full volume, a shrieking fire alarm. “What the – what the fuck did you – ”

Carol raises the gun, hands shaking harder, clearly about to shoot again and finish this, but it’s Iris – Iris, who Carol had tortured, Iris, who Emma helped brainwash in the first place – who steps between them. “Carol,” she orders. “Carol, give me the gun.”

Flynn’s heart shrivels in his throat to see Iris once more on the wrong end of a gun held by a Rittenhouse member. The whining continues to shrill at full volume, but it’s starting to turn sporadic, turn patchy, going for brief bursts and then cutting out. Then it raises one more time, and cuts off in a puff of white smoke and breaking glass from Emma’s wristwatch. When Flynn snatches it up, the readout is cracked and black and empty. There’s no more Mothership CPU. There’s no more Mothership.

There’s no more Lucy.

He isn’t sure who the howl comes from, him or Carol, maybe both. He grabs the broken monitor, shaking it as if to restore a lost wifi signal, but there’s no use, he already knows it. He can feel it in his bones, his heart, his soul, the absence of everywhere Lucy used to live, everything she owned, even if he didn’t know it, from the moment he saw her. Garcia Flynn is a big man, but he crumples to his knees like a scrap of silk or rice paper, feels as if his spine has snapped, he can’t stand up. The world is once again intolerable, unbearable, slamming him into the ground. He struggles to endure this, when there is not enough space inside him for himself and the grief, and doesn’t, as ever, have a single notion how.

“Lucy.” Carol’s voice sounds like a ghost. “Lucy.”

“She’s gone,” Emma gasps, angry and hurt and furious. “She’s gone, and you shot me.”

Carol raises the gun again, but Iris reaches out and grabs the muzzle, jerking it out of her hand. “You’ve killed enough people,” she says, cold as stone. “Even if you never pointed the gun at them directly and pulled the trigger, you have. That’s plenty.”

Emma stares at her, knowing that this is the most unexpected deliverance of all time, that she doesn’t deserve it in the least. That Iris would be justified in standing aside and letting Carol finish her, or taking the gun and doing it herself. Emma opens her mouth, then shuts it, and rolls onto her back with a grimace, clutching her wounded leg. She can’t get to her feet. The silence thunders.

Iris switches the safety on, tucks the gun into her waistband, and walks over to Flynn. Reaches out, and takes him by the arm. Tentatively, she says, “Daddy?”

Flynn can’t answer her, can’t get his tongue around words. He isn’t sure he will be able to again. He lets her help him to his feet, because he can’t think what else to do. Puts his arm around Iris’ shoulders, as she stares down Carol without a flinch. She says, “You let us go.”

Carol is ashen-faced. It’s not clear that she would resist even if she could. As if now, just as Flynn warned, it’s hit. The realization of all the offerings she has burned on Rittenhouse’s altar, and what they have left her with as a result. Now. This.

Nothing.

Iris says, “Did I stutter?”

Carol shakes her head.

Garcia and Iris Flynn turn their backs, and start to walk. Move past Emma, still on the floor, and down the hall, and out the door, out into a world that somehow still exists, is turning onward. It’s barely a dozen yards down the street until they run into Wyatt Logan and Rufus Carlin, coming the other way. One look at everyone’s faces confirms that nobody needs to ask what happened. Nobody can bear it.

They go to find the Lifeboat, and one last time, jump home.

It’s difficult to grieve for someone who, technically, never lived, and so has never died.

When Wyatt, Rufus, Flynn, and Iris get back, it – for one thing – isn’t 2017 anymore, as they’ve spent enough time mucking around in the past that it’s the new year, 2018. For another, everything is back to normal. History has unbent. Trump is president of the USA, not the CSA (equally depressing though that is) and everything has happened the way it was supposed to. Rittenhouse doesn’t exist, so far as they can tell, because Emma and Carol were stranded in 1872. They search and search until they find the small notice of an obituary in 1895, in San Francisco, for a C. Preston. As for Emma, nothing. Maybe she died there in Gibraltar; medical care still wasn’t that great. Maybe not. Who knows. As for Carol, she went home. Tried to live out the rest of her life before she herself was born. Knowing what she’d lost the whole time. Nobody has warm feelings for her, but that still hurts.

Lucy Preston does not exist, obviously. Has never existed.

And yet, Flynn, Wyatt, Rufus, and Iris remember her.

Jiya doesn’t. Denise doesn’t. Connor Mason doesn’t. They bemusedly take everyone’s word for it that they had a partner named Lucy (they’re more confused as to how Flynn is now part of the gang), but it’s the sort of all-right-whatever-you-say acceptance of their zany adventures rather than any real understanding. Jiya doesn’t remember having forgotten Rufus, at least, and their reunion is happy. At least someone gets that. Rufus deserves it.

With no more Rittenhouse and no more time machines (since they destroyed the Lifeboat when they got back, before Connor Mason could sleaze in there and have anything to say about it one way or another) there is no more Time Team, no more insane, hair-raising missions through time and space. Everyone struggles to go back to anything resembling an ordinary life, but it doesn’t work. Wyatt can’t go back to being a grunt with a gun, even a special ops one, and he leaves Pendleton a few months later. Ends up, of all the things nobody would expect, moving in with Flynn and Iris.

It is oddly easier like that. They can grieve together, in whatever strange, truncated way they can. Flynn has bought a small house on a leafy street, with the payout that Mason Industries gave him once they also saw about expunging his criminal record. He and Iris have no idea what they’re doing with the rest of their lives just yet, though Iris has been making noises about going back to school. After he bought the house, Flynn donated the rest of the money to the Stanford history department, to establish the Lucy Preston Scholarship. He feels it’s as if what she would have wanted.

(He thought about calling it the Memorial Scholarship, but he can’t do that. Not least when there’s nobody actually there to remember. Stanford is confused enough about why he’s giving money for someone who doesn’t exist, but it’s a lot, so they don’t ask.)

Wyatt has also given part of his payout to the scholarship, but he’s invested the rest, so he and Flynn don’t need to work for a while yet – or ever, if they don’t want to. They will, because they’re not the type of men who can sit idle, but they’re still reeling, and they’re in no shape to embark on some new career. Private security would seem to fit their existing skill set, but they’re both tired of the weight and sound and sight of guns, the killing they have done, and the choices they can’t take back. They still bicker a lot, because of course they do, but in a different way. It’s easier to just miss Lucy with every waking moment if they know the other is doing the same. A strange kind of solace. Misery loves company.

It’s been about eight months since they returned – it’s August, in fact – and it’s a warm, perfect summer night in the Bay Area. Flynn is home alone. Wyatt is out taking one of his long night drives along the Pacific Coast Highway, and Iris is downtown at an event. Flynn is wondering if he has the ambition to get up and make himself some dinner, but he isn’t sure he does. At least when he lost Lorena (and Iris) the first time, he had the whirl of preparation to occupy him, the insane belief that there was going to be a time machine that he would steal and make it better, but this time, he doesn’t have anything. An older Lucy has not returned to console him for the loss of herself, or hand him another journal. He’s just had to grieve in the way ordinary people do, and it is straight up arse. There is no way to make it easier. It can’t be avoided or gotten rid of. Just gotten through.

After a moment, Flynn lets out a long, unsteady breath, gets to his feet, and unenthusiastically opens the fridge, reminding himself that they need to do the shopping at some point. He’s just trying to work out what he can concoct from the remnants, when there’s a knock on the door.

He frowns. He wasn’t expecting anyone, it’s late even for some dedicated Jehovah’s Witness, and if it was Wyatt or Iris, they wouldn’t knock. In fact, his mind flashes immediately to the fact that Rittenhouse isn’t quite defunct after all. They’ve resuscitated somehow, they’ve tracked them down, and now it’s about to happen one more time. Flynn thinks of his gun, locked upstairs in a safe. Can he run up and get it if they break down the door?

After a long pause, the knock comes again. Tentative. It doesn’t sound like the prelude to an onrush of secret-society thugs with automatic weapons.

Flynn blows out a jagged breath, picks up the rolling pin just in case – maybe he can hit them on the head if he needs time to grab his gun – and advances warily down the front hall. The porch light has switched on, as it does with motion, and he hesitates. This could be anyone. He’s never going to get over his fear of unexpected visitors. They could –

He unhooks the bolt chain and opens the door an inch. “Can I help you?”

“Garcia?” The voice sounds faint. “Garcia, is that you?”

A lightning bolt carves Flynn down on the spot. He jerks the door open so fast he almost tears it off its hinges, and –

She does look older. There are a few silver streaks in her dark hair, though her skin is still smooth and flawless, except for a light spiderweb of lines around her eyes. She is dressed well, clutching a purse like a shield, waiting for this to be a total failure. At the sight of him, she opens her mouth, clears her throat, and says, “I’m sorry, this is awkward – I know you don’t know me, but if I can expl – ”

Flynn doesn’t let her finish. Takes half a step, half a lunge, seizes her around the waist, and doesn’t care what is remotely the case, what is truth or lie. He kisses Lucy Preston until neither of them can breathe, as her hands entwine around him and don’t let go and they pull each other’s heads from side to side, until they break apart and Lucy’s tears are falling thick and fast, even as her smile is blinding. “How…” she gasps. “How do you remember me?”

“How are you here?” In the competition of impossible questions, Flynn feels as if his is still the more pertinent. “How did you – how – ”

“I don’t know.” Lucy laughs shakily, even as she wipes her eyes. “But I think it’s called quantum suicide.”

That makes bugger-all sense to Flynn, one of Rufus’ mumbo-jumbo scientific concepts, perhaps, but he’ll ask him to explain later, later, later. He stares at Lucy one more time, then grabs her again, the purse falling with a thump to the porch as she shoves him back against the door, and they stumble through. It is wet and raw and savage, too desperate and rough and disbelieving to be tender, as they teeter through the dark front hall, banging into everything on the way. They are gasping and swearing into each other’s mouths, kissing and then pressing their foreheads together and then biting at each other, growling and sobbing. Lucy’s back hits the wall as Flynn lifts her, her legs linking around his waist, as they gulp half a breath from bare necessity, then turn and go after each other again.

Somehow, they make it down the hall to Flynn’s bedroom, shedding clothing as they go. Lucy’s in her bra and underpants by the time the door shuts, Flynn is undoing his belt and kicking off his trousers, and Wyatt, Iris, and the entire San Francisco 49ers football team could walk in right now and he would not give a single damn. He pulls Lucy into his arms, springing the bra loose, as she shucks the panties. Then it’s just them, in their skins, and it’s a dream, and it’s not, and it’s impossible, and it is not.

Lucy utters a small moan when Flynn enters her, their bodies jerking, her hands running up his thighs, trying to pull him closer, closer. Her arms go up around his neck, holding him close as he buries his face in her loosened hair, breathing the scent of her, trying to hold back his thrusts but completely unable to pace himself, needing nothing but the feeling of her. He kisses her blindly, tasting salt from her tears or his own, racking and rasping, half on the bed and half nowhere at all, her knee hiked up alongside his hip. She makes a little whining noise every time he hits that old sweet spot deep inside her, and it drives him harder.

They lose everything but each other. Lucy’s fingers claw and comb at the back of Flynn’s neck, in the dark hair that has a few silver threads of its own, then pulls his head back to hers as their mouths devour each other. At some point they roll over, Lucy ends up on top, and she rides Flynn mercilessly, head thrown back, mouth open, pulling herself against him with an intensity too frenetic to be distracted by anything else. Flynn would gladly die like this (and isn’t entirely sure he hasn’t), as if his heart will explode. It might have. He can’t tell.

It isn’t much longer until Lucy gasps, shudders from head to toe, and loses herself, dragging him after her within the space of a few moments, as she sways atop him, then leans forward, her head landing on his shoulder as she lies atop him, heaving. Flynn’s arms are somewhere far away in the whiteness, but he regains enough control to wrap them over her. “Are you…” He can’t understand why Lucy looks blank until it registers that he’s speaking in Croatian, and he coughs and struggles to switch back to English. “Are you really here?”

“I think so.” Lucy’s eyes shine with tears as she pushes herself up on one elbow to look down at him, her hair tumbling around her face, her lips bruised with kissing and her voice unbearably tender. “Are you?”

All things considered, Flynn isn’t entirely sure. He reaches up to touch her again, running a hand down her side, moving up to cup her breast, circling the nipple, tracing the collarbone. If this isn’t his Lucy, it’s a perfect imitation, and he has to fight one last stab of fear that this is all just a clever trick. He will wake up in morning light, and she will be gone.

There is something he still needs to say to her, for that matter. But last time, it was a goodbye, and he is too frightened that if he utters it now, it will be the same. That she will thank him, slide off, gather her clothes, and go. Or just dissolve into stardust. So he can’t. But God, how badly he wants the chance to try. The time. The mercy.

Instead, Garcia Flynn whispers, “Stay.”

Lucy leans down again, rests her head against his, and kisses the corner of his mouth. She seems to sense the words he can’t bring himself to, and settles back against his shoulder. That, perhaps, is what makes him finally believe it. That there will in fact be time, that she can wait, that she knows, that she knows. It does not have to be said tonight, because there will be more nights. More days. More mornings, and evenings, and weeks, and years.

Lucy shakes a bit. Starts, at long last, to cry. He holds her tighter.

She says, “Always.”

THE END

#garcy #garcy ff #lucy x flynn #the trash saga of flynn and lucy #timeless ff #it liiiiives

27 notes · View notes

downeystarkjr · 6 years

Text

Already Gone - Chapter 8 (formerly known as The Swan and The Ghost)

Emma Swan was never one to believe in ghosts or in any superstitions of the kind. However, her beliefs are soon to be tested when she moves into the beautiful yet mysterious Jewel Cottage. The manor known to be the home haunted by Captain Killian Jones.

The story can also be read on AO3 here

(This is one of the two stories I was working on for the Captain Swan Big Bang - it’s still a WIP but I have quite a few chapters complete that I really wanted to share)

Other chapters found here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Chapter 8

“It’s not that, of course you must have had friends,” Emma corrected and looked the ghost in the eyes with surprise still written over her expression. “But I find the news a little hard to believe, are you saying you and the J.M Barrie knew each other?” she asked, needing confirmation from Killian. Emma struggled to believe that the author of one of the world’s most famous and loved children’s stories knew the ghost before her. However, with the presence of the pirate’s hook for a hand, Emma wondered if the author took inspiration from Killian for his story.

“Aye, James and I were quite close mates,” the ghost confirmed with a casual nod, but acknowledged the look of surprise still residing on Emma’s expression. “Even after I ended up as this blasted spirit, he was the only one who believed in the possibility of ghosts.” Killian also recalled how James Barrie brought the three boys the author adopted to Jewel Cottage during the summer after their mother had passed away.

“Oh wow, well I wasn’t expecting to hear that,” Emma admitted, remaining rather dumbfounded. She found herself glancing down to Killian’s hook. It must have been immensely painful, with accompanying terrible memories, when he lost his hand. Especially with how poor medical treatment was in the past compared to the modern world. Emma had been intending on asking him about his hook but didn’t know how to approach the topic. “Did er… did Barrie ever take inspiration from you for any of his stories?” she asked, highly doubting the captain’s answer to be no. After all, he was a captain, and one-handed with a hook, it would have been too much of a coincidence otherwise.

Killian raised an eyebrow and gestured with his hook, “It took you long enough to mention this lovely piece of hardware, my lady,” he chuckled. “Aye, I’d like to imagine I was the inspiration for his character Captain Hook. He was quite the personality don’t you think? The pirate?”

The American just jokingly rolled her eyes at Killian’s smug grin as he questioned her. “Yeah right,” she scoffed with a laugh, “if wax moustaches and perms are your thing, then he is quite the perfect character,” she added, seeing her new acquaintance react by glaring at her slyly, his eyes narrowed.

