Hal opened his mouth to say something, and in the end found he had nothing in his repertoire for this. He could hardly imagine what it must be like – to spend so much of one’s life twisted up in a revenge story against an entire country and way of life in the name of one person was wild enough. To suffer the loss of someone so deeply and discover them alive and well was an emotional upheaval in and of itself.
To have the person one had forged themselves into the sword of turn around and retire you – Hal honestly couldn’t even begin to sympathize with such a dramatic set of circumstances, let alone offer empathy for it. The whole thing was beyond his sphere of understanding – but in the end he knew he had to try. At this point, he was one of the very few who seemed interested in doing so – and the other two were just as confusing as he was!
What must it be like, Hal wondered, to have three men whom you tried to kill with full intent – and in some cases on multiple occasions – being the ones to hold you up and check in on you when the one you fought for, killed for, and lost everything for decided you weren’t what was wanted?
Reaching out, he gripped the man’s shoulder. There were no words for any of this, he knew, so in the end he just pulled Flint to him and hoped that a hug might suffice where words fell short.
Now this was a curious tack to take – though it did not take much to figure out the angle that was being played. Flint’s status with the men had been on shaky ground well before Silver had even found himself dragged into their devastating orbit. Painting himself vulnerable like this was only a means to an end – a manipulation of sentiment.
At some point, the power here had shifted – the men adhered to Silver and Flint was smart enough to recognize that as much as he despised them all, he needed them to achieve his goals. Which meant he needed Silver on his side – and wasn’t that a queer thing to consider? To think this had all started over information he’d taken from a dead cook.
“And who is to fault for that, I wonder?” There had been people loyal to Flint and his ideas – and Silver had not forgotten their fates. Nor was he oblivious to the fates that still hung in the balance. Some already lost to whatever twisted end was left for them after following in Flint’s shadow – and others, still waiting on the front lines, their stories now resting on the balance of this conversation.
“While I do wonder what has you so convinced you ever had me,” His tone was clipped and unyielding despite Flint’s ploy for sympathy, “I am far more interested in how you intend to convince me not to walk away from all of this.”
“Absolutely not,” The response was at once dismissive and amused – as if the mere thought of shame was a laughable concept to him. “I have enough to balance in my life without wasting my time on self-flagellation for the satisfaction of people whose opinions I don’t even care about.”
Taking no pity on the man whatsoever, Thomas pressed on with a question of his own, “Tell me James – how has shame benefited you? Has it elevated your status, to bow your head and behave as though your upbringing has made you lesser than those you can intellectually talk circles around? Or has it simply made it easier for them to overlook you – because you behave precisely the way that they want you to?”
Sometimes people could say the most insensitive things, thinking that it was meaningless, or that it was acceptable because they were friends with whomever they said it to. As though by being friends with someone, you no longer needed to respect their feelings – because surely, they would understand your intent was not to be harmful and therefore you could be as dismissive and unkind as you pleased and it wouldn’t change anything.
It wasn’t meant to hurt and so, to claim that it did was to be oversensitive. Or worse, to be seen as angry with a friend who had said cruel things because they were troubled by their own demons. There was no scenario that Abigail knew of where it was permissible to tell someone dear that they were being unkind – it was only to be done when one did not care if they were seen as too sensitive, or when one did not care if that confrontation would cause the instigator pain in return.
Although Abigail knew Georgina had been jesting, that she had only said those words because she’d been fending off advances from drunken sailors for hours with little assistance from the men who were meant to be buffering such situations due to the fact two of them had been drawn off to assist some men to the town’s surgeon after that awful brawl that had broken out – they still resonated so deeply in Abigail’s chest she thought they might well shred her throat to pieces and leave her worthless on the floor, barely able to breathe but too stupid to die from the pain.
She had not meant to start crying as soon as she walked through the door – in fact she had only meant to be there for a few minutes, to deliver a book she had seen that she thought the two men living here would enjoy. No sooner had she stepped in, did the familiar scent of her father’s favorite tea hit her, and the next thing she knew she’d pressed her back to the door and placed a hand over her mouth to stifle any sound.
