#(This is from the France mission if anyone is wondering. But that might be obvious.) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oh-boy-me · 3 years

Note

I just read both the australia and museum post and the chaos levels are top tier, but like imagine the chaos that ensues if lord diavolo discovers about amusment parks and immediately just buys tickets to disneyland. Lucifer is basically the dad trying not to loose his children(lord diavolo included). Lord diavolo wanting to ride a loopy rollercoaster and just having the time of his life! (Also I highkey see diavolo ordering lucifer to make a disneyland in devildom tbh) Also mouse ear headbands!

This..... this took forever

Hey there anon! Sorry it took literally a year to answer this! If you’re still into Obey Me, I hope this was a pleasant surprise.

Also for the first time ever a scenario post is being put under the cut for length purposes. This scenario is 2.6k words Jesus

Please note that the last time I went to Disney was in 2015, so anything that’s newer than that is taken from the extensive reading of Disney advice blogs I read in preparation for this post. Anything older than that is likely from experience.

Also, I tried my best to keep this spoiler free for the attractions that can be affected by it.

So the Devildom DOES have the concept of amusement parks. I slept on this ask for so long that we’ve learned about Devil’s Coast. It seems to be more akin to a smaller-scale theme park, though. Small-ish. I’m used to NYC idk what constitutes as small.

Something like Disney World is on such a larger scale!! When Diavolo heard about that, he knew they had to go.

They are going to Disney World in Orlando because it’s the only one I’ve been to.

Lucifer is REALLY getting tired of these field trips, but there would be no weird animals, and there would be no sobering lessons on global extinction events at a family-friendly amusement park. He. He can handle this.

Solomon has actually been banned from all Walt Disney theme parks. We’re talking blacklist-level banned. He’s barred from ever entering any Disney park ever again. However, this was back in 1976, so this must be, like, his son or something, right? There’s no way this is the same guy. Thought the security guard who let him in.

What did Solomon do to get banned? When asked, he only gave a curious hum. “Yeah, I wonder.”

The place is split into four parks, so they’ll spend one day in each.

Barbatos continued to flex his power as the only one in the group with a brain cell, being sure to get them all fast passes. He even set time back just for the passes while they were booking the rides they wanted to cut the lines for, so if they don’t get used he’s going to be very snippy.

Also for convenience sake this is taking place in an AU where everything is the same but COVID doesn’t exist to shut down some rides and attractions.

Day 1: Hollywood Studios

MC and Simeon basically have to coerce Lucifer into letting everyone run free instead of making them all line up with a walking rope all day. He relents on the condition that everyone checks in periodically so he can at least know they haven’t killed anyone.

Nobody will check in except for maybe Beelzebub and those at Purgatory Hall.

Levi immediately gathered his fellow Star Wars fans (which basically meant calling over Mammon Belphie and Asmo and then pulling in two unsuspecting people suddenly given the title of “Star Wars fan”), and made a beeline for Galaxy’s Edge. There’s a LOT to do there and damn it if he wasn’t going to hit all of it.

First up for their group is the interactive Millennium Falcon Smuggler’s Run. They fail the mission. Levi’s pretty pissed, but everyone agrees that it was fun nonetheless. They really felt like they were doing a mission in the Falcon! Plus, the gameplay element was totally up the alley of most of this group. Simeon does feel a little nauseous from Luke’s jerky steering, though.

Did you know that Diavolo loves Toy Story? He does. He’s very much enjoying the Slinky roller coaster with Barbatos.

Barbatos would rather be spending time at the shows and performances, but oh no god forbid we don’t get an autograph from Doc McStuffins. Lucifer please come find him and save him.

Lucifer somehow wandered into the Frozen Sing-Along Celebration. He wants out. Barbatos please come find him and save him.

In general, Lucifer isn’t a fan of these sorts of places, so honestly he’s just hiding from the others and waiting for today to be over. Barbatos told him that there are parks that don’t revolve around rides and characters, and he’s holding out for those.

Luckily for them Diavolo wants to do LITERALLY everything, and that does include the shows, so Barbatos and Lucifer can have at least some fun today

Levi, Asmo, and Beel are about to start their relay for getting character autographs when Satan shows up out of nowhere and starts dragging everyone over to the Tower of Terror. Solomon bars all attempts to flee on a certain Avatar of Greed’s side.