The captain wasn’t annoyed, although he did quite like the banter he shared between him and Emma. Killian felt confident that he made the right choice in allowing the woman to live in his beloved Jewel Cottage. They may have both been as stubborn as each other but Emma had caught Killian’s interest. Not only was she not easily scared despite his many attempts to ward her away from the property, but she was also an author, which meant Emma could perhaps prove useful in helping the Captain with something that had been bothering him for a while.

“Actually Swan,” Killian corrected after clearing his throat. His arms were casually folded as he stepped closer to the newest inhabitant of his home, seeing no qualm in engaging in such conversation with Emma. “Let me remind you, my dearly departed friend described Captain Hook in the most flattering manner. The Captain, like myself, was educated at Eton, had the most devilishly charming blue eyes and Barrie made sure to let it be known that Captain Hook was the handsomest man he had ever seen,” he smirked, a flirtatious air gracing his expression as he gazed upon Emma who just scoffed at his statement.

“Oh I know, I have studied Barrie’s works,” Emma nodded in agreement and matched Killian’s smirk with one of her own. “And if this is meant to be a fair observation,” she added, mimicking – poorly- the Captain’s old-fashioned English accent that somehow had a hint of Irish in its tone. “Barrie did also describe Hook as at the same time being slightly disgusting,” she teased. A laugh escaping her. Quite unlike what she had imagined, the ghost of Killian Jones really did prove to be remarkable company in Storybrooke. However, she was quite looking forward to starting her new job at the end of the fortnight.

Killian narrowed his eyes again in response to Emma’s attempt at mocking him. “Touché,” he said simply, studying Emma closely which made her a little uncomfortable. Emma didn’t know what it was, maybe it was his piercing blue eyes that held mystery within them, but whenever Killian met her gaze or looked into her eyes it felt as if he was staring right into her. Gazing into her very soul despite the many walls she had built up to protect it. “Run out of arguments have we, Jones?” she shook her head slightly, dragging herself out of her thoughts, trying not to show the unnerving effect Killian had over her. Emma didn’t know what to think of a ghost, not even a living man, potentially knowing her better in the short duration of her living in Jewel Cottage so far than the other men she had shared a relationship with ever did. Emma didn’t mean to sound argumentative or insensitive, she just couldn’t risk letting her walls down with anyone. Not even an apparition she found herself living with.

“If you must know I was trying to be a gentleman and not argue with a lady. I do believe in Good Form,” Killian quirked an eyebrow. There was something surrounding Emma that the Captain just could not ignore. He had picked up on it when he watched over Emma on her first day moving into Jewel Cottage, while she was sleeping in the arm chair. It was surrounding Emma’s aura, and Killian could tell that she was yet to realise what had taken him a short time to deduce. “However, due to your persistence I must hasten to add that although Captain Hook may be described as being callous and bloodthirsty, Barrie did his best efforts to ensure it is clarified that these qualities of the Captain make him a magnificent pirate and not wholly unheroic.”

To say Emma was not used to losing an argument was an understatement. However, she had to admit that Killian was right. At the same time, the author had quite enjoyed the intelligent conversation the two of them were having. Whenever Emma tried to talk with Neal about her favourite books or divulge about a book she was reading or had just completed, he would only be interested if it was the basis of a film he had watched. That was something that irked Emma, how a person could prefer a film over the book it was based on. Most of the time she found the film was incomparable to the book. It even upset her when films elected not to include her favourite scenes or scenes that were considered as important parts of the original written text.

“You’ve quite a high opinion of yourself Captain.”

Killian just shrugged with a tilt of his head as a gesture of acknowledging Emma’s words. “Aye but I’d like to think my arrogance is justified. I am devilishly handsome and undeniably a gentleman.”

“Is that so?” Emma challenged, folding her own arms as she continued the banter with the spirit. He was more self-confident than anyone else she had met.

“Well I was known to be irresistible to women,” he replied smoothly, meeting Emma’s gaze once again. “And I’ve certainly caught your attention, love.” The Captain saw through the walls Emma had built up around her, he was intrigued by this woman.

“Oh please, now you’re becoming blinded by your own ego there, Killian,” Emma retorted, stepping back from the ghost. She was not in a position to divulge about her own feelings and she most certainly was not going to fall for Killian’s flirtations. Emma did not come to Storybrooke in hopes of finding love again; she had given up on men. She wasn’t even harbouring any thoughts of interest for Killian. “What did I tell you about flirting with me?” the author pointed out. “Were you always so attentive to women? What must your wife have thought?”

“There may have been many admirers but I was never once unfaithful to my Milah,” Killian countered. He was always one to have charm but he could never betray his beloved wife, the woman he adored with all his heart. During his time being alive, the Captain only felt love for Milah and he was left devastated when he lost her. “We loved each other dearly and I couldn’t have asked for a better life when we were together. How could I ever hurt her or want anything more than what we had together?”

Emma was touched by how sincere Killian sounded when he spoke about his beloved departed wife. It reminded her of how her parents were together and the love they shared. She honestly thought she had found love of her own, until she caught Neal cheating on her. Emma didn’t expect Killian to use such a heartfelt tone, the kind she hadn’t heard him speak with before. He must have loved his wife with all his heart and clearly still missed her dearly. “Did er…I mean, did you get the chance to be reunited with Milah when you passed away?” Emma asked carefully, watching Killian’s expression change to one akin to being distraught.

“Unfortunately no, unlike me, my darling wife did not take on the form of an apparition, nor my brother,” he sighed, if Milah had been a ghost he may have been able to move on with her. However, she didn’t leave behind any unfinished business. It was Killian’s unfinished business stopping him from moving on to a better place, and he didn’t have any intention of leaving this world. He didn’t think he ever would.

“You must be quite lonely after all these years as a ghost, alone in this house without any company,” Emma mused, feeling sympathetic for the Captain as she and him left the bedroom, heading downstairs to the living room in search of her notebook. She had found the perfect place to focus on her writing in the house. At the back of the living room was a gorgeous bay window overlooking the ocean. It was complete with a window seat that Emma thought to be quaintly comfortable and peaceful enough that she could enjoy the company of her words and imagination, with the sound of the sea in the background. She could never have found anywhere like Storybrooke or Jewel Cottage if she stayed in Westchester County or anywhere else in New York.

Jewel Cottage would always be precious to Killian. It was where the Captain and his brother were born and raised with their parents and where he and Milah called home until her life was suddenly cut short. There were decades of memories within the walls of the manor, from Killian’s childhood to his death.

“Lonely? Why the bloody hell would I feel lonely?” he retaliated in denial, unable to bring himself to admit to anyone that the life of a ghost was filled with loneliness. “I have Buckley to keep me company,” Killian noted, referring to the dog sat on the sofa in the living room who woke up excitedly at the sight of his master and Emma. “And now you, Swan. What more could I need?”

Emma sighed heavily, she knew it would be quite the challenge to get Killian to open up to her. Perhaps he was making it difficult because she refused to do the same with him. She chuckled when the shaggy haired dog, Buckley, nuzzled against Emma, managing to stroke a hand through his fur before the canine went to sit down in front of Killian, panting as he looked up at the Captain, wagging his tail in anticipation.

“Killian it’s okay to admit you’re alone,” Emma said kindly to offer some sort of support to the ghost. “You’ve been here as a ghost since your death with only pets to keep you company,” she added, smiling at Killian. “It couldn’t have been easy.”

“Aye… you’re right Swan it wasn’t…” Killian sighed and gently scratched behind Buckley’s ear, which the dog obviously loved, nuzzling his head against the ghost’s hand. “I never expected to end up as a blasted spirit, but I’ve grown used to my life as a ghost,” he frowned, but quickly corrected himself to hide how his fate had taken a toll on him, “I do find it quite entertaining scaring off anyone who tries to set foot in this house without my express approval.”

“I bet, but I still think it’s cruel that you’ve terrified innocent people over the years just to keep them away from Jewel Cottage,” Emma pointed out, expressing her honest opinion about Killian’s decision to use his haunting abilities at the disadvantage of others. “Like with Mr Gold, you may not like anyone involved with the matters of your precious house, but you scared the hell out of the man,” she added, recalling how scared Mr Gold had been to take Emma to view the property let alone accompany her throughout the house to explore its many rooms.

“Believe me Emma, contrary to what opinions you have of me and Gold, neither he nor his family, dead or alive, are welcome into my house,” the Captain’s voice suddenly turned stern which made Emma wonder if Killian and Mr Gold’s ancestors were connected somehow. And not in a good way. “Getting scared out of my property was the least the bloody imbecile deserved.” Killian had reasons for hating the Gold family, reasons he believed were justified.

“Anyway, I should take Buckley out for his daily walk,” he quickly changed the subject, hearing Buckley’s eager whines to be taken out of the house for a while. “Feel free to go through the work James left behind in the attic, but just take caution, I don’t want you to fall over anything up there.” Even if Emma was unaware of what he had discovered about her, Killian needed her to be careful. Emma quirked an eyebrow at Killian’s request of being careful. She didn’t want Killian to leave her company just yet and wanted to join him instead while he took the dog out for a walk. “Why don’t we save that for later and you can show me his works yourself?” she suggested with a wide smile, hoping Killian wouldn’t refuse her. “Can I join the two of you? If you don’t mind?” The Captain turned to Emma and she waited a few moments while he considered her. She was relieved when he gave her a small nod. “Aye love, why would I mind?” he replied, actually surprised that Emma wanted to walk the dog with him. “It would make a change to the daily venture.”

Tagging a few users who might like the story. I’d love to know what you think! @yayimallamaagain @phiralovesloki @lenfaz @flipperbrain @cocohook38 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @teamhook @resident-of-storybrooke @fairytalesandtimetravel @aye-captn

4 notes · View notes

occasionalfics · 7 years

Text

The Arrow and the Flame, xvi

part xv

Summary: Your mother’s leaving...and so is an ally. With them gone, Stakar’s looking to fill positions, but you’re still worried about the split.

A/N: I combined two shorter parts into one longer one because the first one wasn’t quite as long as I normally like.