She was so blinded by the heat of her tears she hadn’t even seen him until she was gathered up in his arms, and some part of her wanted to scream at him. Some wild, dark, horrible part of her wanted someone else to hurt just as badly as she did – and who better than the man who had torn everything familiar from her? But it was no good. She hated that part of herself – hated the idea she was capable of being so cruel – and just as she couldn’t tell Georgina she had been awful tonight, she could not bring herself to tell James how horrible it was to walk into his house and have it smell like the home he had razed to the ground.
So she stood there, weeping impotently against the frustrations raging on inside of her, until her body was too tired to carry on, and the hurts were numbed by the energy they had stolen from her. She had a headache from the pressure of it all, and she wanted nothing more than to run away somewhere and hide, to sleep until it all fell away, and she could wake up feeling like she could face the day again.
Instead, she took in a shaky breath, and stepped back – holding up the book by way of explanation for her presence, and gently pushing it toward him, at once unable, and unwilling, to make herself speak as to what had happened to make her break down in such a disgusting manner as she had. She hated it with every fibre of her being, but as there was nothing to do about it unless she wanted to make herself vomit from the sheer disastrous disarray that her humors had aligned themselves into by pushing them further into chaos, she saw no point in thinking too much on the crime she had just committed.
The inquiry is unexpected – since her introduction to the lieutenant, he had been quite circumspect in his words and opinions. His presence at the Hamilton household was rather intriguing, if only because it felt as though he were some sort of judge presiding over activities when in truth, some part of him yearned to be involved. There were times when she could swear he seemed about to speak, but then his hands would tighten behind his back and that silence would maintain itself like armor.
Perhaps the most enlightening times were when one of the Hamiltons also noticed – they had a habit of coaxing the reticent officer into speaking, and his points tended to be well rounded and sound. For a man she had little dealings with overall, Jane considered him to be a fine one – and there were not many in his position she had cause to think highly of.
“I believe I would need to better understand the nature of your problem before I could make you any promises, lieutenant,” Her reply was diplomatic as it was warm, for while she doubted he would ask anything of her she could not assist with – it was always wise to keep one’s promises clear of misuse. “If it is within my power, I am sure I would be happy to provide my assistance.”
No-one had ever showered James in compliments the way Thomas did. He was not unfamiliar with praise, exactly–it was often given by his superiors–but to be praised like this, just for Being, just for the small things that Thomas found so lovable in him, was… entirely something else. Who could blame him, really, for having to hide his face in Thomas’ chest while he processed it?
He might have offered a token, flustered grumble upon raising his head again had Thomas not drawn him in so swiftly. James melted immediately against him, whole body pressing forward like it was starving for this. He was still burning- the blush had spread down his throat and fanned out- but Thomas was forgiven, if James’ eagerness to be closer was anything to go by.
“You did that on purpose, you shit,” he muttered, bumping Thomas’ nose affectionately with his own, eyes closed. Both of James’ hands had splayed themselves over the other’s chest, just… resting there, just feeling him, like confirmation that this was real. Then, opening his eyes to glare at Thomas with nothing short of the utmost fondness (and watching carefully for his reaction), James added: “Fortunately, I adore you, so you’re forgiven.”
It was a true blessing for them all that Thomas was not a particularly artistic man, for were he of the capacity to immortalize how adorable James looked in that moment he surely would have taken the time to do so. As it was, he simply kept his hand against the warmth of his lover’s skin and smiled, his thumb tracing a jaw that had known the lips of both himself and his wife.
His thoughts were waxing toward the poetic when the man spoke, jarring him from it in a delightfully crass manner that startled a laugh from Thomas before he could think to contain it. Running his hands soothingly along James’ sides to assure him that the laughter came from a place of fondness rather than mockery – ever aware that the line they walked was one that was still fettered by the chains society had wrapped around his lieutenant’s neck like a noose – Thomas hummed approval as he found himself being teased. There was an endearing mischief in James that Thomas dearly hoped to see more of.