The line to the Tower is so long, and honestly? Satan feels like the ride didn’t live up to the literal hour they waited to get on. Like yeah it was fun, but way too short.

He voices those thoughts, and Levi, who Satan knows is afraid of heights, is pretty fucking livid and drags him to Rock n Rollercoaster as revenge. Satan hates roller coasters.

As for the others, Asmo and Luke have a lot of fun on the thrill rides. Mammon and Simeon do not. Beel is a little spooked by them but still manages to have fun, while Belphie and Solomon think they’re alright.

Eventually, Simeon gets too sick to move, and they assign him to Luke. They say it’s because he’s too short to ride some of the rides (even though he’s literally not, screw you guys.)

Barbatos messes with time a lil bit so they can enjoy the Fantasmic Show and Fireworks to wrap the day up.

Levi is very jealous of Diavolo’s Doc McStuffins autograph. Somehow Asmo has Buzz Lightyear’s number.

Day 2: Animal Kingdom

Satan is vibrating

He literally instantly sprints to the Kilimanjaro Safari. And good for him; that’s something best done while the sun isn’t high up. The whole gang actually agrees to check that one out, and while Satan isn’t thrilled to be within 50 feet of Lucifer, he’s glad Simeon is there because he remembers how his presence lured animals out in Australia.

Simeon also finds himself pulled along the trails by Satan and parents watch in horror as a gorilla gives him a friendly pat on the back.

If you didn’t know, Animal Kingdom is divided into the two continents of Asia and Africa, as well as the secret eighth continent Avatar (2009). Diavolo heard great things about the Flight of Passage ride, but he totally forgot to tell Barbatos about it, so they’re stuck on a three hour wait line now.

Levi takes Luke on the Everest roller coaster because Simeon saw it in the distance and looked like he was about to cry. Levi wouldn’t shut up about how the yeti effect needs to be fixed and Solomon had to explain that the effect literally couldn’t support itself.

Simeon, having escaped a roller coaster for the first and only time on this trip, grabs lunch with Lucifer and Solomon and they enjoy the Lion King performance together. Solomon’s the only one of them who’s seen the movie, but the others still found it fun. Solomon keeps making up random plot points that don’t exist, though. Remember when Simba was captured by pirates?

Mammon found the Bugs Life show very scary. Normally Asmo would laugh at him, but he’s afraid of any bug he’s never seen before and at least Mammon was afraid of the things that were supposed to get you. They agree that bugs are still not their friends.

Satan has many things to say about the Dinosaur ride and most of them aren’t good. Belphie thought it was pretty ok, though. Lucifer can’t believe there was a sobering lesson on a global extinction event at this family-friendly amusement park.

Diavolo is still in line. Barbatos abandons him. He accompanies Luke to the kiddie fossil thing and actually finds it more tolerable. Oh yeah that’s the other secret ninth continent, Dinoland.

Beel and Belphie spend most of the day together at the various petting zoos. Belphie comes back knowing more than he ever wanted to about conservation. He thought Rafiki’s Planet Watch was going to be about watching other planets, not this one!

Asmo gets very interested in the costumes of the performers, as well as the parrots in the bird show. He could probably make some really colorful designs with those as inspiration.

Nearby, Mammon runs into Kevin and squawks in surprise. The zoo staff spend the next two hours trying to find the bird that escaped.

Diavolo says the ride was worth it, don’t worry.

Honestly this park has a lot of stuff that wouldn’t translate well to a funny scenario post so this part might be a little short compared to the others. I can only talk about a zoo for so long.

Anyone remember the Honey I Shrunk the Kids 4D show? Apparently it closed in 2016 to make room for more Star Wars stuff.

Anyway, at the center of it all there’s the Tree of Life, which is really pretty all day. Lucifer is thrilled to have a decently obvious meet-up place, too. They get to catch the brief awakening show at night.

They’re very bummed to learn the Rivers of Light show isn’t happening anymore, so Levi pulls it up on his phone so they can watch it in spirit.

Then Satan learns about the Wilderness Explorers badges and the others spend the rest of the time preventing too much collateral damage over the fact that nobody told him.

Day 3: Epcot

Finally, Lucifer thinks. Boo, Luke thinks.