Tags: @thewildomega @pitrymcbride @overwatchemporium

Words: 4,041

~~~

Your mother was a tactician. She always had a plan, even for separating from your father. And you. To be fair, she gave you a choice.

“I won’t hold it against you too much if you stay. But you could come and lead with me,” she said. “I know how to keep my word.”

You’d always been promised to inherit the Arcturian faction. You didn’t know or care if that was a Ravager tradition or just something your father made up, but his ship was home. It had been, anyway.

Home moved now. It lived and breathed and thrived with you. He had another choice to make, but now you did, too.

And at the end of the day, you decided to stay. Both of you. Some part of you believed it was because the Arcturian faction was where you found one another. Another part of you knew it was because your father had more to offer you. He had more freedom to give you than she did - or that she would, anyway. Her iron grip would follow her to her own faction, you knew.

What you didn’t expect, though maybe you should have, was that Reyus chose to go.

“We’ve always lived together, fought together, stolen together - you can’t just leave!” you said as they packed.

“So you get to pick a side, but I don’t?” they asked. “Sounds a lot like your da-”

“Don’t even go there, Reyus. This isn’t about sides and it’s not about my parents. This is about you and me.”

“Don’t be dramatic, (Y/N),” the said. “This is about allegiance. You made your choice when you went on that reckless mission for the Collector. By the way, how has that worked out for you?”

You lowered your eyelids into a glare, unsure of where they were going. “How am I supposed to know? Our Captain does the negotiating-”

“Your captain, now. I’m following mine to another ship.”

“What is she offering you? What could leaving possibly do for you?” you asked.

“What does staying do for you?” they retorted, turning to face you. “You’d become Captain one day, one way or another. So what’s keeping you from leaving?”

You stood from your bed and glared. “It’s safe to stay. I know this ship better than any other Officer. I know its people, and I know I’ll be taken care of here.”

“Ravagers don’t do safe,” they said. “The Alliance does. Aleta’s new faction is already approved-”

“Yeah, so my parents can expedite their divorce and forget the other one exists,” you interrupted.

Reyus chuckled. “Maybe,” they said. “But it’s approved nonetheless. The Alliance is sworn to make sure the faction survives. That includes Stakar - your Captain. They can’t ignore one another for long.”

“I’m still not hearing a good reason to leave,” you said, crossing your arms.

“I’ll have upward mobility with Aleta, (Y/N). There’s nothing for me here above what I already have. She wants to make me her First Mate.”

You stared at them, your mouth dropping and eyes widening.

“What, you don’t like that?” they asked. “You’re not the only one that gets to have nice things, (Y/N).”

“I never said I was,” you said. “I-I just...never realized you wanted that.”

“Of course you didn’t. You were handed the Alliance, the faction...everything the second you were born. You never had to worry about where you’d go if you couldn’t get what you needed.”

“My papa’s taken care of everyone,” you said. “Always.”

“Your papa’s taken care of you,” they said. “He tolerated me because you liked me, because I was your friend. He only cares about you because you carry his name.”

“They have the same name,” you said.

“Did they ever tell you why he refused to treat her like an equal?” they asked. “Because Aleta told me. She trusts me. She wants to see me succeed. Your papa, on the other hand, wanted to create something of himself. For himself. He wants you to keep that going.” They paused, and you realized they were pointing at you. “He’ll always be known as the leader of the Alliance. It’s one of his prides and joys - and you’re the other one. Aleta would only ever be known as Captain Stakar’s Wife if she didn’t leave. He wouldn’t give her what she deserved, so she’s taking it.”

You didn’t like what they were saying, but it made sense, and you liked that even less. You’d never known your father to be that selfish, that ambitious. He took care of you. He was the one that doted on you when you were a child. He was the one that made sure you were happy, that let you cry on his shoulder after you killed for the first time. It was always your mother that made you keep secrets about that, like your parents couldn’t be seen as parents within the faction. Like you couldn’t be their child in the eyes of the other Cadets, Officers, and Advisors.

It had never occurred to you that he’d neglected everyone else for your sake. You had it made good. And now you wanted to punch something - something hard, something that would crunch satisfyingly beneath your fist. You were privileged, you’d never noticed, and now it was too late to do anything about it.

You dropped everything - your arms, your eyes, your head. You let out a sigh and took a step forward so you leaned on Reyus. “I’m sorry,” you said. “For giving you a hard time.”

You felt them nod and hug you. “I’ll miss you, (Y/N). But I have to do this. I want more than Stakar can offer.”

You nodded yourself, then looked up and returned the hug. “Remember when we were young, and you’d just come here?” you asked. “We were still Cadets. You told me we’d start our own faction just to rehabilitate people that couldn’t deal with killing other people. We hadn’t even taken life yet, but you were so concerned about that.”

“I watched my brother die,” they said.

You’d already known that. They’d told you about the connection long after they’d come up with the plan for your faction. So you nodded and said, “We should’ve done it. A long time ago. We should’ve been the ones to free the Centaurians. We should’ve made that our goal, too.”

They sighed. “Yeah. We should have.”

You let them go slowly, hesitating because every thought in your head screamed that letting them go meant it was for good. Maybe you’d see them around. Whenever the Alliance had meetings. If Reyus was your mother’s First Mate, they’d come back. But it wouldn’t be the same. They’d helped you find Yondu. They’d helped you train Yondu. They were the reason you still believed in your mark. You had so much to say to Reyus and not nearly enough time, now that they were leaving.

They turned around to finish packing, but you stayed still. You closed your eyes and tried not to cry. You almost wished you could angry-cry, but you weren’t angry anymore. You weren’t hurt. You were just sad, and that hurt all the more. You sucked in a ragged, deep breath and covered your mouth with your hand.

Reyus turned back around and gave you another hug. “Hey,” they said. “It’s gonna be alright. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, and I do too. And you’ve got Yondu.”

You nodded, but it didn’t stop your sobbing. “I love you, Reyus,” you said. “I’m gonna miss you way too much.”

They sighed. “I love you, too. Leaving doesn’t change that, (Y/N). Remember that.”

You nodded as they pulled away. You wiped your face with your palms and took a deep breath to try to steady yourself. It was easier said than done. You looked up at them and said, “Thank you for everything. I may have Yondu, but I wouldn’t without you.”

They shrugged. “The stars say otherwise,” they said, then winked. “But I’ll take the credit.”

You laughed together before they turned back to their packing. This time you backed up, let them have their space, and sat on your bed again. A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door, and then another one of your roommates entered.

“Aleta’s ready,” he said, looking from you to Reyus. “There’s already a crowd on the loading docks.”

You nodded and stood up again, then waited for Reyus to shut their bags and sling them over their shoulder. You went to the docks together, side by side, more silent than you could ever remember being around them.

Yondu was waiting by the edge of the crowd. He looked Reyus over and nodded. “We’ll miss ya,” he said. “Thank you for everythin’.” He looked at you and smiled.

Reyus nodded. “I only did what I could,” they said. “And I’ll still be around. Just...occasionally.”

Yondu nodded then, and lifted a fist to cross over his chest. He hit the Ravager symbol on his jacket twice with his fist.

You mimicked his moves. Reyus lit up and followed the lead, finishing the salute with a huge smile on their face. Without another word, they moved into the crowd, into their new life.

You looked at Yondu and felt your face drop - not at him, but you suddenly felt dejected and sad. Like a part of you was taken away.

“Ya wanna say bye to your mom?” he asked.

You bit your lip and thought about it. You hadn’t been on the best terms with your mother since the secret mission...but she was still your mother. She was still the woman that made sure you looked good for the promotion ceremony. She was the one that brought you into the world, taught you the hard lessons your father never could, and believed you when you told her about Yondu’s mark. Maybe she wasn’t the best mother all the time or the best person most of the time, but she was still a part of you.

You nodded and led the way through the crowd. Your mother stood in the center of it all, her bags at her feet, Reyus just off to her left. Your mother waved to the crowd, an uncharacteristic smile on her face.

You noticed your father was missing. You didn’t bother looking for him, though. Maybe it was too painful for him to be there. Despite everything, you believed they still cared for one another. They wouldn’t have stayed together as long as they did otherwise.

You stepped forward and caught your mother’s attention. She smiled at you, then wrapped you in her arms. Her oily hair fell over your shoulders, and you let it. You returned the hug and heard her say, “You’re my greatest accomplishment. Don’t forget it.”

You bit your lip, this time to keep from crying again, as you nodded. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Captain,” you said to her.

She squeezed you once, then let you go and backed up to pick her bags up off the floor. But first, she gave you the Ravager salute, which you - and the rest of the room - returned. She waved once more, then ascended the stairs to one of the larger M-ships. It would have to do until she could afford to get something bigger, you thought. You watched as Reyus went with her, and then more and more of the people you knew, some of whom you’d grown up with.

They made their choice. You made yours. You turned around and faced yours, softening as he put his arm around your shoulders and held you close to his side.

Your father asked you the next day, in the council room, if you wanted to be his First Mate.

“First Mates don’t usually become Captains, though,” you said.

“Not always. But sometimes,” he replied. “We could treat it like training, if you want. You’ll be Captain one day, after all.”

You thought about it. It might be useful to be that close to the Captain. But you didn’t know if you wanted that. You were still unsure of how you felt about your parents’ separation - it was still too fresh to make a decision on - so you didn’t know what to think of your father. Did you really want to be around him all day, every day?

And then there was the fact that you’d be away from Yondu all day, every day. You knew you could make it work, but you didn’t want to have to. You’d stayed so you could follow the status quo. Was a promotion worth it if you’d just end up where you could’ve been if you’d left?

“What about Martinex? He’s basically your First Mate anyway,” you said.

“Does that mean you don’t want the position?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you said.

He lowered his lids. “Everyone wants to be First Mate, (Y/N). Everyone.”

“Maybe I don’t,” you said. “I don’t know. It’s a big leap and it’s too soon and-”

“Too soon? From what?” he asked.

You crossed your arms without having meant to. “Papa…” you said.

“Don’t hold your mother’s choices over my head,” he said.

“You say that like you didn’t have any part in her decision to leave,” you said. “Everything is different now and I don’t know how.”

“Nothing is different, (Y/N) - except that I have a position to fill and you either want it or you don’t.” He sat back in his seat and waited.

You sighed and gripped one arm with the other. You didn’t want to turn him down - because he was your father, and because you didn’t know what the consequences would be. Maybe he wouldn’t punish you, but now that your mother was gone, there was a sinking feeling that everything would fall to shit at any given moment.

“Give the position to Martinex. I know he wants it,” you said, even though you’d never heard him say anything of the sort. You just had a feeling. “Think of it as training him to lead his own faction.”

“How will you learn?” he asked.

You gave him a small smile, a hopeful sign of good things to come, rather than the impending doom you felt on your shoulders. “I’ll pick things up along the way. And I’m banking on you retiring, rather than dying, before I become Captain.”

He paused, considered your words, then shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “But only if you agree to take another position.”

You dropped your arms, lifted your head, and waited.

“I want you around here more. I want you learning. So you don’t want to be here all the time - I get it. You’ve still got friends down there,” he said, nodding toward the lower decks. “And Yondu. Who, by the way, has made himself invaluable by mastering that arrow of his.”

You tried to hide a blush of pride, but couldn’t stop a smile from spreading on your face. “He’s not a master, really. Kraglin’s still helping him learn. But he’s gotten much better - you’re right, papa.” You cleared your throat before asking, “But what does that have to do with a new position for me?”

“Doesn’t, really,” he said. “I want you to be an Advisor. You haven’t made many imperative decisions for the crew yet. You’re still young. But part of being Captain is choosing for the good of the faction - and that means everyone in the faction. If you won’t be First Mate, you’ll be an Advisor.”

“Have you had one of those before?” you asked.

He shrugged. “No, but there’s a first time for everything.” He sized you up for a moment. “With your mother gone, I need to refill all the positions she left open. These are only two of them. You know how integral she was -”

“Then why’d you let her leave?” you asked before thinking.

“That’s not important now,” he said, lowering his brows into a serious expression.

You bit your lip, nodded, and mumbled, “Sorry, Captain.”

He cleared his throat before going on. “We’ll have daily meetings. Won’t be long, but you need to stay in the know. You need to hone in your communication skills, (Y/N). You need to learn to foresee the needs of hundreds of people at a time. You’ll take notes - however you want - you’ll be present for Alliance meetings, and you’ll have some weight around here. Your own weight, instead of coming to me whenever you want something done.”

You thought back to the suggestions you’d made, mostly on Kraglin’s behalf, to help the Centaurians when they were told to choose between the Ravager life and the diasporic life. You asked yourself how much easier something like that could be decided if you had some power, some influence in the decision making process of the Arcturian faction - maybe even the Alliance as a whole.

“Otherwise,” your father went on, “you’ll continue to be an Officer. You’ll keep the title, unless you can come up with something better than Advisor Ogord.”

You scrunched your face. “Doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, does it?” you asked.

Your father chuckled softly. “No, it doesn’t.” He paused again, looking you right in the eyes. His eyes, with maybe a hint of your mother’s. “So, Officer, do you accept the position?” he asked.

You nodded without hesitation. Advisor seemed a better fit, for now, than First Mate. It was certainly more convenient than being at your father’s beck and call all day, especially when Martinex made it so easy to fill the whole you’d be leaving.

“I do, Captain. Thank you,” you said with a nod.

He smiled and waved his fingers toward you. “In that case, Sweetness, you’re dismissed.”

You both turned from the other at the same time. You left the cockpit, headed straight for the alcove, and found Yondu in there. Of course you did.

He smiled when you sidled right up against him. The purple glow from space filled your vision, turning him a darker shade of cerulean than usual. It was nice, especially when his gold teeth reflected some of the light from the closer stars outside.

“I have news,” you said, focusing on space.

“Yeah?” he asked.

You nodded. “Papa asked me to be his First Mate,” you said. In the corner of your vision, you saw him start to smirk. “I turned him down.” You looked at him and watched his face fall.

“What?” he asked.

“I don’t want to be his First Mate, Yondu,” you said. “I’d never see you or Kraglin, and right now, I want to keep my friends close.”

“That ain’t a reason to turn down a lucrative position, (Y/N),” he said. “Any Ravager’er tell ya that.”

You shrugged. “I guess I’m not any Ravager,” you said, trying not to sound too narcissistic. “Besides, he offered me a different position anyway.”

“Can’t be half as good as First Mate,” he said.

You stopped and stared at him for a moment. His red irises searched yours impatiently, but you couldn’t bring yourself to repeat what you’d said to your father. Once was enough for one day. Besides, Yondu had seen what’d happened. He knew it made you uncomfortable. You shouldn’t have to spell it out for him.

“Maybe not,” you said softly. “But I’m gonna be his new Advisor. I’ll have sway with the faction - maybe even the Alliance. I’ll be able to make things happen, Yondu.”

He blinked at you a few times, his mouth open and eyes focused. “Things like?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Reasonable things, obviously, but things. I don’t know. I could...I could set up charities for displaced peoples or…” You looked out at Space again. “Or organize heists and arrange negotiations. I’ll be learning all I need to learn to be Captain one day, just...without having to be up here as long.” You looked back at him, hope in your eyes.

“What’s wrong with bein’ up here?” he asked, his brow raising.

You sighed. “Not here here,” you said. “This is our place. I’ll always be here if you will.” You grabbed his hand and put your fingers between his, then put your hands in your lap. You rubbed the back of his hand with your thumb and tried to smile. “But I don’t want to be up here, in the cockpit, all day-every day. Not yet.”

He took a second, then asked, “Is this ‘cause’a yer mom?” he asked.

Your smile faded. You didn’t nod, but you didn’t think you had to. “I don’t want to be her, Yondu,” you whispered.

He squeezed your hand and said, “Hey, you ain’t her.”

“I’d be her replacement if I became First Mate. That’s basically what she was,” you said.

“You always said they was equals.”

“I thought they were,” you whispered, your throat threatening to close on you. You closed your eyes, bit your lip, and leaned to put your forehead against his shoulder. “I really thought they were, Yondu. But they weren’t. She left because she wasn’t his equal. Or at least because he didn’t treat her like she was.”

“I know,” he said. “I jus’ knew you needed to say it.” He removed his hand from yours, then shifted to wrap an arm around you. He brought you closer to him, and you encased him in your arms around his middle. He rubbed up and down your right arm in slow, soothing circles.

“Promise me we won’t be like that,” you said against his neck.

He shivered slightly, then tapped your shoulder. You looked over to see his mark poking itself out of the end of his sleeve. “Do I haveta say it?” he asked. “I will if you want, but...you said you been believin’ in these as long as you can remember. You told me the stars made us together, made sure we’d find one another. You told me the stars made us outta the same stuff. I been believing we’re equals since I found your mark on that first day.”