He did not hide the fondness in his own smile as he replied, “I am blessed indeed to have your adoration,” Forgiveness was rarely something Thomas ever sought, but the adoration of a loved one – that could carry a man very far indeed. “I do hope that I never lose it.” Genuine sentiment masked behind teasing words as he laid a soft kiss on his lover’s cheek.
Sunlight dripped through a crack in the heavy curtains, aligning itself across the lieutenant’s freckled skin in such a manner as to be utterly irresistible. The fact that Thomas would have much preferred a lay in was forgotten in favor of enjoying a far more pleasant morning before getting down to business matters. He had a meeting in a few hours – and he truly had meant to let James sleep until noon, at which point he and Miranda could have woken him up together – but the temptation had simply been too much for him.
Now, he had a laughing, blushing lieutenant in his bed who was only slightly begrudging his wake up call, and Thomas found himself genuinely wondering if he could put off his entire day just to spoil James. It was only the knowledge of his lover’s predictable horror at the realization of what was missed and the threat of Miranda’s disapproval that kept him from carrying on beyond a cheeky kiss to the corner of James’ lips before sitting up and laying his hand on the warm skin between his lover’s shoulders.
“If I have to be awake this early, everyone ought to,” He quipped lightly enough, “Although,” His hand slid lazily along, fingers tracing familiar patterns now amid the constellations on James’ skin, “I cannot say I would be too opposed to finding you right where I left you, if you would like to continue your repose.”
Demons had haunted her steps for so long, she had learned to find friends in the shadows. She held her hands out to them, welcomed them at her side and gave them voices through her pages – but there were some that wanted more from her. Some that wanted her voice, and left scouring wounds wherever they touched. There were some she simply could not control, and last night she had been visited by the worst kind – a demon who had stepped off the pages and back into the world itself. It had only been a moment, but she could have sworn that she saw Ned Low at the back of the pub. The man had looked right at her, and the whole world had come to a screeching halt.
When the cacophony finally quieted, Abigail had found herself blinking toward the ceiling in the cellar – she had jumped to her feet so fast, she didn’t even see Georgina as she ran for the door, yanking on it with the expectation of entrapment. The door swung open even as her friend grabbed her shoulder and hauled her back, closing the door against her cry of terror. She had spent the remainder of the hour in her friend’s arms, soothed without question as the world righted itself and at last, Abigail had been able to step back into the pub, if only to cross it so that she could leave early for the night.
Against her will, her eyes had turned back to that corner – the man sitting there looked vaguely like Low – but was by no means an exact likeness. Shame had gripped her as she was escorted home, and her sleep had been restless the whole night through. The shadows under her eyes could have passed for the effects of a broken nose by the time she got into work, and it was three hours before Georgina started her shift and immediately hauled her aside to conceal them better.
Everything seemed out of order, and her world still hadn’t felt right by the time Flint arrived, nearer to the end of a shift that had gone by on sheer muscle memory alone it seemed. It had felt, for one wild and incomprehensible moment, as though her muted terror had summoned him from the ashes of Hell itself to banish the last lingering traces of Low’s visage in her mind.
Propriety had been little more than a distant memory for long enough now that she did not hesitate to turn to him, and rely on his solid strength against unwelcome phantoms. He had played a role in freeing her from Low, even if it had just been in liberating her from the man who had stopped Low and his crew entirely. It stood to reason then, that he might be what she needed to liberate herself of the memories.
He seemed to understand, to some extent, and for a time she simply afforded herself the comfort of knowing he was there. Eventually though, she did step back and force herself to breathe, to focus beyond the hollow inside of herself that echoed with her despair and to instead frame the words necessary to describe her plight. He alone would know, with the least amount of words, what had caused her so much distress. She wondered if perhaps he had been summoned by Georgina, rather than by some otherworldy sense of wrongness – strange as it might be to think, Abigail could find truth in either possibility.
“I thought I saw Captain Low yesterday.” She took a slow breath, then, “But while I know that to be impossible – I wonder if what Captain Vane assured me was true.” Her gaze hesitantly sought out the strange mixture of his own – another call toward the fae and fell stories that surrounded him. Needing to know, to hear from someone she had no reason to doubt, that all of her demons existed only in her mind. “Captain Low – and his crew – they are dead, aren’t they?”