Beel didn’t expect this park to be that interesting to him (he’s much more into the wonder and immersion of Hollywood Studios and Magic Kingdom), but then he learned about the restaurants. China, Norway, France, Mexico, Germany, Morocco, Italy, Japan, Canada--Canada? Huh. Canada. There’s so many different restaurants from so many cuisines to try, and yeah he knows that it’s definitely not the same as going to the place and it’s overpriced (sorry Lucifer), but it’s all right there. He makes certain to take MC on a deluxe Epcot restaurant tour.

Oh yeah MC. That’s the first time we’ve heard from them in a while. They’re doing whatever you want them to I guess.

Levi buys so much from the Japanese gift shops that he has to go back to the hotel for a bit to drop his bags off.

Satan and Diavolo aren’t much better, but their stashes are more varied.

Also, Diavolo found Mouse Gear, and bought everyone a pair of ears. Lucifer says that everyone has to keep them on because it’s what Lord Diavolo wants, but he is by far the most upset about them. Mammon snaps a picture and Lucifer throws his DDD into the lake.

Asmo and Belphie decide they’re gonna take it easy this day, and they nab Solomon and Barbatos for some exhibition hopping.

Luke finds Mission Space and please father no Simeon thought he was safe he thought he was safe here no please

Aside from that, though, Luke honestly finds this part of the park boring. He’d have been more interested in these attractions elsewhere, but as a kid he’s in Disney for roller coasters and Mickey Mouse.

Simeon is very grateful that Luke doesn’t have much that he wants to do, because it means that he can enjoy the Gran Fiesta and Living with the Land boat rides and have a single moment where he doesn’t feel like he’s about to be sick. He’s not even afraid of the rides; he just gets motion sick easily.

Asmo makes sure to see the Chinese acrobat show, and Mammon catches that with the show-hopping gang since there isn’t much he wants to do here either.

Epcot has alcohol and Solomon hasn’t been able to drink in ages so he really wants to spend some time doing that with MC. No demons allowed, thank you very much. He doesn’t hold his liquor as well as he’d like you to believe, but he just gets really talkative when drunk so it’s ok.

Epcot is a nice day to take a breather and Lucifer and Barbatos definitely needed a breather before tomorrow.

Day 4: Magic Kingdom

This is the day Diavolo has been waiting for. The crème de la crop, the best park for kids and kids in a future king of the Devildom’s body.

Also I feel like now is a good time to mention that this probably isn’t a reasonable order of events because I don’t remember the map layout of these places idk Disney city planning

This time. This time, Levi, Asmo and Beel are gonna get those autographs, dammit. Levi doesn’t even know who half of these characters are but hell if he’s not getting their autograph.

Mammon actually really loves the mascots too, but he’s embarrassed about it so he’ll only try to get one if he can use the guise of MC wanting one. MC, please help him out

Belphie isn’t big on rides, but he does have a soft spot for the more retro ones like Dumbo and Seven Dwarves. And like I said before, Beel loves Magic Kingdom for its wonder. So Belphie is perfectly happy being led (read: piggybacked) around by Beel today, because their favorite attractions match up pretty well here.

Actually, Beel’s favorite Disney movie is Lilo and Stitch, but. RIP Stitch’s Great Escape ride 2004-2018

Diavolo and Lucifer take a moment to enjoy the Carousel of Progress, and they reflect on how much the Human World is always changing and how much about it they still don’t know. It really does make them think, like. Grandma found the VR games at Christmas! The Devildom doesn’t have grandmas!

Mammon is terrified of the Haunted Mansion ride, and Satan has literally never felt so much schadenfreude in his life.

Mammon’s afraid of most rides to be fair, but he likes water rides, so Levi eventually takes pity on him and they go on Splash Mountain together more than once.

The Peter Pan ride broke down

Luke wanted to go on Space Mountain and Simeon was the only one around, so. RIP Simeon ????-2021

Diavolo was That Guy. If you know, you know.

Beel accidentally spun the teacups way too fast. Not even Solomon got out of that one unscathed.

Following that, Solomon manages to drag Barbatos onto the Jungle Cruise while Lucifer is busy. What is Lucifer busy with? Riding the Buzz Lightyear shooting ride over and over until he hits every single target and gets a perfect score at a Disney ride, something that is normal to want and possible to achieve. Anyway, Barbatos finds it really charming and Solomon finds it a nice break that he didn’t know he needed.