You turned your eyes back to his and brought one palm to his unshaven cheek. He was prickly with dark red hair everywhere but his scalp, but you kind of liked it. “Will you promise me anyway?” you asked, even though he said he would.

He gave you a small smile, a genuine smile instead of a smirk, and nodded. “I promise we ain’t gonna end up like your parents, (Y/N). They didn’ have what we got.” With his free hand, he reached for your mark. His fingers grazed it gently, and suddenly the whole galaxy was light. You sat straighter, your shoulders no longer holding the weight of everything all at once. You swore you saw a red light in his chest flash like something on a navigation screen. You felt like you were floating, and you were filled with so much warmth you started to sweat. Then his fingers moved to the skin around your mark and you came back down, gently and with grace. “I love you, and I ain’t about to go treatin’ you like that. Don’t know what the stars’d make’a me if I did.”

You fell against him and grabbed the collar of his shirt. You didn’t need much persuasion to bring his face to yours, to crash against him in a wonderful kiss. Perhaps there were remnants of his touch on your mark, but you felt like floating again. It was so pleasant you almost whined when he pulled back.

“Now you gotta promise me,” he said, keeping his forehead against yours.

You didn’t nod. You just went into it. “I promise I’ll always consider your feelings and thoughts. I promise I won’t let the stars down by betraying you. I promise I won’t let you down because I love you.” You brought your lips back to his and moved your hand from his shirt to his neck. In between kisses, whether you meant to or not, you repeated yourself: “I promise. I love you. I promise. I love you. I promise…”

#yondu x reader #the arrow and the flame #sfw #yondu fanfic

30 notes · View notes

spooktales · 7 years

Text

Seasick

Marcus vomited over the port side of the small lobstering boat.

"Jesus boyo, we're only fifty yards from shore!" cried Captain Merle.

Marcus didn't know that when he took a rookie position in Stoneport, it meant that he was tasked with joining Captain Merle on his monthly expeditions to monitor the buoys, traps, and jagged rocks of the town's Atlantic shoreline. They'd have to untangle old fishing line whenever it was wrapped up on a trap, or cut a fish or two out of those plastic canned six-pack binders, maybe yell at some teens stealing from lobster traps. Today was different though; it wasn't one of the normal monthly trips. Today they were headed out to Stone's Light, a lighthouse of indeterminable years on this earth.

"Sorry Captain, I'm still not used to it. Don't have my sea legs yet, I guess."

"No bother apologizin'. It's not tremendously far off. Just keep aiming that flood dead ahead."

Marcus held in his hand a strong floodlight, used in attempt to cut the thick fog which densely occupied the cold coastal grey-green waters. Merle was better on these waters than even the police dive team (which in reality was just one officer who had passed his SCUBA certification over in Beverly). Nobody else could manage the maneuvers it took to avoid the massive stones that jutted from the ocean. Many a ship had gone down; no loss of life in years, thanks to Captain Merle, but many dollars worth of ships had been lost off that coast. There was even an area where the navigator needed to avoid a sunken ship's mast, as the tip came to just about three feet below the surface. If you didn’t know where it was, you were likely fresh out of luck.

The fog was oppressive. It clung to each and every thing that attempted to pass through it. It was a great gray beast spinning a clouded web, and anything that became ensnared in it was in danger of being lost to the sea. Marcus kept on, holding the flood light as low as he could to get underneath the fog instead of simply illuminating it, making it harder to maneuver. He would falter in his light-holding only when he choked on dry heaves that came at random. The sea wasn't particularly choppy, but it was rough enough to have Marcus already exhausted from all the coffee he had promptly thrown up before it would take effect.

Marcus heaved particularly hard as the Captain turned the boat quickly to avoid the underwater mast, as it was barely visible until the last possible moment. Captain Merle saluted the unseen wrecked ship as his own passed around it safely.

Marcus asked "How much further you think?" as he dry heaved painfully on he last word.

Merle chuckled, "Not far, buddy. They really didn't tell ya as a rookie this type-ah thing is on your docket?"

Marcus shook his head from side to side while his eyes burned with an annoyed glint that made Merle laugh. Marcus smiled slightly, knowing his place, and he took in a deep breath through his nose, letting out an exasperated sigh. He had only taken this job because he lived here for a couple years as a child. He was only ten or eleven at the time and his parents had moved here because they wanted a quiet place which they could easily commute to their jobs in Boston, about 30 minutes away. When they yearned for a less sleepy town, his parents decided to move a little closer to the city and Marcus never went back to Stonesport. He often thought however, of its rocky coastlines and warm summer nights as a child. When he was fresh out of the academy, Stonesport PD had an opening, so he leapt at the chance to come back to his childhood stomping grounds. The fog these days seemed more prevalent than he remembered, but he couldn't rely on rose-tinted childhood memories. Fog was likely there when Marcus was young too, he just had no reason to really notice it. Almost nothing had changed over the years, both for good and bad; the town was still beautiful and still sleepy.

"Alright hold the light as still as you can, won't be long now," said Captain Merle

Stone's Light sat atop a small island off the coast of town, more a large grassy rock, really. It was one of the few still left that had a keeper living there. There were quarters at the base of the lighthouse for a keeper and family to live, but this keeper had lived alone for years.

Now, the reasoning behind this early morning expedition into the fog wasn't an everyday one; the light had gone out around midnight the previous evening and two boats had already radioed in saying they'd been involved in near-misses with rocks since. Since Captain Merle was best on the seas, and rookie Marcus went with him on the monthly coast checks anyway, they were both tasked with this mission.

Captain Merle navigated the jagged coast of the island with the deft precision of a man half his age. Marcus was always impressed with the captain's skills, and it was one of the few aspects of their trips Marcus never had to stress over. The thick fog was even denser out here; they weren't too far from shore, and yet could not see the beach. All they could see was a faint orange glow from the sodium vapor streetlamps that lined the main coastal road. Marcus noted silently that it was a mysterious thing to see the lighthouse without its light aglow; it was a fixture of the community despite nobody ever going there or learning much about it. Merle's wife ran the local historical society and knick-knack shop (consolidated to a single building) across from the main beach, and the lighthouse was on each and every postcard she had ever sold.

They adjoined the small dock and stepped off, both laying anchor and tying the boat securely to the dock because as the captain said: "Never know with days like these."

Marcus radioed into shore to let the mainland know they had just arrived and docked. He then let training take over as he surveyed the surroundings. He could barely see ten feet out into the ocean all around the island, which was about the size of a football field. It was dark this morning, in large part due to the fog, so they both popped on their flashlights. Marcus zipped up his uniform jacket, and simultaneously Captain Merle wrapped his scarf around his neck another time and adjusted his knit cap. They looked at one another, silently nodded in agreement, and began walking toward Stone's Light itself.

The lighthouse was aptly named, as it was entirely of intricate stonework. On a sunnier day, one would be astounded by the brilliant craftsmanship and attention to detail it had taken to erect such a breathtaking and old structure. As today was merely dreary and sad, the structure seemed quite ominous to Marcus. He could just barely see the tip of the lighthouse as it faded into the sea mist when he looked up. Marcus was getting his equilibrium back to normal the more he walked. He sucked in deep breaths of the ocean air, although he noted that the surrounding atmosphere felt a little off to him, almost as if the air itself had gone stale. He chalked this thought up to his early morning haze and the fact that he was likely now quite dehydrated from throwing up his breakfast back on the boat. Although his rational mind currently took precedent, Marcus couldn't shake the slight unease he felt since footfall on the island of Stone's Light.

Captain Merle, however, was a cool summer breeze. He casually walked alongside the stiff police officer with a calm stride, even lighting up an American Spirit, although with some difficulty due to the damp wind. The captain had been here more than most people, but still not much. It took a lot to shake the captain; he'd seen men tossed overboard by rogue waves, hands sliced damn near clean off by netting ropes, and even once a man fell to his death from a crow's nest on a ship he had been first mate on, years ago. Captain Merle took long puffs of his cigarette, keeping it cornered in his mouth, deep in thought. Marcus didn’t notice, but Merle was beginning to feel shades of unease creep forward from the dark recesses of his mind as well. Of course, he showed no signs of this apprehension; after all, you don’t survive all those years at sea by showing all your cards.

They neared the lighthouse in complete silence, as the fog seemed to dull all noises around them. They approached the reddish metal door which was surrounded by ornate stonework. Marcus was about to knock on the door when Captain Merle let out a small and inquisitive "Hhmph".

"What is it?" asked Marcus.

"Don't remember all this," replied the captain as he ran his hands across the beautiful masonry that was the door frame.

The stones were carved with beautiful curving lines and reliefs in odd shapes. Some of the markings looked like a language, some of it looked a bit more scenic, like strange landscapes. Marcus too, ran his fingers across the stone, admiring the craft of the work. Captain Merle was skeptical, however.

"Been coming to this light damn near 40 years now, and granted I never was really paying much attention to it, and was shithouse drunk for much of my time here, but I swear on my boat I've never seen this before. This carving. Like Egypt or something; stuff you find on cave walls."

Marcus continued to examine the carvings, running his fingers through the stone divots and tracing them by touch. They looked almost machine-made in their precision; each line was purposeful and perfectly etched. Marcus focused on the images and tried to decipher their possible meaning, and why there were seemingly new additions to the wildly old structure. Marcus felt his eyes go blurry for a moment when the captain called out to him.

"Hey boy, you alright?"

Marcus shuddered himself back to reality. "Yeah. Yes, I'm alright. What's up?"

"Thought we lost ya," Merle said, chuckling. "Looked like a 16 year old, just smoked his first doobie for a minute there."

Marcus gave a soft chuckle back but was taken off guard by his unintentional daydream; he couldn't even remember what he had been thinking about.

"Well, do we go in?" Merle asked, finishing his cigarette with one final, amber pull.

"Yeah, let's try knocking," replied Marcus. "Can you aim your light over here please? Right on the door."

Captain Merle did as he was instructed. On the seas he was in charge, but on land he knew best to let Marcus do his thing. The light bounced off the rust colored door, illuminating Marcus in a shade of red. Marcus pounded three times, loudly with the butt of his fist.

"Hello!? Anyone there!?" Marcus inquired. He followed quickly by asking the captain what the keeper's name was.

"Shit, it's uh... Phil! Phillip Dagmar."

"Mister Dagmar are you okay in there?" asked Marcus. There was no response for a good five silent seconds. "Okay Mister Dagmar, we're coming in."

Marcus pushed, then shouldered the door, neither attempt opening it even an inch.

"Well alright, then. I have a small sledge back in the boat if you wanna wait a minute I can go get it." Merle replied.

"Yeah that sounds like a plan. I'll wait here and keep knocking. Maybe he's just passed out or something." Marcus hoped.

Merle gave Marcus a skeptical glance before turning around and disappearing into the fog. He could only see about ten feet in any direction now, it was getting quite claustrophobic. That is, it might feel claustrophobic if that were a fear of Captain Merle's. Thankfully it wasn't, and Merle pressed on with confidence down toward the rocky island's shore and small dock where he boat was secured.

Merle nearly slipped on the damp wood of the dock, but his sure-footedness was still in its prime, even if his age would tell otherwise. He hopped into the boat with the grace of a much younger fellow. Merle opened the toolbox near the control panel, moving some bandages, batteries, and a flare gun out of the way to get the mini sledgehammer at the bottom of the box. After picking up the sledge, he scoffed and placed it back in the toolbox, locked it, and picked up the whole thing. Merle thought this situation may take a bit of time if Dagmar was drunk or passed out. In fog like this, the extra batteries would likely come in handy.

Merle stepped back onto the dock with toolbox in hand. He continued up the natural staircase to the island's grassy surface when he heard something that whirled him back around. What he had heard, was the heavy thud of a footfall on the deck of his boat, where he had just stood. When he turned quickly to see, he saw a splash and the boat rocking slightly, as if someone had just jumped off. Merle glanced around, sweeping his flashlight across the water. All was quiet, and Merle was finally a little unnerved.

Just some trick of the fog. And this damned storm coming in. Another Nor’easter, just wonderful! Merle began is ascent back toward Marcus and the lighthouse.

When Captain Merle had disappeared into the mist, Marcus had only tried knocking once more before deciding to walk around the base of Stones Light itself. As Marcus circled the lighthouse, he became more uncomfortable. There was something deeply wrong-feeling about walking through fog this thick. Every nerve in his body was on edge and he worried they may begin to fray soon. He truly didn't want to deal with a dead body today, and additionally did not know how they would fix the lighthouse if Dagmar was dead anyway...

Why would he be dead? What business to I have jumping to such an extreme scenario? Merle knows what he’s doing. I know what I’m doing. No big deal. The dude is probably just drunk as shit, I’d probably pick up drinking again if I worked this gig too. His flashlight barely cutting the fog at all, Marcus finished his circumnavigation of the structure just as Captain Merle approached the door.

"Anything?" asked Merle.

Marcus shrugged and shook his head, "Nothing really. No movement, no noises, no nothing. You get the hammer?"

"Aye," said Merle as he placed the toolbox down and opened it, retrieving the small, heavy mallet. "The fish are jumping today too."

"What?"

"The fish are jumping right outta the water this morning. I heard one jump in my boat. Damndest thing."

"You saw it do that?"

"Saw somethin'," Merle replied. "Somethin' jumped in and outta my boat. Fish'll do that, though"

Merle sounded unsure for the first time of the day, and Marcus noticed. After a silent moment, Merle closed the toolbox and knocked once more on the door. "Hey Phil! It's Merle O'Hare! We're coming in! Gonna break the door, buddy! We’ve gotta check on ya, make sure things haven’t gone all sideways, now!"

Merle began hammering after waiting a few more seconds, starting from the bottom hinge. He alternated prying from the top, and pounding from the bottom to get the pins out. It was harder work than he had assumed, due to years of ocean-borne rust in addition to the door being solid metal. Merle was sweating from his brow as the first pin neared its exit. After one final pound, Merle pried it out with a grunt.

"Got this one."

A great, fearsome, almost metallic creak seemed to emanate from the lighthouse. Merle bolted upright and gripped his hammer with white knuckles. He and Marcus pivoted where they stood, searching around them for where the air-shaking creak came from. The deafening sound only lasted four seconds, but it silenced the two men for at least thirty.

"Strange time for the lighthouse to be settling, don't you think?" asked Merle, trying to sound jovial.

"Is that what you think it was?" Marcus replied.

"No idea. Coulda been the building settling. Coulda been a whale."

"Whales creak like that?"

"Well, not ‘creak’ exactly but their songs can be less melodic than you'd think. Nothin' spookier than being out on the drink in the pitch dark and hear one of 'em wailing away. Coulda been that. Maybe," said Merle, shrugging.

Merle pounded out the next hinge pin while Marcus braced the door from falling. They got it off its frame with some difficulty, leaning it against the outer wall and found themselves staring into the lighthouse's main room.

There was nobody there. The room was an entire home all crammed into one continuous space: the living area with a television, phone, and couch bled into the kitchen and bedroom indiscernibly. The only separate area was a bathroom which housed just a toilet and standing shower. After shining their flashlights around from outside the entrance, Marcus and Captain Merle stepped inside.

They moved slowly and carefully, for no reason other than that they were nervous. Merle went over to the bedroom area to look through the blankets and make sure Dagmar’s corpse wasn’t pickling to the mattress. Marcus walked toward the kitchen area, looking out a window where he saw only fog.

Merle picked up the cordless telephone and looked at the call history. "Hasn't made a phone call in almost a week."

Marcus nodded in silence and opened the refrigerator. Inside, there was a half-full gallon of spoiled milk, some yogurts, and an assortment of old-looking vegetables. The freezer held just an ice cube tray and a small partially full bottle of vodka. Marcus closed the fridge and made his way toward the stovetop and sink.

“Hey,” said Marcus, gesturing toward the bottle and raising his eyebrows.

Merle grunted as if to say “Yeah, maybe,” and flung the sheets from the bed and peered underneath, half expecting to see Phil Dagmar under there, dead or passed out. Instead, he saw strange indentations on the stone floor, and an unlit candle that was nearing the end its lifespan. He poked his flashlight underneath the bed, illuminating it. The indentations proved to be more carvings like the ones on the door frame. These ones were new and unweathered by the winds and sea mist. He ran his fingers over them and collected fresh rock dust on his palms.

Marcus went to the sink and looked out the window above it, looking toward where the boat was docked. It was slightly darker outside now and not simply foggy, due to the impending storm. Marcus hoped to get off the island before the storm hit; if his stomach was that bad on calm seas, he could only imagine how he'd feel on rough ones. As he pondered this, Marcus glanced away from the window and down at the sink, absentmindedly.

A crazed, bloodshot eye peered back at him through the drain. Marcus screamed out and flung himself backwards, knocking into the table and toppling two chairs.