When Hal had heard of Flint’s sudden retirement, he certainly hadn’t believed it to be anything more than some sort of ruse. Some strategy for another mad scheme – but what he hoped to achieve had been so fucking incomprehensible that he had found himself looking into it more deeply out of sheer macabre curiosity.
In the end, it had all mounted up to his own return to Nassau and a rather early retirement as well – not that he had any intention of letting Flint know his reasons for stepping off the account had anything to do with him. His ego was dangerous enough, even if it was relatively quiet these days. He’d checked in on the man a few times, noting the steady slip toward a dangerous tip in the man’s humors and knowing if he was going to make any difference in it, now was the time to do so.
He hadn’t really known what to expect from the old gesture of familiar humanity and comfort, but a full embrace was so far off the list that he just stood there, struck stupid by such an unanticipated openness from the other man. The comment jarred him out of it, and earned a laugh even as Flint drew back and seemed to retreat in as complete a way as he could manage, that old Navy propriety snapping up like a shield so fast it was a wonder the man didn’t give himself a headache.
“Takes one to know one, I think,” He shot back, even as he reached out and slung an arm around the other man’s middle and giving him a squeeze back, shaking his head against the aborted mention of gratitude and the past between them – or rather the point of it which separated them. “We all make mistakes,” He remarked, almost lightly, “If we live to learn from them, we might as well do so.”
He recognized his own crime against Flint that day, belatedly. It had been months of frustration after the fact, before he had dawned upon that little realization, and with it he had found a strange balance between annoyance and understanding. It was a place Flint had lived so well for so long, it rather made sense that even this would be something Hal could figure out how to forgive.
“But enough of all that,” Hal cleared the air between them with acknowledgement and a focus forward, “How about you walk me through this garden – let’s see how much you know.” He was fair certain it had been Barlow that had maintained it, and while that did not necessarily mean Flint didn’t know how to manage it, it did give them something to focus on for a time and would be a project Flint could maintain, which should help form routines essential to balancing one’s humors.
Adaptable though he surely was, Theodore would be the first to confess that he was not the sort of person who was used to loneliness. There was always someone to lean on – and having never been in a position where he was thoroughly isolated, he’d never saw need to test his capacity for striving onward without companionship.
Though he had never thought of it ( and likely would not, until someone saw fit to point it out ) Theodore had chosen a profession that would ensure he would always be surrounded by a sense of family. A brotherhood as opposed to the sisterhood he came up in, if one wished to wax poetically upon it.
Going from first lieutenant aboard a ship with over eight hundred souls, to a pirate of circumstance aboard a far smaller vessel with absolutely no connections or allies ought to have been terrifying – but Theodore had seen the adventure for what it was and thrown himself into the work as though he had chosen to be there all along.
He had made a few friends among the crew, even, but there was no denying he’d made a favorite of the captain himself. Some likely saw it as pandering, or some method of payment for his place aboard the ship, but such manipulative measures were rather beyond Theodore. He felt a gratitude toward Flint for setting him free, and for giving him work, but he had felt gratitude toward many people he would not be so keen to lean on as he was the quiet man beside him now.
In truth, it was simply a familiarity – Flint had a grumpy and reticent air about him, but he was gradually accepting of contact and seemed to thrive from it, though nothing about that was ever said or acknowledged. It reminded Theodore a great deal of how Daniel used to be, and that alone was encouragement enough to maintain his quiet favoritism – for if Flint was anything like Daniel, he surely needed kindness a very great deal, even if he’d never ask for it, let alone admit to wanting it.
The silence was companionable, and Theodore maintained it even when he noticed something he felt might be of interest to Flint. Patting the man’s arm lightly, he pointed toward the forms rising above the crest of the water, spray indicating their exact positions. Theodore wasn’t sure how many – he could count five, for certain, but there seemed to be smaller forms that were harder to make out in the growing dimness as the sun settled toward the last of its rays for the day.
Ocean Archive 