While looking for a food place that sells water for a reasonable price, a kid runs up to Asmo asking for a picture and autograph. He’s kind of confused, but goes along with it to make the kid happy.

Turns out, Asmo’s so naturally charming that they mistook him for a prince. Other groups see that family and follow suit. Mammon eventually catches wind of it and shows up to charge a fee. The parents are pretty sure Disney doesn’t charge fees like that, but their kids really want a pic with Asmo so they hand over the two bucks. (“Oh it’s so low” come on Mammon’s not a dick to children.)

And that’s the story of how Mammon and Asmo ended up in Disney Jail. You’re very much not allowed to pretend to be a cast member and then charge money for it. Lucifer has to bail them out as their “guardian,” and as punishment they aren’t allowed to opt out of It’s a Small World.

Small World isn’t that bad imho, and those like Diavolo, Satan, Simeon, and Levi would like it a lot. But Lucifer has been playing parent all day, Belphie does not like the noise, and Solomon has literally been on this ride at least fifty times. Very mixed feelings on this one, but it feels fitting to end with that and a fireworks show.

All in all though this wasn’t the worst trip Lucifer’s been on (cue everyone applauding for some reason).

Barbatos by far had the least fun of them all because for four days he was stuck in a park where the mascot is a fucking rodent and he wasn’t allowed to annihilate Mickey Mouse where he stood

“Disneyland Devildom when” “Lord Diavolo, no”

Masterlist

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me luke #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #my favorite park is def epcot and my favorite ride is def splash mountain #also my sister helped me out by reminding me about animal kingdom but most of her photos were of random birds

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summahsunlight · 4 years

Text

Worth the Risk, Part 3

Rating: T

Word Count: 1668

Pairing: Army Pilot!Poe Dameron x Nurse!Reader (1940s AU)

Summary: It’s the 1940s, Army pilot and Captain Poe Dameron is flying on missions for the United States Army in Europe. After being shot down off the coast of France, Poe wakes up in an Army hospital in England, to find you, a nurse, taking care of him. Throughout the process of his recovery, Poe finds himself falling for you, and even though you, for the most part, maintain a professional relationship with him–you’re falling for him as well. Both of you know the risks of falling in love during a war, but then again, both of you have never cared much for being cautious.

Warnings: Little bit of angst, but it’s mostly fluff

Taglist: @fanfic-addict-98, @thescarletknight2014, @blushingwueen, @americasass-romanoff

Here is the third part❤️ Taglist is open! If you would like to be added you can always message me, leave an ask, or comment here☺️ I did my best to proof read this and try to stay as historical accurate as possible.

“That Army pilot was asking about you earlier.”

“Which Army pilot?”

Rey placed her hands on her hips and looked at you, incredulously. “Y/N--the only Army pilot currently here--Captain Dameron.”

Silently you looked up at her. Rey had come to the hospital a year ago; she was young, no more than nineteen years old, but after surviving the German Blitzkrieg of London, she left home wanting to help. “What did Captain Dameron want to know about me?”

“He wanted to know why you hadn’t been by to check on him,” Rey replied, sitting on the edge of the empty cot you were standing near. “He looked pretty disappointed you hadn’t come by to see him.”

“I’ve been busy today,” you answered her, honestly. “Those new recruits arrived and I had to get them situated, plus trained before the end of my shift. I’m sure Captain Dameron can do without seeing me.”

“I don’t know--according to Jess, he looked like he was pouting.”

“Pouting? Really?”

Rey smiled. “Okay, maybe not pouting but he did look sad that I was the one checking his vitals and dosing his medication, which by the way, he insists he doesn’t need. Anyone looking at him move can see he’s in a lot of pain.”

You sighed and nodded your head in understanding. “He doesn’t want to appear weak, it’s a pride thing, Rey. Did he take the medicine?”

She chuckled. “Begrudgingly.”

Smiling at this, you said, “Well, maybe if he knows Doctor Hux wants him to try to get out of that cot and walking, he’ll feel a little better.”

“Maybe you should pay him a little visit before you leave today?”

“Just because he was sad I didn’t check on him?”

Rey titled her head, grinning at you. “Come on, Y/N, you have to see the way he looks at you. The sun, the moon, and the stars rise in your eyes to him.”