Merle stood up from where he was laid next to the bed and ran toward Marcus, not knowing what had happened. Marcus was frantically reaching for his weapon in a panic but Merle grabbed him by the shoulders and stared into his eyes, calming him.

"Hey! Hey! What happened? What's going on?" Merle inquired.

"Someone is under there!"

"Where? What are you talking about?"

Marcus pointed at the sink. "I saw something looking at me trough the drain! There was an eye looking up at me! There’s a fucking eye in there!" Marcus stood up, shook himself off, and unholstered his weapon.

Merle slowly walked toward the cabinet under the sink, Marcus had his flashlight and weapon trained at it. Merle approached slowly, inching silently forward, creeping toward whatever was in the sink. He extended his hands toward the handles of the cabinet beneath the sink. Merle grabbed them and flung the cabinet open. Their flashlights illuminated none other than Phil Dagmar, who screamed in their faces. He looked haggard, his wild eyes betraying his unhinged mind.

Merle and Marcus took a deep breath of relief and pulled the shuddering Dagmar from under the sink. He smelled awful and was vibrating from head to toe. Marcus holstered his gun, but kept the clasp unbuttoned, just in case. He then righted the two overturned chairs, having Phil Dagmar sit down in one of them. Merle retrieved a blanket from the bed and wrapped Phil in it as he sat.

"I'll put a kettle on," said Merle, as Marcus sat across from Phil, still somewhat shocked at the situation.

Merle walked over to the sink to fill the teapot before he realized his mistake. He looked underneath, where Dagmar had been hiding. The pipes and fittings were all taken apart, presumably so Dagmar could fit himself inside. Merle stood back up and walked to the bathroom, filling the kettle from the shower head before placing it on the stove to boil.

"Philip Dagmar?" confirmed Marcus.

Dagmar was still shaking and hyperventilating as he jerked his head to look at Marcus.

"Mr. Dagmar are you okay? What's happened? What were you doing under there?"

Dagmar only shook in silence, before beginning to cry.

Merle and Marcus shared a silent look at one another before Marcus continued: "Mr. Dagmar do you know that the light is out upstairs?"

This stopped Dagmar from shaking and crying, and he looked up again in disbelief.

"I... thought it was a dream..." he said softly.

"What do you mean Mr. Dagmar?" Marcus asked.

"I had a dream... last night, I think. Fever dream.... Needed to hide..." he trailed off.

Marcus looked again at Merle, confused and already tired of this charade; this wasn't to be a quick check-up mission any more.

"Mr. Dagmar I need to talk to the captain over here for a moment is that okay?" asked Marcus, sighing. He wouldn’t get through to Dagmar.

I’m not a goddamn shrink. He’s gone loony as all hell.

Dagmar just sat and shook and mumbled to himself.

Marcus stood up and motioned for Merle to come with him close to the now permanently open door, which they now bookended.

"Well he's clearly off is damn rocker," commented Merle in a hushed tone. "What's the next move? We bring him back? Ask him about fixing the light, or what?"

"I think I should radio in. Tell them we have Dagmar, and that he's suffering some sort of... mental episode. We can see if the coast guard can sent a technician or something maybe, I dunno. Anyone else in town ever work out here on the light?"

Merle shook his head, "Nah, only Jeddy Walker but he's up at Willow Hills in a wheelchair taking pills with applesauce these days."

"Shit, okay I'll just radio in and see what they say. I want to get back to shore before this storm really hits."

Merle nodded in agreement and he walked back to the table and took a seat next to Dagmar, keeping a keen eye. Marcus walked outside to make the call.

Marcus stepped back out into the fog and noticed he couldn't even see the orange glow of the street lamps on shore any longer.

"Base this is Marcus and Merle calling from Stone's Light. I have a situation to report and get feedback on, over."

He waited with his hand on the receiver for a response. It did not immediately come.

"Repeating, this is Marcus and Captain Merle calling from Stone's Light. We've located the keeper, Mr. Dagmar and he's in a strange condition. I don't think he'll be able to fix the light himself. I need to speak to someone for some feedback on my situation, over."

Marcus turned around in exasperation when he still didn't receive an answer. Something bothered him deeply about this situation, he just couldn't put his finger on it exactly. He then noticed something on the door they had removed from the lighthouse. The side now facing Marcus was the one which would have faced inward, to the living area when the door was properly installed. Etched into the metal, was a bizarre sigil: a series of triangles, circles and intersecting lines. There also seemed to be that same odd language etched into the stonework laid out within it. It looked like a twisted family crest.

Marcus' radio suddenly crackled to life: "This is base, come in. We have a disturbance in town, I was just fielding phone calls. My bad,” said the radio.

"That's fine," Marcus replied. "Is this Officer Michaels?"

"Yes, Michaels here," the voice replied. "I didn't catch all of your transmission, can you repeat? The phone was just going off the damn hook."

"Yes we found the lighthouse keeper Phil Dagmar, but he's in an unstable mental state. We're gonna need other people to come out here and fix this light. I don't think he's up to it."

"Damn, hold on, phone again," said the man on the radio. There were thirty seconds of silence before he came back on. "I think you guys should probably come back to shore."

"Okay but what about this lighthouse? It's very dangerous, with the fog you can barely see the island ten feet away. We're gonna have a wreck on our hands sooner than later if we don't fix this."

There was thirty more seconds of radio silence before Officer Michaels came back. "Sorry anther phone call. You need to come back, there are... disturbances being reported in town and all available officers have already been dispatched, except me."

Marcus stopped pacing back and forth and asked: "What do you mean by that? 'Disturbances'?"

"First call was from the nursing home, some patient there's been going nuts I guess. Wrecking stuff, spitting on orderlies. They called us when he ripped out another patient's IV. They couldn't get him to calm down, even with some drugs. First car sent there radioed in for backup, so now two cars there. That just leaves you and the sheriff and me on duty. I gotta stay here at the radio so you two best wrangle Dagmar and come on back."

"Jesus... Fine," Marcus sighed. "We can try. He's in a state."

"I really don't know what else to tell you, man," the radio crackled. "The phone is starting to ring off the goddamn hook over here so I've got to go. Come back on the radio if you need anything else, otherwise just collect the keeper and come back here. Over and out."

Marcus sighed heavily and wiped a small amount of stressed sweat from his face, rubbing his temples afterward. He turned after taking in a deep breath, and reentered the lighthouse, glancing at the carved inner door once more as he did so. Stepping over the threshold he looked toward the table and saw Dagmar now weeping, and Captain Merle looking perplexed and concerned.

"It was a dream... She said... But it was a dream... They won't come... She just told me to..." Dagmar mumbled between sobs.

"What's the plan, Marcus?" asked Merle, sick of this shit.

"Shore says to collect Dagmar and come back. That's it."

"So we aren't gonna fix this?" said Merle, gesturing upward toward the spiral stairs. "Some boat is going to get smashed on the rocks if we don't, mark my words."

"I know, I know. I don't agree but it's orders, Merle. We have to do it. Something strange is happening on shore, I think. There's only one officer at the precinct and everyone else is on calls, apparently. Busy morning, we should get back." Marcus said, halfway happy that the plan now was just to get back to shore.

Merle looked at Marcus for another moment, and then shrugged. "Alright, I guess that's the plan."

Captain Merle walked toward the table and Dagmar, before sitting down, taking a deep breath, and adopting a sincere tone, as if speaking to an ill child.

"Okay Phil, Phil can you hear me? Phil please look at me," he said calmly. Phil Dagmar looked up from the floor which he had been staring and mumbling at, and stared into Merle's eyes.

"Phil we're going to go to shore okay? The light isn't working, and you seem a little under the weather so we can get you fixed up on shore, and then get the light fixed up out here, okay?"

"No, I shouldn't leave here. I can't leave... Need to stay..." Dagmar trailed off.

Marcus looked at Merle, who gave back an exasperated glance; both men on the same page. Merle sighed again and calmly replied: "Dagmar we should really get going, there is a storm coming and the door is off, and we need-"

Phil Dagmar snapped his head toward the door suddenly, stood up and screamed, falling backwards over his chair and writhing on the ground like a panicking dog. Dagmar scrambled away from the open doorway, shrieking. Merle and Marcus dropped to the floor alongside him in attempt to contain Dagmar's outburst, grabbing at his arms and uttering calming words as he shrieked. Dagmar was stronger than his slight frame let on, and even the full strength of both men wasn't enough to contain his flailing arms.

"What happened to the door!? Oh Lord, no! WHY!? WHAT HAPPENED!?" His last word was an extended cry that seemed to carry on the breeze coming in through the open doorway.

The two sane men were utterly perplexed as to what had just happened to make Dagmar act in such a rash and violent manner so suddenly. Marcus then thought of the sigil he saw on the door, how strange and ancient it looked, and then thought of how it now simply sat outside, leaned against the lighthouse, doing nothing. Marcus stood up suddenly in realization and ran to the doorway, bumping the table yet again and feeling his radio break off from his belt and clatter to the stone floor.

Marcus slipped and fell hard on the slick grass right outside, in a rush. He struggled briefly to regain his footing, and then grabbed the heavy metal door and picked it up with great effort. Captain Merle screamed for him from inside but Marcus was determined. He stepped one foot inside, dragging the heavy door with him, and propped it up against the doorframe, creating a makeshift barrier. He smiled and turned to the now silent Merle and Dagmar.

"See? That's better, isn’t it!"

Dagmar held Marcus' gun in his hand, sobbing quietly.

Merle stood there with his arms out in the way of "everybody stay calm". Marcus' right hand drifted toward his holster, remembering he had left it unclasped in case of emergency. The gun was gone, and this was the emergency.

That wasn’t my radio that fell off, it was my fucking gun.

"It won't work!" said Phil Dagmar, gesturing toward the propped up door. He was crying and snot dangled from his nose, falling into his mouth grotesquely. “Nothing will work! I’ve done it. I GONE AND DID IT! But it was just a dream... Just a dream... This is all... just...a...”

Dagmar placed the gun in his mouth, pulled the trigger, and spat crimson all over the stone wall behind him.

Marcus and Merle both yelled and then rushed to Dagmar. A small wisp of smoke slowly rose from Dagmar's mouth as blood poured from his nose and the immense wound on the back of his skull. Merle and Marcus looked at each other yet again, in silence. Marcus stood up and clicked his radio, still on his belt.

"Shore come in! Shore come in! We have an emergency. There's been an accident."

The radio remained silent.

"Shore come in! We need assistance! Dagmar has... shot himself,” Marcus choked a sob. “We need an evac out here immediately!"

There was nothing.

"What now?" asked Captain Merle.

Marcus' eyes were tearing up and he felt bile creep up into the back of his throat. Captain Merle came over and placed his hands on Marcus' shoulders.

"Listen, boy. This is a hell of a fuck up. But it's not your fuck up. Dagmar was losing it. We both tried, boy. I don't know or understand what is happening on shore but out here, we know we've done our best. We came out when nobody else did, and just stepped into a helluva mess. Now, take a minute to get it together. Go puke outside, take some sea air in, and we'll try your radio again. Got it, boy?"

A couple tears silently moved down Marcus' cheeks and he wiped them away, nodding at the fatherly captain, who patted his shoulders assuringly. The captain was a good man, and Marcus was glad to have him there today. A creak and thump from far upstairs shattered the silence. Both of them looked up sharply, dread falling over them like a cold shower. They silently moved together toward the spiral staircase.

The two confused men stared straight upward, looking all the way up the staircase which led to the light itself. They were sure nobody else was on the island. They were also sure they had just heard a noise from up there.

"Just gulls?" Marcus hoped.

"I'm going up there," said Captain Merle with defiance, taking a step.

"Whoa, whoa," halted Marcus, placing a hand on Merle's shoulder. "Our orders still stand. We were told to go back to shore."

"Sorry kid," Merle remarked. He motioned toward Dagmar's corpse. "Circumstances have clearly changed. Now it's also my duty to see if there is anything I can do to fix this light, or we're gonna have a lot more bodies like Phil's here only they'll be at the bottom of the bay! I wasn't crazy about leaving before going up to check the light in the first place, and now that a man has already died today, I'm not letting it happen again. Get your goddamn pistol off the floor and come with me. Or don't. I'm not letting the ocean take anyone today. If someone is up there, and they did this, they’ll catch the sole of my boot in their shit-ass teeth!"

As if Marcus wasn't already taken off guard by each and every event which happened to him so far today, Merle had never been cross with him before, and it made him feel like a scolded child. Being a man with morals however, Marcus knew Merle was right; they had to at least check, especially now. Marcus took his gun from the ground, now one bullet lighter, and joined Merle as they slowly ascended the metal staircase up toward the unlit light.

The stairs creaked and groaned as the two men delicately climbed them, for some reason both thinking they had to stay quiet even now. As they walked the rusted stairs, they could only see a small amount of what was above them, now all they could see was a small part of the light's cap and the grey skies above it. The only sounds they heard were their footfalls on the stairwell, echoing a little as they neared the top. Captain Merle reached the top first and grasped the chain link railing which connected the stairs to the circular platform above. He hoisted himself upward with a grunt and Marcus followed. Both men stood in silence as they observed the broken light.

"Well, that's that, then," remarked Merle, sighing.

The massive light was destroyed. A fire axe hung out of its side, balancing its long wooden handle on the jagged glass, and knocking the side of the light's metal base when the wind blew strong, making a thud, the same thud they had just heard. Merle circled the light, his steps making sparkly crunching sounds as his tough boots crushed the shattered glass on the floor. Marcus was just as perplexed. To him, the evidence dictated that a person, presumably Dagmar had seemingly broken the light with purpose, although that purpose was yet undetermined. Yes, the person who had done it, was more than likely lying still and dead on the ground floor.

"So, Phil Dagmar finally goes nuts out here on his own, breaks this light, kills himself in front of us? Think that was the plan the whole time?" asked Marcus with healthy skepticism.

"I'm not sure that man had any plan at all," replied Captain Merle. "I'll tell ya one thing though, he did a number on this. Look here, there's deep gouges on this side too, he tried hitting it plenty of times before he broke the glass, looks like. We can't fix this. It’ll need full replacement, no doubt."

"Well, he definitely wanted this thing broken. Any reason you can think of why he'd do this?"

"Didn't really know him all that well. Played cards with him a few times, but never a one-on-one type thing. Jeddy Walker, the keeper before Dagmar went a little nuts couple decades ago, that's why Dagmar took over. But Jeddy Walker never did anything like this, he was just a bit of a kook after a while. His wife passed too, like Dagmar's. No kids."

Marcus turned and looked at toward the shore. The fog was thicker, but strangely he could swear that the orange glow of the streetlights was much stronger now, as if they had been on a dimmer setting before. This thought left his mind quickly however as he saw a shadowed shape on Captain Merle's boat below.

"Merle. Merle! Look," he pointed.

Captain Merle saw exactly what Marcus did. The men sped down the spiral stairs, almost tripping more than once. They made it to the bottom and sped their way across the living area toward the doorway. As they approached the threshold, the door which Marcus had leaned up against the threshold suddenly flew off and away outside with blazing speed and force. Marcus and Merle stopped in their tracks. It was as if the door had been tied to a pickup truck, and then torn off like criminals breaking into a safe. The men stood shocked and motionless, staring into the gray expanse outside, from which they heard the metal door slam down on the island's rocks, somewhere off to the right.

Marcus hadn't felt this type of terror in years, decades even. There was a summer in particular at age 12 when his stepfather must have had some really great cocaine. He would come home, red-faced and sweaty and throw things at his mother. It came to a head when one of the things he threw was a knife, which embedded itself into a wall two inches deep, about a foot away from Marcus' favorite chair. His stepfather straightened up after a brief stint in jail.

Marcus and Captain Merle listened for any sign of what had taken the door off, but only wind and waves touched their ears. Merle looked down and around the room hurriedly.

"Marcus!" he whispered quickly. "Where's Dagmar?"

Marcus' eyes flashed white with panic as he whirled around and realized Dagmar was gone. There was still a massive pool of blood which was slowly becoming tacky, and was filling the room with an air of copper.

"How did he...?"

"I don't know. It's time to leave." Merle grabbed Marcus by the back of his jacket and they walked quickly to the exit. Marcus didn't question this notion, or the fact that in doing so, Merle was undermining his authority as a police officer. Merle was guiding Marcus by from behind, like a parent dragging their child into their great aunt's den for a too-tight hug.

As they swiftly closed in on the outside, Marcus heard a small sound behind them that Merle did not. He turned his head as he was forced forward by Merle, and for a brief glance, saw the bloody legs of Dagmar's corpse, slowly walking up the spiral stairs behind them, and paying the two men no mind whatsoever. Just as he realized what he was looking at, Merle whisked him through the threshold before he could even utter a sound.

When they set foot outside, they realized it was much colder now than it was, almost freezing. Merle nearly tripped over his toolbox and knocked it over, still there from earlier. Taking the door off seemed so long ago. The contents spilled and Merle hastily tossed them back in, missing a few batteries and leaving them for dead behind them. He kept the hammer in his right hand. If the orange streetlights on the shore weren't brighter moments ago, they certainly were now. The fog was a thick burning pumpkin color as the shore illuminated it. The confused men walked briskly and toward the dock when yet another curiosity caught their attention.