Of course you had noticed the way Poe looked at you--it made your heart flutter with little butterflies every time you saw it. But this was war, and this was not the place to entertain thoughts of romance. The war had already taken one man that you loved away, you weren’t sure you should risk it taking away another. “He’s drugged up on morphine; he’d look at a sheep that way.”

She laughed. Rey was smarter than a lot of people gave her credit for; she knew that the way Poe Dameron looked at you was not because he was doped up on morphine. “If that was true he’d look at all of the nurses that way--he only looks at you that way. Call me crazy, Y/N, but I think our Army pilot has a crush on you.”

A lot of the other nurses had mumbled those same words to you, or in hurried whispers as you passed them, but you didn’t dare to dream that Poe had feelings for you. After all, you’d only known each other for a couple of weeks and you wanted to call her crazy--but that would be a lie. “I need to file these reports,” you mumbled, ducking out of the room and heading towards the main office.

On your way, you passed the wing that Poe’s bed was in and you hesitated to continue to the office. Biting down on your lower lip, you stepped inside the wing.

Poe was propped up against the pillows, writing yet another letter home. He’d made it a point to write to his father at least every couple of days. His face did look a little sad, you noticed, but when he caught sight of you, it immediately lit up upon seeing you. He shifted on the bed, even if he was in pain, and smiled at you.

You couldn’t lie--his smile made you feel weak in the knees--and you found yourself smiling in return. “Rey says you were a little sullen earlier. I hope you didn’t give her too hard of time.”

He grinned, boyishly, which showed off his good looks. “Only a little; she’s a sweet kid, I like her. She already gave my medication...are you here to check on me, Lieutenant?”

“I was...I was on my way to file my reports. I thought I’d...say hi.”

“Hi.”

The way he spoke, the way he smiled at you made your cheeks flush--and he smiled even more. “Good news--the doctor thinks you should get up and go for a walk tomorrow.”

Frowning, Poe furrowed his brow. “I hope I don’t have to go with him. He’s kind of an insufferable bastard. Although, some sunshine might be good for that pasty white skin.”

Laughing, you shook your head. It was true--Doctor Hux was insufferable at times and often times you wondered if his brilliance effected his empathy. He left most of the beside manner to the nurses. “You could walk with me; I’d like to think that I’m not so insufferable.”

As you spoke, you vaguely became aware that your fingers brushed against Poe’s and before you could pull away, he wrapped his calloused hand around your soft one. “I’d much rather go for a walk with you, Y/N.”

Looking at your joined hands, you heard a tiny voice in the back of your head screaming don’t do it! But it was too late, you were already falling for him and quite frankly, you didn’t care to catch yourself.

Poe was too proud to admit that the act of simply standing was painful for him. Even when you told him that you could stop and try again another day--he was determined to get on his feet, to go on that walk with you.

Meanwhile, you were fine with just sitting in the small courtyard in the sun. Poe had made it that far, that was good in your book considering just a few weeks ago he was knocking on death’s door. But Poe seemed to want to push the limits, not that this surprised you. “Captain, you can sit in the wheelchair--I��ll push you--or we don’t have to go any further--let’s just sit here in the sun for a while.”

“No...no...I want...I want to walk,” Poe argued.

“Captain, you’re in obvious pain,” you countered, softly.

“I’m fine.”

“Say that to me without grimacing.”

Poe sighed and gave into defeat. He lowered himself into the wheelchair you had brought along just in case he grew tired. His head dropped and his shoulders slumped, “I should be able to walk further than out the door.”

You pulled a chair up next to him and sat down. Gently, you placed your hand on his knee. “You didn’t just fall and scrap your knee, Captain Dameron--you crashed into the ocean; you have broken ribs, lost blood, and were exposed to the elements. I’m not sure anyone excepts you to bounce right back.”

He sighed, frustrated. Raising his rich brown eyes, he looked at you, intensely. “I need to get back out there--in my plane--I’m no use to the Army here.”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you snapped, “You’re no good to the Army dead, either. Which if you rush back into things, Captain, is how your story is going to end.”

“If the Nazis get control of England, of America, then we’re as good as dead.”

“The fight will still be there when you fully heal. More soldiers and pilots are going to die. Why do you want to rush back into all that?”

Poe watched as a tear streaked a path down your cheek. It had not occurred to him what the cost of the war was for you. Instinctively he reached out with his thumb and wiped the tear away. “Why? Because I see people hurting and I want to help; I see people suffering, I see evil that needs to be dealt with--that’s why.”