Looking down the rock staircase toward the dock, they saw Merle's boat. On it, were two dark figures. The same figures they had seen from the top of Stone’s Light. They were about human size and shape, but completely black. The things appeared as though they were actively absorbing light from around them. The figures seemed to be made up of scribbles, like a child's black crayon, writhing and jerking back and forth in almost imperceptibly small movements. Writhing masses of jagged lines, trembling like television static. They vibrated where they stood. The two human men were stopped, just observing the beings with morbid curiosity.

"Hello!?" Merle yelled. He could tell they were watching Marcus and himself, but he couldn't understand how he knew that. They had no eyes, no faces, no detail whatsoever. So pitch black they looked like they were made of night.

Merle realized now that Marcus wasn't fully aware of his surroundings. He had a blank stare, mouth agape, just looking at these beings. Some police officer, the poor kid is scared out of his damn mind, Merle thought. He couldn't really blame him after today's events, though. The captain had quite enough of this situation and raised the hammer high above his head in his right hand and shouted something guttural. This somehow did seem to startle the creatures who then jumped into the water, disappearing with an eerie grace, the boat barely rocking and just a small splash for each of them. The situation seemed oddly familiar to Merle.

They made their way down the stone steps and onto the slippery dock, Captain Merle still guiding Marcus by the shoulders to the boat.

"Did you s-see him?" asked Marcus in a scared whisper.

Merle was placing the toolbox back down under the main console, but left the hammer out, laying it behind the wheel. "See who, Marcus? Those shaky bastards?"

"Dagmar. Did you see him?"

Merle sighed heavily. "Yes of course I saw him, Marcus. What the shit are you talking about? I can’t be losing you too, boy. Get it together." Merle was running out of his saintly patience. The situation was becoming more and more bizarre by the minute.

"I mean just now, as we left. Did you see him?"

"No, Marcus. I don't know where he went. Especially since he only had half a damn head when we last saw him. I don't know what's going on but just let me get us back to shore and we can figure it out with the chief. Maybe we can ask Jeddy Walker up at Willow Hills if he has any clue. If he's even talking these days..."

"That's the nursing home, right?" Marcus asked, almost remembering something that escaped him with anxious immediacy.

Merle nodded but didn't say a word as he started the engine and began disembarking from the island of Stone's Light. He had been through a great many challenging endeavors in his days on the sea, some quite bizarre, but today had a different and new feeling. Something green and ill in the pit of his intestines, coupled with something pitch and mean in the back of his mind.

Marcus huddled in the boat, clutching a flashlight and scanning the waters with restless eyes. His grasp on his own mind seemed to be weakening with every wave they passed over on the way back to shore. His first and only trip to Stone's Light would assuredly be one he never forgot, however much he wanted to. Marcus tried to see a bright side to this horrific day, in attempt to calm his frantic brain.

Wait 'til the boys at the station hear about this one. Maybe I won't have to do this terrible detail with Captain Merle all the time now.

Marcus would more than likely leave out the vomiting parts, and maybe embellish that Dagmar, in his insanity, ripped his gun from Marcus' belt with shocking strength, as opposed to revealing that he had simply slipped it out of the unfastened holster. Fucking rookie mistake... Thinking about Dagmar snapped Marcus' mind suddenly back to a shadowy place, however. That shadow seemed ever growing.

"Marcus!" said Captain Merle in a shout-whisper. "There he is!"

Merle was looking behind them, back toward the island lighthouse. Above the fog, at the top of the tower, Dagmar was standing against the railing, staring out at them. Blood still trickled out of his mouth, floating upward and into the sky and dissolving, unimpeded by something as earthly as gravity. Dagmar's face was screwed up into a grimace which laid somewhere in between sadness and malice as he loomed above and away from Merle and Marcus like a ruler over his kingdom.

A few splashes made both men whip their heads forward once again. In front of them, standing on the bow of the boat was another all-black figure. It simply stood, making no noise and no movements, other than the odd constant vibration. Both men were startled enough to yelp and Merle fell over onto his backside, knocking the tool box over. The figure took a step toward them as Merle felt around for his hammer. Marcus was frozen in place, utterly useless and nearly insane with fear. The figure took another step forward.

And another.

"Shoot it Marcus!" demanded Captain Merle.

Marcus didn't even twitch, entirely transfixed by what he was seeing. He did not move a single muscle. Merle saw his hammer, it was still on the front dash of the boat, too close to the being to obtain safely. He shifted his weight backward and found his hand touching the contents of the tool box: batteries, flashlight, some screws, nails... and the flare gun. Merle gripped the rubberized handle of the gun and confidently swung his arm forward, bringing the figure into his sights. He took aim with the confidence of a Captain, and pulled the trigger.

The flare shot out with a thudding pop and flew directly at its intended target, striking it high on the chest, near what could be considered the thing’s neck. The flare was blinding for a couple seconds, and then dimmed quickly. What was once illuminating the entire boat and the water around it, was now merely a candle light flickering in the thing’s darkness. The blackened being seemed to envelop and absorb the light. The flare did not shed light on any detail on the thing. The being remained completely made of pure dark, like a living black hole. Merle was aghast and out of ideas. The dark figure then suddenly pivoted and jumped back into the ocean. It felt to Merle that they had been simply surveyed, examined even.

Merle turned around to see Marcus standing up again, looking with a shocking intent in the direction of shore. Marcus squinted to focus on the distant sand through the thick fog, and took in a sharp breath.

"What, Marcus?" asked Merle.

"Something has happened. I think we did something."

"How do you mean? Why's that? What could we have done, boy?"

Soon enough, Merle had his answer.

As they neared the beach, the fog became less dense, and they could now see the orange shoreline. Now, however it was lit not by the streetlamps, but a large bonfire on the beach. The men could see from the corners of their eyes more creatures walking out of the ocean and onto the shore, as if there were stairs built especially for them. They would calmly exit the water, and then take off with immense speed in a seemingly random direction, as if compelled. Whenever Marcus or Merle attempted to look directly at this firelit event, they couldn't quite see the figures directly. When their eyes tried to focus on them in the firelight, the figures would disappear. In their peripheral vision however, they observed hundreds exiting the bay, in mere minutes. An invasion. The Normandy of the End.

Merle ignored the main dock and instead approached a smaller one, closer to where the bonfire was located on the sand. He looked at Marcus who still stared wide-eyed at the chaotic and ethereal happenings on the beach. Merle turned his gaze toward the street beyond the beach and noticed two crashed cars, one into a stop sign and the other halfway inside the post office, over the sidewalk and through the front window. They heard a scream, seemingly female coming from deep within the town somewhere. They'd never find where it came from. The fog was clearing, but it was only replaced by the smoke of the enormous bonfire.

Merle pulled up alongside the dock, jumping off with haste and tying the boat down. Marcus was still standing on deck, transfixed by what he was seeing. Merle couldn't believe it either, but his years at sea taught him that awestruck panic only led down dangerous paths. Merle jumped back into the boat and grabbed Marcus by his shoulders as was almost customary at this point, nearly nose-to-nose with him, shaking him violently.

"Marcus! Snap the hell to attention boy!" Merle bellowed into his face, his storm gray eyes boring deep into Marcus'. "You are a police officer. Something insane is happening and people need your help. I need your help, Marcus! Right now! COME ON!"

It worked to a degree, Marcus’ eyes looked alive again, but terrified beyond comprehension.

"But what do we do!? How can we help anyone!? We have no clue what's happening! Have you seen anything like this!? Ever!?" replied Marcus, finally coming to grips a bit.

"No, Marcus I don't think anyone has ever seen anything like this," Merle said. "But we have to try. We have to. My wife is still somewhere in town, and we need to get you back to the police station. There is a lot going on that I don't understand right now but we can't just give in. Haven't yet after all this time and I don't plan to now. We’re better than that."

Merle let go of Marcus' shoulders and turned around, grabbing his hammer, the flare gun, and the single extra flare, putting it in the pocket of his slicker. Marcus was crouched down taking deep breaths, only standing after regaining some composure and balance. They climbed out of the boat and stood on the dock, turning toward the shore to observe the event. Dark figures were still emerging from the black waters and sprinting off in random directions, the fire still blazing away, casting the orange glow which once came from only the streetlights.

It was magical. Hypnotizing, even. Merle had felt this way once before, when he was on the offensive during the war. Under cover of night, his squad leader had silently tossed a torch into the camp of their sleeping enemy, burning some alive. They had shot the others as they tried to escape. There was something inhumanly attractive and disgustingly invigorating being a witness to real, stark violence like that. Merle had honestly thought he'd never feel that way again. He had hoped, at least. Merle felt his mind drifting as he stared at the beachfront invasion. His vaporous thoughts moved to the dark corners of his mind where he sent bad dreams and rotting memories to stay like misbehaved children. His mind had just now let everyone out of punishment. A swirling enigmatic mass of those thoughts, angry from years of ignorance, burst into the forefront of Merle's mind and he could no longer see anything.

Time left him.

Earth left him.

Everything left him.

He was so alone. Alone in a void of hatred and anonymity. Merle seemed to float into the abyss...

BANG!

Marcus was yelling and moving quickly toward Merle, who was on the ground, and bleeding a little. Marcus took aim and shot twice more at one of the beings who had snuck behind Merle, touching its hand to his back, poisoning his mind. A burst of black scribbles exploded out of the being with each connecting bullet and it shrieked at Marcus aggressively before jumping back into the ocean, presumably to heal in retreat. Marcus had now recovered from his brief journey into near-catatonia, and when he saw Merle fall down with a vacant stare and the thing touching his back, he knew the same thing must have been happening to him earlier on the island. A sort of nauseous and dark trance. He had noticed the dark figure approaching Merle from behind, with one bony, black finger extended and vibrating. Maybe it was his policeman's training, or maybe it was that he had grown to enjoy Merle's company as a father figure in this small and lonely town, but something had made Marcus reflexively unholster his pistol and open fire at the figure. Almost immediately after the bullets struck their target, the hypnosis-like effect on Merle had lifted. Marcus could see a slight murky blue-green cloudiness leave Merle's eyes as he sat up on the ground, wiping away some blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. The men looked at each other yet again; today had been rife with concerned glances.

Marcus helped Merle to his feet, which for the first time today he seemed unsteady on. There they were: two men, standing confused amidst what seemed like the apocalypse. Marcus still held his pistol at the ready, watching the creatures. None dared approach them again yet, and were still darting this way and that, spreading like a virus through town.

Marcus noticed a strange looking man, holding an impossibly black umbrella walking down Main Street, seemingly uninhibited by the surrounding chaos, almost refreshed by it. Merle saw the figure with a vague recognition, but then recognized someone else, closer, who was approaching them out from behind the humongous bonfire. It wasn't long before they had both forgotten the umbrella-holding man, who spun and tiptoed out of their view and down a side street shortly thereafter.

The man who Merle recognized was wildly old-looking, like a wizard or a Greek philosopher out of a painting. Even as he slowly and defiantly walked toward Merle and Marcus, this man exuded a bizarre wisdom they both somehow felt in their chests. He exuded something else too, something seemingly repellant to the dark beings still racing out of the waves. The things would emerge from the sea and upon nearing this man, recoil in annoyed pain, some of them growling or swiping their black scribbled claws at him, before running in a different direction. He paid them no mind as he walked. Marcus trained his weapon on the man suspiciously, looking at Merle from the corner of his eye, noticing he was deep in thought. The random old man's presence made the already mind-numbing scene even more incomprehensible. Who was this person, walking amongst the chaos, unbothered? As the old man neared, Merle noticed his face was screwed up and scrunched full of rage. Merle connected a few dots of recognition in his mind and uttered:

"Jeddy? Jeddy Walker? Is that you?"

Marcus lowered his gun as the old man approached. The old man had rage in his eyes. Marcus was confused, and then remembered. Merle had mentioned him as the previous lighthouse keeper, years ago. Jeddy Walker.

The beings were still blasting forth out of the swells, which were becoming larger as the storm rolled closer to shore. The trio knew the real storm was already here, though. None of the darklings approached the three men now, though, they only continued their frantic sprints off toward some unknown destination, destruction on their minds.

Jeddy stared holes though Merle and Marcus. His wizened eyes were kind but angry, like when a parent is upset. The men were silent, only the noises of the storm and the bonfire swirled around them. It was oddly quiet considering all that was happening. The dark skies glowed orange by way of the fog and bonfire. More of these light orange spots, were popping up around town, further inland. Their glows punctuated by the thin streams of acrid black smoke which soon rose from them into the sky. Fires, probably a dozen or so throughout town. Suddenly the silence was broken with a statement from Jeddy that both explained everything and nothing. Jeddy took a deep, haggard old man's breath, held it for a moment, looked at the mentally battered Merle and Marcus, and then:

"Which one of you damned fools put out the light?"

2 notes · View notes

captainoftherollyjoger · 7 years

Text

The Eye of the Storm: Chapter Six

Emma and Hook learn something they did not expect about the Eye of the Storm, how far will Emma go to see her family again?

I’m really enjoying writing this! It has surprised me with the turns it has taken!

Prologue : Chapter One : Chapter Two : Chapter Three : Chapter Four : Chapter Five

Ao3

Emma continued scrubbing hard at the boards, the blood was starting to fade, but she feared there would always be a mark. It would have to be painted. Crew members started to stir and got on with their tasks for the day, some gave her kind looks and made sure she was okay. A few helped her paint the boards, no one on the ship wanted the memory.

“Swan.” Her and the pirates all stood to attention when he approached. “At ease.” They all relaxed and got back to work, apart from Emma. “Swan, may I have a word?” It wasn’t a question really. She followed him to his cabin. His desk was back to normal, maps and charts scattered about, he sat at his desk whilst she stood opposite him. “Your wounds look better.”

“All thanks to you. Is there anything you need me for, sir?”

“Aye. I think it’s time we start planning to get the Eye. I’ve had enough now.” He sighed.

“Of course, sir. The sooner we get it, the sooner I get to go home.” Her words stung him, she seemed so desperate to get away. Though he wasn’t surprised, she hadn’t seen her family in months.

“So, you said it’s sitting on an island. Do you know which one?” She nodded but looked cautious.

“Sir. The thing is, I told you it’s there for the protection of all, I just don’t think this is something you should be messing with.” She warned.

“I need it Emma, I’m the one who got the damn thing is the first place. I have to get it back. You know the power is possesses.”

“Yes, it can bring back the dead. But at what price? There’s a curse, Hook.” He actually didn’t know of the curse, he knew there was one, but never paid attention to the details. “In order to enact it’s necromancing powers, you have to give up the thing you love most.”

“Then we have no worries, princess.” She rolled her eyes at his name. “It’s hard to give up something you don’t have. Plus, I don’t believe it silly superstition. Everyone was worried about having a blonde on board, we haven’t had too much bad luck.”

“Your first mate is dead.” Had he forgotten already?

“No, my first mate is standing right in front of me. Smee let her feelings cloud her judgement. Now I don’t want to hear no more. Which island, Swan?”

Emma sighed and came around to his side, she leant over the table and surveyed his maps. He had way too many, she found one with King Eric’s kingdom mapped out in great detail, as well as the surrounding islands. She skimmed her hand along the map.

“Here. This one.” She tapped it, he stood up beside her and leaned over.

“Are you certain?”

“Of course, it’s the most dangerous. Full of wild plants and animals. No one travels there lightly, and if they do, it’s only around the borders.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less. It won’t be easy getting to those waters, they’re relatively close to the kingdom, and there will be people on high alert for my ship.”

“I thought this ship could turn invisible whenever you wanted?”

“You’ve been listening to the wrong stories.” He laughed. “Alas, my ship cannot. We’ll have to hide around another island, and row in. I intend on leaving my crew for a few weeks, whilst we get this sorted.”

“They won’t be happy with that, Captain.” She warned him.

“They can all come back, I just can’t have them asking questions. You need to make an audience, tell them they have a couple of weeks off, which port would they like to go to. They will have all gold they require. This is too important, Emma.”

“I don’t like it when you call me Emma.”

“Why?”

“It reminds me of being a princess.”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“Of course it is, but for now, I just want to focus on being a pirate.” She smirked. He nodded. They continued perusing the maps and made a plan.

“Attention, mates!” Shouted Emma. They all turned to look at her. “Our dear Captain has asked me for your opinions. He has some very urgent, private business he needs to attend to. Unfortunately, that means dropping you at the next port.” Unhappy shouts came. “Quiet!” They all shut up quickly. “Our Captain wants you to see this as an absence of leave, he wants his dear crew mates back. However, he wants to treat you all. Each man and woman will be given twenty gold coins to do what they will. It’s your job to decide exactly where you want to go. The Captain will take you to the majority’s favourite port, he will return three weeks later for you all. You can pillage, plunder, bed who you desire! Doesn’t that sound good?” They all cheered, a break would be good for them. “Decide amongst you where you wish to go.” They all huddled around each other. “Master Lewis!” She called.

“Aye, ma’am?” A tall, thin man peered over the crowd.

“You will find the Captain in his quarters and inform him of your decision, got that?”

“Aye, ma’am!”

Half an hour later, Hook and Emma heard a knock at the door. They were studying the maps and books hard, hoping for anymore information, they would need to be fully prepared for what lay ahead. The amount of books he had was astounding.

“Enter.”

“Sir, it’s about the port.”

“Ah, yes. Where would you like to go?” He smiled, looking up.

“The crew decided on Port Downton.”

“Certainly. Tell them to set sail.” He nodded at the man, then looked back down at the books. Master Lewis left the room as quickly as he had entered. “We’ll go into port for a day, fetch some supplies we may need.”

“That’s a good idea. When will we arrive?” She asked.

“In about two days time, the port is a good one for people sharing secrets. For a price, we may be able to find out anymore information we need.”

The days passed smoothly, the crew were all excited for a few weeks of rest, Hook had give them enough money to survive quite happily. They deserved a treat, he had said. When they arrived at the port, Hook and Emma went in search of their supplies. They ensured they had enough medical supplies, most had been used on Emma's wounds. They acquired enough food that stayed fresh for a few weeks, no doubt they would have to rummage about the forest though. An old man was selling books on a cart, Emma approached him whilst Hook was searching for more recent maps.

“Hello, dear. How can I help you?” He smiled, he had very few teeth, but his eyes were friendly.

“I was wondering if you had anything about the legends of the Eye of the Storm? I find it so fascinating.” She smiled, batting her eyelashes.

“Oh dear, I daren’t keep books on that. Nasty work, miss. I hope you’re not after it.”

“What can I say, I like a little adventure.”

“I hope you’re married, and willing to give your husband up.” He warned.

“Married?”

“Aye, the royals who placed it on that godforsaken island, cast a spell to ensure that only married couples could retrieve the stone together. You see, the Eye has a curse on it. To use it, you must destroy the heart of the thing you love most, so surely that would be one’s partner, why would anyone kill the love of their life? Difficult business, no need to worry yourself.”

“Swan!” Called Hook, he was striding towards them. “Have you found anything?” She immediately grabbed his sleeve, thanked the man, and dragged him away. “Swan, what is this about?”

“You have to be married, Hook. To get the stone, it’s protected by a spell so only married couples can use it. No one would kill their partner to bring back the dead. Why the hell is that not in any of the hundreds of books you possess? What are we going to do?” He seemed to ponder her words for a few minutes. Then a smile grew on his face.

“Marry me, Swan?”

“Are you crazy?” She huffed, she turned on her heel and walked away. He chased her and grabbed her arm.

“If all we need is to be married, then what’s the problem. We can barely stand each other, we certainly don’t love each other. I wouldn’t need to crush your heart, I don't love anything, the loophole still stands. If all we need is the title of a marriage, surely it's worth it!”

“Hook! Do you know how crazy you sound? I’m not marrying you for the sake of some jewel.”

“Then looks like you’re never getting home, princess.” He spat.

“I bloody well am. You try and stop me.”

“What’s your problem? You said you would help me.”

“Help you! Not marry you. I want to marry someone because I love them, Hook! Not so you can get some stupid jewel. Why do you want it so desperately anyway?”

“To bring back Liam!”

“That’s what this has all been about? All these years?”

“Of course it is! He’s my brother and my captain, I promised I’d follow him to the end of the earth, I won’t let him down.” A rawness she didn’t expect came from him. “Emma, I know it’s a lot to ask of you. I just really, really want my brother back.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“I’ll marry you. It’s not like anyone else ever impressed me.” She sighed. A big grin spread across his face.

“Swan! Thank you so much! I can’t believe it.” A boyish excitement came out in him, was this how he used to be? Before all the darkness consumed him?

Hook and Emma found a suitable pair of rings from an old woman, they paid a nice price for them. It was her wedding ring after all. She insisted. They found a ship’s captain who was more than happy to wed the couple on the open sea, they claimed they were eloping because neither of their families agreed. Add a sob story to something and people will do almost anything. Hell, she was marrying him because of his sad story. They exchanged some quick, made up vows. The generic kind, no way was she making up pleasant, loving vows for him.

“Do you, Killian Jones take this woman to be your wife?”

“I do.” A large grin appeared on his face.

“Do you, Emma Swan, take this man to be your husband?”

“I do.” She tried to say it with as much as conviction as possible, she really did.

“Then I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Kiss? How had she forgot? It was too late, Hook was moving in closer. His hands went to her hips, his breath was on her lips, before she knew it she was leaning into him, her eyes closed. He kissed her tenderly, it was not what she had been expecting. It was over before it even began. She let out a flustered sigh, and she saw him smirking. Bastard.

Slowly, they walked back to where his ship was docked. They didn’t say a word to each other. The rings on their fingers meant nothing, just part of the adventure she had been roped into. He decided he wanted to set sail that night and she wasn’t going to stop him. The sooner this was over with, the better. Together, they worked to get the Jolly Roger out of port, the lights from the town were bright and it was a full moon. They let the anchor down when they had sailed a fair way from the port.

Emma stared out to sea, she kept twisting the ring on her finger. This is not what she planned. What would her parents even say? Would she tell them? Her father would kill him, then her, then him again. She was pulled from her thoughts when arms wrapped around her waist and a nose snuggled into her neck.

“I think you’re forgetting something about what married couples usually do.” He smirked. She turned quickly and shoved him.

“Get off me.”

“I’m teasing, love.” He put his arms up in surrender. “I’m sorry.” She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m grateful, honestly. Thank you for doing this, I understand I have taken something precious away from you.”

“You realise that you’re going to be a prince consort, right? When the kingdom becomes mine.”

“Prince? Well, I hadn’t thought about that. Not my kind of life, love. Looks like we’ll be an estranged couple.”

“Best news I’ve heard all day.” She smiled at him sarcastically. “I can’t wait for this to be over.”

#cs ff #captain swan fanfic #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fanfic

7 notes · View notes

alexandralyman · 7 years

Text

Beyond the Horizon - Chapter 39

Fic Update - Beyond the Horizion

Summary: When Princess Emma's ship is captured by the Jolly Roger and Captain Killian Jones, she offers herself as a hostage for ransom if he will let the ship and the other passengers go. With Emma, Killian remembers the honour he once held dear, and Emma catches glimpses of the gentleman Killian had been. Against all odds, the pirate and the princess begin to fall for each other.

Read this chapter on ff.net here

Chapter Thirty Nine The Jewel of the Realm

The captain's private mess on the Jolly had gone unused for years. Back in the days when she was still the Jewel of the Realm, proud flagship of His Majesty's Royal Navy, Liam had always sat at the head of the table to preside over late night suppers of fish pie and ruby red claret from his private stock, served by nervous young ensigns in tall, starched collars and freshly-brushed coats. It was considered a high honour among the crew to receive an invitation to dine at the captain's table and they all jockeyed for the best seats closest to him, but a chair was always reserved for his first lieutenant to sit at his right hand.

"I will follow you, to the ends of the earth."

After Liam's death the room was left shut, as the newly appointed captain preferred to dine alone in his quarters without all the pomp and circumstance and wash down the fish pie with copious amounts of rum instead of a modest amount of claret. Half the time the food went uneaten entirely, growing cold and congealed on the plate while he drank in solitude by the amber light of a single lamp and tried to ignore the empty chair at his left hand.

But now the door had been opened on his order, the floor was swept and the windows cleaned, while the long-neglected table was polished and buffed to a high shine. It wasn't dinner, but he'd invited the highest ranked of the Jolly's crew, Smee and Doyle, their royal guests, the king and queen, Fergus, and somewhat grudgingly, Lieutenant Courtice, to meet with him and the captain's mess was the only room on the ship that was both large enough to fit everyone and give them privacy to discuss the next course of action. They all took seats at the long table save for Fergus, who perched on a stool in the corner while the captain's chair at the head was left empty. King David and Queen Snow White had both glanced at it and seemed to hesitate for a moment before exchanging a silent glance and choosing to sit side by side opposite Smee and Doyle.

Killian led Emma to the chair he used to occupy and pulled it out for her, holding her hand as she lowered herself down and brushing a light kiss over her knuckles before seating himself in Liam's former place. All faces turned to him expectantly and Doyle gave the tiniest nod of approval.

"New orders, Captain?" Smee asked.

He got right to the point, "The Fairy Queen has decreed that we must leave her island and return to the Enchanted Forest."

Emma glanced down at the table when he made the announcement, while her parents shared another of those looks that seemed to speak volumes without either of them uttering a word. The Enchanted Forest was their home just as the Jolly was his, and they'd been away from it for so long, all three of them. It was Snow White who finally spoke, one hand resting on her husband's arm with her fingers curled tight around his sleeve and a sudden flinty look in her eye. It was familiar, the gleam of someone who had just spotted that first glimpse of a possible prize in the distance. Unexpected, to say the least, on the face of a queen.

"So we will rendezvous back with the Mermaid's Song on the other side then?" she stated more than asked, and Killian felt his hackles rise. The other ship was presumably still waiting for them, expecting the royal family to return and resume their place aboard as passengers for the trip back. He tapped his index finger lightly on the polished teak and gave the queen and king a tight-lipped smile.

"While you and your husband are, of course, free to return to the Song if you so choose, the princess is staying here."

With me

Another voice rose at once, indignant, "Now, wait just a minute-"

"Lieutenant," he interrupted, his tone turning as sharp as a knife, "Need I remind you that you are aboard my ship at the moment and you would do well to keep your mouth shut unless spoken to and try to remain in what little is left of my good graces."

Lieutenant Liam Courtice shifted in his seat, giving a somewhat clipped nod, but the muscle ticking angrily in his jaw gave away his true feelings on the matter. Killian glanced away for a moment, feeling the sudden tension pulling his shoulders tight under his shirt. The younger man's presence on the Jolly continued to chafe at him like an ill-fitting pair of boots, rubbing him almost raw in spots and making him short-tempered and irritable whenever he spotted Courtice on the deck or passed by him in the corridors. The ghost of his brother seemed to hover over him like a spectre, he had Liam's name, the naval commission he'd worked so hard for, he even looked a little bit like him, his brown hair curling at the tips and a dusting of stubble on his unshaven jaw that made the resemblance much more striking then when he'd been clean shaven and his hair had been hidden under his hat on the Song. But at least the bastard didn't have blue eyes, both he and Liam had taken after their mother in that respect instead of their pathetic excuse for a father.

"If the captain says she stays, then she stays," Smee piped in, folding his arms across his chest and tucking his chin down towards it, giving him the appearance of a stubborn bulldog refusing to release a bone. Doyle looked faintly amused and on the other side of the table the king scowled heavily.

"If our daughter stays, then so do we."

King David folded his arms across his chest and leaned forward in the chair next to his wife, mimicking the first mate and looking no less stubborn.

"If Their Majesties and Her Highness stay, then so do I."

Courtice dared to speak again, also folding his arms across his chest with his jaw set in a way that was all-too familiar and did nothing to improve Killian's temper.

"So it's settled then," Snow White's voice was more even than her husband's but no less firm when she met his gaze and decreed with a hint of a smile, "We're all staying here."

"Fine!" he yelled, suddenly exasperated beyond measure, "Everyone's staying on the bloody ship!"

There was silence at that and Emma reached over, wordlessly touching his wrist. His hand opened and her palm slid against his, their fingers lacing together. The tension drained from his shoulders and he felt himself relax, though he still threw Courtice a black look. If he was so bound and determined to stay on the Jolly then he'd quickly learn there were no idle hands aboard the ship and he'd be assigned bilge-pumping duty all the way back to the Enchanted Forest. The thought reminded him of one of the reasons he'd called the meeting in the first place and he turned to Smee.

"Mr. Smee, what's the current status of the stores? How long before we need to make port?"

"Fishin's been good these last few days, Captain, we've laid in a fair supply of dried...well, no one knows exactly what they are but they're good eating. Cook reports that everything's kept fresh as a daisy, even that barrel of lard that he thought was about to turn rancid. Says it's like magic."

"Hmm," Killian mused, suspecting that it probably was magic, the power of the island keeping the provisions from the normal amount of rot and decay that no amount of salting or pickling could completely prevent. The same magic that had infused the hot spring, healing Emma's bruise and relieving old aches and pains he'd had for so long he'd forgotten they were even there. He'd taken a knife to the ribs once not long after turning pirate, surprised by an older crewman who got it in his head that he should be captain after drinking too much brandy pilfered from their very first prize. The man's breath had stunk like sour cherries, and his blood had been just as red when Killian had twisted his wrist and sunk the blade deep into his belly.

It was also the first time a man had died by his hand, and the shock of watching the life drain from his eyes was worse than the pain of his own injury. He'd taken the crewman's one valuable, a silver ring that he still wore on his thumb as a reminder that any of the men could turn on him, and ordered the body to be dumped overboard and the deck swabbed clean before retreating alone to his quarters to treat the slash across his side as best he could. It had throbbed for days and he had to wear a close-fitting waistcoat over his shirt at all times to help keep the bandage in place, gritting his teeth and resisting the urge to favour the injured side in front of the rest of the crew. He was captain, and he had to appear fully recovered even if he wasn't or someone else might try to take advantage of his weakened state. It had healed eventually, but the spot would still twinge at times when he arched his back or twisted to look over his shoulder. But that tiny remnant had disappeared entirely, scars had begun to fade away and he almost felt like a lad again, instead of a man so near to thirty. Even his rings looked new, the metal shiny and untarnished unlike the memories that accompanied them. He wondered if perhaps the Fairy Queen might grant himself and Emma another visit to the hot spring before they cast off, if the water had healed them once then perhaps it would let her sleep without the bad dreams that had plagued her all the way across the ocean. Even if she didn't allow it, he vowed he would find a way to bring Emma back there in secret.

"Doyle, how about the Jolly? Are you finished with all the repairs? We've got a long voyage back to the Enchanted Forest and it's the wrong time of year to be sailing east, she needs to be completely seaworthy before we leave."

The ship creaked around them, as if the old girl wanted to weigh in herself on the state of her readiness for the weeks ahead.

"She's shipshape right down to the bilges, Captain and there's not so much as a single barnacle clinging to the hull. A fair wind and we'll be cutting through the waves like a hot knife through butter."

"I agree with Mr. Doyle."

Killian turned to Emma's father, a bit surprised that he had also decided to weigh in. His wife turned to look at him and he patted her hand.

"I may not know much about ships, but I still know my way around a hammer and nails. The craftsmanship is excellent, even better than the Mermaid's Song and I don't think Eric himself could find any fault with it. In fact, I think we should look into expanding our own fleet when we get back, if the last few months have proved anything, our kingdom needs better and faster ships like this one."

The praise was unexpected and he blinked at the king while he felt a flush creep up the back of his neck, shocked to hear that he considered the Jolly to be superior to his own royal fleet. But then the Jewel has been considered a marvel in her day, unmatched in the whole of the realm. She had even sprouted wings once and flew faster than any bird...but that was a long time ago, and the Pegasus flag was nothing but ash on the wind now.

"But even so, we barely managed to slip away from the Enchanted Forest on the Song before Regina was able to get a blockade in place," King David continued, a deep furrow appearing between his brows, "We heard the rumours in every port during our voyage, no ships could get in or out without being thoroughly searched. How do you plan to get past it, Captain?"

Since the night by the hot spring when he'd come up with the idea in the first place he'd spent hours mulling it over, taking the plan apart and putting it back together in his mind while Emma was with the Fairy Queen. It was risky, to be sure, but there was no way to engage an enemy without an element of risk and he'd faced his fair share of them over the years. The king's officers, chasing after the deserter who'd stolen his ship. Other pirates, rivals for territory who were eager to take him down a peg or two by cannon fire or hand-to-hand combat. His own men, from time to time, traitors with greed in their eyes and knives under their sleeves. None had ever had magic, though, real magic, not like the sleight of hand he used in taverns to cheat at dice or cards. And now he was going to try to cheat the Evil Queen herself, with the one he valued most as the stakes in the most dangerous gamble he'd ever undertaken.