It was hard to ignore your heart racing at his touch and you leaned into it, yearning for that physical contact. His thumb swept over your cheek, rubbing comforting circles into your skin. You wanted him to kiss you--desperately--you had never wanted any man to kiss you so desperately before.

His lips quirked into a little smile, like he knew what you were thinking, what you wanted. His fingers laced through yours on his knee, he nudged a little closer, his nose brushing against yours. “Lieutenant... can I ask you something?”

“Yes, of course, Captain.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes...”

Cupping your cheek in his hand, Poe closed his eyes, bring his lips close to yours and then he sighed, “As soon as I can walk again without pain... I’m going to kiss you.” He pulled back, letting go of your hand, lowering the one that was touching your cheek. He smiled. “Consider it my inspiration to get better, faster.”

Blinking the confusion from your face, you stared at him. “That’s risky, Captain--what if I won’t let you kiss me the next time?”

“I’ve never paid much attention to risk, sweetheart.”

“Clearly.”

“Something tells me you’re still going to want me to kiss you when I ask again.”

“Oh, so you not only ignore risks, you’re cocky too. Okay, hotshot--what tells you that?”

Poe grinned, his eyes sparkling, dimples deepening.

You swallowed, nervously--God, he did things to you...

“I know,” Poe broke the silence, “by the way you’re reacting.”

“Oh?” You said, nonchalantly. “And how am I reacting, Captain?”

“Cheeks flushed, breathing a bit heavier, eyes dilated...”

“How do you know I’m not ill?”

The two of you exchanged an intense, longing gaze... until a nurse burst through the doors, shouting for you--there was incoming wounded and Doctor Hux needed you back inside. Guiltily, you looked at Poe, who smiled gently. “Go, sweetheart--you’re needed to save the Army. I think I can figure out how to wheel myself back inside--I fly planes after all.”

#star wars fanfiction #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #star wars imagine #1940s AU #worth the risk #poe x reader #poe dameron x you #poe x you

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marquisdejeffersondiggs · 4 years

Text

These Arms of Mine

- thomas jefferson x reader

- prompt: thomas is once more reunited with his long lost love

- warnings: angst?

- notes: i’m thinking of making this a sequel :) i had so much fun writing this. i hope you all enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing it. please lmk what you think!

“Thomas, are you almost ready? It’s been an eternity. Washington’s party will be over by the time you’re finished!” James Madison, a fellow Virginian, yells from downstairs at his best friend.

“Yes, yes. Lets go, you grump.” Jefferson’s loud footsteps down the stairs rang through the house in annoyance. “I pray Washington actually has an open bar this time. No way I’m suffering my way through another one of his office parties without any alcohol.” Madison half pulls out a shiny flask from his jacket pocket, waving it temptation. Thomas displays a wide grin in agreement. “What would I do without you, my friend?”

“You’ll be dead before you ever get the chance to find out,” replies his friend to which he hears a hearty laugh in return. “Come on. We’re leaving now. Washington will have our heads if we’re late again.”

The pair left to head off to George Washington’s party that he was hosting this evening. Their boss had hired a new partner at their law firm so naturally he and Martha decided to throw a night of celebration in the new partner’s honor to help with a smooth transition. Contrary to what Madison might have been thinking, but Thomas wasn’t spending the extra time in front of the mirror trying to place his kinky curls to perfection. Thomas spent that extra time staring right into the windows of his soul trying to make sense of all the things around him. He was sure he would have come to an earth shattering conclusion had Madison not interrupted his mid-life crisis.

Even the limo ride over to the Washington residence was eery. All it consisted of was an untouched glass of champagne in Jefferson’s hand as he stared off into nothing, allowing his thoughts to consume him. All Madison did was go on and on about this new parter. But alas Thomas Jefferson did not hear a single word, his own thoughts draining out his surroundings. It even took Madison taking the drink from his friend’s hand to pull him out of his trance to notice they had already arrived.

The Washington residence was nothing less than pure elegance and divinity. Its beauty being the only true contender to give the Virginian a run for his money for his Monticello home. As Martha Washington had called it, the “night of celebration” had been greatly downplayed. What was meant to be a small business party morphed into a ball right before his eyes upon entering.