"We don't," he said, "We go in head on and give the Evil Queen exactly what she wants. For a price, of course. We'll raise the crimson flag and sail openly into port, where word will quickly spread to the queen's ears that the Jolly Roger captured Princess Emma's ship and sunk it with all hands save her and one foolhardy lieutenant."

He gave Courtice a smile at that, showing a bit of teeth and enjoying the way the other man flinched, sinking down in his seat and shoulders hunching under his uniform.

"Naturally I'll demand a hefty ransom, and insist that it must be paid by the queen herself, in person, to ensure her agents don't try to skim a bit off the top for themselves. When we make the trade, that will be the time to strike."

Killian's tone was casual but he felt the worry churning in his gut like bile, he'd never backed down from a fight in his life and he had the scars to prove it, but he'd never bet anything he wasn't willing to lose before. Now...the pull of the open sea just beyond the island thrummed low in his blood like the rolling tide, there was still time to sail away from the Enchanted Forest and Emma would be his forever, safe from the queen under the alias of Eala Jones. Liam had followed their king's orders blindly to his death, what if the same fate awaited her? He didn't fully trust the Fairy Queen, something told him that behind that doll-like face and fanciful gowns she knew far more than she was letting on about the strange prophecy that had brought them all to her land.

"The mission that will bring peace to the kingdom, and glory to the Jones brothers."

The words echoed in his mind while King David's frown grew even deeper, "Shouldn't we try to get back to the palace in secret?" he said, more a statement than a question, "If Regina knows we're coming she'll have time to prepare an attack."

"There's not a blockade we've encountered yet that we couldn't give the slip, Captain," Smee offered, sitting up a little straighter and puffing out his chest, "The Jolly-"

"The Jolly is the fastest ship in all the realms but even she is incapable of travelling overland," Killian reminded him, "It's not the blockade we need to worry about, we'd have to find somewhere to dock in secret, acquire horses, ride by night and avoid the Evil Queen's spies. But if she believes her quarry has already been caught, then she'll think herself victorious and her guard will be down."

He knew that to make his plan work it would have to look like he cared nothing for Emma, disdained her even, and present himself to Regina as the notorious pirate Captain Jones, a villain after her own dark heart. The sort of man who forced a captured princess to her knees and stole everything she had of value, her gold, jewels...and her maidenhead. He shifted a bit in his seat, the tension creeping up his spine again as he steeled himself for what was to come. The woman he loved...the woman he'd pledged himself to both body and soul...and he'd have to publicly act like she was nought but his prisoner and his whore.

Killian snapped back to himself as Emma's father continued to argue against his plan, still obviously unconvinced, "The second she knows for sure where any of us are we lose the only advantage we have, what's to stop her from just showing up like she did on our wedding day and killing Emma on sight?"

None of his crew would have dared question his orders so much and he had to bite back the rebuke that sprang to his tongue. Sailors who gave him too much lip felt the back of his hand if he was feeling magnanimous, and the steel of his sword if he wasn't. But the king wasn't under his command and he'd promised himself that he wouldn't try to provoke him too much, lest it upset Emma even more. He flicked his fingers at Smee and Doyle and they both stayed quiet as well, though he could tell from their sour expressions that they were starting to spoil for a fight.

"She won't."

It was Snow White who finally answered, her sad eyes lifting from the little patch of sunlight that shone through the window onto the tabletop to meet his. A darker, more forest green than Emma's sea glass gaze, looking from one to the other was like looking at one of the rare points where two oceans met and the waters changed. Mother and daughter were so similar in some respects and it was obvious that they were of the same blood, but while Emma was all golden sunshine and lustrous pearls, the queen was silvery moonlight and wine-dark rubies. Her thick fall of black hair was tied back from her face with a strip of leather instead of a silk ribbon like Emma's, and the corners of her red lips tilted down even as her chin went up.

"I know Regina better than anyone and while she wanted to kill me, she also needed me to feel pain. Her pain. It won't be quick, she'll want to draw it out and crush all hope like the stable boy's heart was crushed by her mother. But she might kill you on sight instead of bothering with a ransom, Captain."

He felt Emma's fingers tighten and he rubbed his thumb imperceptibly against the delicate skin over her fluttering pulse. The silver ring was cold while the memory burned as hot as the rip of the knife against his ribs all those years ago.

"Many have tried to kill me and no one's managed to tell that tale yet, milady."

Not everyone at the table looked entirely pleased by that, but he didn't give a damn what anyone thought except for the woman sitting at his right hand. Emma was unusually quiet, the shadows of sleepless nights dark under her eyes and a few errant locks of hair escaping from her usually neat plait to curl against her white neck like the fine down on a swan.

"Are you both seriously proposing that we use my daughter as bait?"

King David angrily slammed both hands on the table and stood up, the lieutenant following at once and standing at attention while Smee and Doyle both looked somewhat askance at him and the king began to pace in the narrow space between the table and the wall.

"She's my daughter too, Charming, I don't recall you dealing with the nine months of swollen ankles and the cravings for cinnamon on everything you ate."

He shook his head, ignoring the tartness in his wife's voice, "No, absolutely not, there has to be another way. Lieutenant, you know I'm right."

Courtice took that as invitation to add his unwanted opinion again and immediately parroted the king, "I agree with you, Sire. It is far too dangerous to risk Her Highness's safety in such a careless and cavalier fashion."

His brown eyes flicked to Emma, and Killian felt a hot flush of rage at the thinly veiled insult. Careless and cavalier? Every man on the crew would be armed to the teeth and he'd put himself in between Emma and the Evil Queen, for all her power and dark magic he'd never faced a foe who didn't bleed when they met the point of his sword.

The lieutenant's words only spurred the king on and he pointed at Courtice, nodding vigorously now that he'd found someone to agree with him, "Yes, exactly. We should try to contact our allies first, Thomas and Ella, Eric and Ariel, and come up with a plan together, hell, we could make another deal with the damn Dark One himself."

"Charming, sit down!"

Snow White tugged on his sleeve as more arguing broke out around the table with Smee taking umbrage to Courtice's comments and he stood up and started poking him in the chest with a stubby finger, his round face flushed with anger at the insult to his captain while he loudly proclaimed exactly where the high-faultin' lieutenant could stick his opinions. Emma's parents whispered furiously to each other, lost in their own world of old disagreements suddenly rising to the surface and ignoring everyone else as they fought.

"If you had only listened to me back then, Snow….I did listen to you and look at what happened! Now you want to make another deal with the Dark One, are you completely insane?...You were the one who said he'd been changed by love and we should listen to what he had to say...The dwarves were right twenty years ago, I should have listened to them...Now what is that supposed to mean?"

Killian was just about to jump into the fray himself and call for order when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise up at a sudden change in the air. Doyle's eyes narrowed and Smee and Courtice both froze, clearly the three of them felt it too. It was like the breathless moment before lightning struck down from the heavens and made the seas boil, a crackle and swell of gathering power that dwarfed even the tallest of ships. But the oncoming storm wasn't coming from the sky outside, it was coming from the woman seated at his right hand.

Night suddenly fell, or that's what it looked like as the room went entirely dark as abruptly as a shuttered lantern. There was a startled exclamation that came from somewhere to his left and the loud crash of an overturned chair, but the words he'd been about to say died on his lips as a single point of light appeared on the low ceiling and drew his eyes up. It was quickly joined by another pinprick of light, and then another. It was like the night the fairy island had first appeared in the distance, when Emma had lit up the entire sky with a thousand tiny stars that pointed the way as sure as any chart or map ever could. He closed his eyes and saw the markings on the sextant, felt the little bumps under his fingers again instead of the smooth wood of the table. When he opened them again there were entire constellations swirling over his head and the glowing light revealed that everyone else was also staring up at the ceiling, slack-jawed and silent.

For a long moment no one moved, until finally they all blinked and lowered their heads until they were looking at Emma. Her hands were cupped in front of her and the light shone through her fingers, spilling from a living ball of white flame that she'd conjured out of nothing. She met their shocked faces head on and no one dared to speak, not even her mother, there was only the quiet lap of the water against the hull outside and the beating of his own heart, in time with each pulse of magic from the little sphere in her palm.

"No more arguing."

It was said quietly, but the order was clear and when Emma glanced at her father and added, "Papa, sit down," he did, the fight clearly going out of him as he obeyed his daughter's soft command without protest. Smee and Doyle were both transfixed, and when her gaze landed on the first mate he groped blindly for his chair at nothing more than the slight raise of her brow.

"The woman in the tavern who sold roses, she told me it took two things to find the Fairy Queen, magic and belief. I didn't know then what exactly I was supposed to believe in...but now I think I do."

"Emma?"

She looked up at him with starlight in her eyes and the memories washed over him again. The ill-fated voyage to Neverland all those years ago...he'd believed in his brother and followed him despite his own qualms about their mission, taking the second star to the right, and straight on til morning. But Liam had believed more in following orders, too stubborn and hardheaded to see what was right in front of him until it was too late.

"You believed me," Emma said, "Right from the start, you always believed me. I might be the one with magic who was born with this destiny to defeat the Evil Queen, but I didn't get to this island on my own. You brought me here."

Her parents both shifted in their seats and Smee shot a triumphant look at Lieutenant Courtice. The little ball of light disappeared in a flash and Killian blinked as the sun streamed in through the windows again, illuminating the dust in the air. Despite the crew's best efforts at cleaning, the long years of neglect had been impossible to erase completely in just a few hours.

King David let out a heavy sigh, "Emma, you know we believe you. But we have to do this the right way."

"No, we don't. We just need to succeed. I know you don't trust Killian but we need him and his crew, Eric, Ariel...yes they'd help us if we asked but you said it yourself, they're your allies. You don't think the Evil Queen will have lookouts just waiting to spot their flag?"

From the somewhat guilty look they exchanged, her parents hadn't considered that.

"We sail under the crimson flag, and we answer to no king," Doyle said, "Or Evil Queen. But we'll follow you, Captain. And you, ma'am."

A tiny smile flickered over Emma's face at Doyle's nod to the both of them. Killian met his eye and nodded back.

"Aye," Smee agreed.

"Aye!"

Fergus flushed when everyone turned to stare at him, but his jaw was set and he squared his shoulders as best he could for what lay ahead. Emma's gaze swept over all of them in turn and she stood up, holding up a hand that stopped Lieutenant Courtice halfway in his tracks when he tried to rise as well.

"We are going back to the Enchanted Forest and we are taking back what belongs to us, and if you truly believe that this is my destiny, then we're doing it my way. If you don't believe, then you can go back to the Mermaid's Song, but I am staying on the Jolly Roger. You have your allies, and now I have mine."

With that parting shot she swept out of the room, back straight, head high and she took Fergus with her with a crook of her finger. No one was supposed to leave the captain's dining room without the captain's express permission, but Fergus followed at once without so much as a by your leave. She'd claimed him for hers, had from the beginning. Allies, ever since Fergus had first tugged importantly on his sleeve with, "A request from the princess, Captain."

Guarded by a loyal knight...

"Well..." Snow White said faintly, while her husband bore the stunned expression of a man who just had his entire world turned upside down.

"Captain?" Doyle asked after a few moments of silence had passed, turning from the closed door with both bushy eyebrows raised.

Killian stared down at his hand, pressed flat against the table. He traced a bit of nonsense with the tip of his finger and tapped it on the wood.

"We set sail first thing in the morning with the tide. East, to the Enchanted Forest. Inform the rest of the crew...we're going home. Dismissed."

Doyle and Smee both rose and shuffled out at the order, trading heavy glances but keeping their mouths blessedly shut. Emma's parents were next, leaning on each other with their heads bent close and the king's arm wrapped around the queen's slender waist. Killian stood and went to the window, hearing the door click shut behind them as he stared out at the silver lagoon with one hand dipping inside his coat for his flask. The water was as still as a mirror, perfectly flat with nary a single ripple to mar the surface.

"I said you were dismissed, Lieutenant."

The chair creaked loud in the stillness of the almost-empty room, but it wasn't followed by retreating footsteps and he pinched the bridge of his nose with a grimace, wondering if there was no end to the good lieutenant's infuriating stubborn streak.

"You know, there's a price on your head in my kingdom, Captain."

Courtice was standing with his hands resting on the back of his chair when Killian finally turned around, his head cocked slightly to the side as he offered up that little tidbit of information.

"There's a price on my head in several kingdoms and three different duchies, I believe. Are you going to try to deliver me to your king and claim the reward?"

His tone was as curdled as vinegar as he spat the words and took a swig of rum, feeling it slip down his throat to burn in his belly while he stared at Courtice and wondered if the man was seriously so daft as to actually try to threaten him aboard his own ship.

"Consider it a warning," Courtice said, his long fingers flexing on the wood, "I know who you are, I've heard all the tales in the ports, I've seen the broadsheets in the taverns. Sailors love to talk, as I'm sure you know, but I haven't told Their Majesties the half of it."

"Oh? Your tongue was certainly loose enough a few minutes ago."

"The attack on the fleet at Horseshoe Reef, boxing them in and sinking two warships, the plundering of the HMS Morning Glory, the burning of Port Warwick, mutiny, desertion."

The lieutenant recited the list of his crimes as if he was being court martialed by the Royal Navy and Killian felt his lip curl in a sneer. He was guilty of all that Courtice claimed, and more.

"So you have heard of me," he said, in a voice that dared Courtice to continue. For a moment it looked like he was about to back down, his knuckles white and his throat bobbing with a heavy swallow, but he pressed on.

"And the brazen theft of a royal flagship. The Jewel of the Realm, wasn't it? She flies different colours now, but it's this ship."

Killian stiffened, hand clenching around his flask so hard that he felt his rings shift, the metal biting into his flesh, "This ship is the Jolly Roger, Lieutenant, and whatever you think you know about me, you have no idea what I'm truly capable of. I suggest you don't try to find out."

"My queen ordered me to stand guard over Queen Snow White at all costs, said she owed her a debt that could never truly be paid. Captain Powell's loyalty was to the ship first and foremost, mine was to our passengers. I was under orders not to reveal my mission to anyone unless it was absolutely necessary."

The confession brought him up short and the lieutenant's actions since coming aboard the Jolly suddenly made a lot more sense. He wasn't just an ordinary sailor, he was the queen's own bodyguard.

"Did your queen also order you to make eyes at the princess every chance you got?"

Colour rose in Courtice's cheeks but he didn't try to deny it, staring defiantly ahead with an unblinking stare.

"The tales of her beauty didn't do her justice...but it's clear that the only man she sees is you."

Something eased in his chest at that, though he kept his face hard and his gaze narrowed. Courtice might not fancy himself a serious rival for Emma's affections and Killian was certain he could easily take the man in a duel if he did try to make a play for her, he didn't relinquish any prize without a fight and Emma was so much more, the happy ending he never thought he would find after so many years of being alone, but Courtice did have something he never would again. He served an honest sovereign with pride, his name untainted by any villainous deeds. Even Liam had been declared a traitor to the Crown along with the rest of the Jewel's crew after his mutiny against the king, the fact that his brother had died before the desertion making not one whit of difference to the Royal Navy. His name had been blackened along with the rest of them, his service stricken from official records, stripped of rank...Liam was the one who'd dreamed they could be more than just common sailors, worked so hard for his commission, and in the end there was no glory for the Jones brothers, there was only the ghost of what could have been left on the bottom of the sea.

"Well, who can blame her? Startling, aren't I, some say striking, and the one thing I don't do is share. Selfish pirate, remember? You may have orders to guard her mother, but the only sword Princess Emma needs is mine. Because, believe me, Lieutenant, you do not want to come face to face with the man who set fire to Port Warwick and gutted the captain of His Majesty's new flagship open like a fish."

"Does she?"

Courtice called out his parting shot when Killian was halfway out the door, almost feeling the words hit him in the back like the bite of the whip. At any other time he would have had the lieutenant on his knees and begging for mercy in a heartbeat, like he did to the captain and crew of the Morning Glory, like he did at Port Warwick and to a dozen other ports and ships with names he no longer remembered through the fog of rage and pain and rum….

Like he did to Emma, the day they first met.

The door swung shut behind him, leaving Courtice alone in the room where he had drunk and laughed and dreamed with his brother as they sailed the high seas on higher spirits.

Hoping.

Searching.

Glory for the Jones brothers.

#cs ff #cs au #cs au fic #my fic #Beyond the Horizon

116 notes · View notes