Thomas Jefferson had to stop right in his tracks. It wasn't the beautiful home he had seen a million times by now or even the open bar that sported a drunk George Washington that made him stop. It was the woman he could see sharing a laugh with Washington and Alexander Hamilton. Hadn’t he had been in such a state of shock, Jefferson would have been sure to roll his eyes and scoff at the immigrant. But he was. He was in a state of shock that took all the breath from his lungs. A state of shock that made the heart stutter, skip a beat even.

Jefferson decided to take note to go curse at the universe when all would be said and done. He was fine all week. All week. He decided to ponder and take on the role of Socrates and his life begins to domino into a series of events no one, least of all he, could predict. Because almost on cue, the rich voice of Otis Redding could be heard.

“Hey!” An unknown voice called out in the crowded bar near campus all law students went after a hard day’s work, especially finals. Jefferson’s eyes floated around the room until he saw where the sound could have been coming from. He sees the most angelic, innocent set of eyes he had ever seen. He sees you. “I think you're cute,” you say with a devilish, flirtatious smile dancing on your lips, contradicting your eyes. You always remember hearing something about time stopping when you meet the love of your life. Now... either time stopped or the Virginian found himself at a loss for words longer than he will ever care to admit. Either way there was no denying the obvious connection between you two.

‘T-Thanks,” his cheeks match his embaressed tone, “I think you’re cute too.” The interaction was short, sweet, and simple.There was nothing special about it. That is of course if you don’t count the obvious stuttering and nerves on his end. Even though he would not see you for another month, he thought of you all the time. He thought of you at the start and end of every day. He thought of you at the most random times and at the most specific times. He thought of you even when he wasn’t thinking of you. You were always lingering about in his mind, living rent free.

It wasn’t until the start of the new semester when he saw you again. You had been living in his head for what seemed like an endless amount of time that when you were staring back at the man from the bar, Thomas had to do a double-take. Only this time he swore he wouldn’t leave you without at least knowing your name. You would no longer be just the girl from the bar and he would no longer be just the guy from the bar.

Thomas could have sworn class dragged along longer than ever. He and the beating of his heart raced against the ticking hand of time. Trying to find you in a sea of law students was a mission within itself but since that night, he could detect your eyes from anywhere. Strangely enough it wasn't his fondness for you that made it easy to track you. As a matter of fact, Thomas didn’t even have to try at all. You were already right in front him, so close to him he could smell the product in your hair, enamoring him even further.

“So, here’s the deal. I’m a transfer student from Boston, so I’m pretty new around here and would really like to get familiar. Tonight I’ll be at the bar. Hope to see you there.” Without waiting for a response or checking for any signs on his face, you turn your back to head out the door. Your confidence being all you needed to walk away.

Thomas quickly calls out to you, “Wait! I’m Thomas. Thomas Jefferson. I didn’t catch your name.” He rushes out quickly in one breath.

“That’s because I didn’t give it.” And there was that smile again. Jefferson swore it’d be his downfall.

There was a lot to admire about her, Thomas thought. She was quick witted, confident, and didn’t seem to hesitate. Ever. She walked with a certain sagacity that rivaled his own. If he was being honest, it felt almost hair-rising to interact with her just for the simple fact it felt like he was talking to himself. He too was quick witted and clever. Thomas couldn’t help but to wonder what would become of them. Of tonight. He decided to shake off the pestering voice inside his head and just walk into the bar. Surely it was nothing he hadn’t dealt with before because at the end of the night, you were just a girl and he was just a guy.

Upon entering the bar, Jefferson spotted his mystery girl right away. At the sound of the bell by the top of the door, you turn your head slightly to identify the new customer. And there he was. Thomas Jefferson. You had heard plenty things of him. You knew he was one of the best law students, came from money, and was the kind of man that could demand the attention of a room without having to try.

“He gets it from his father,” you remember one of your new friends telling you the night you saw Thomas at the very same bar.

That night your eyes fixated on the Virginian a little too long, long enough for your friends to call you out on it. “Oh, my god. You should totally go for it, y/n. He’s kinda of a lady’s man but if anyone could tie him down, it’d be you. I can already see it happening.”

“What? No way. y/n would 100% eat Jefferson alive. No offense, girl, but you’re kinda scary. They call you Medusa, you know,” said your other friend. You laughed at your given nickname that seemed to follow you from all the way from college.

“I guess there’s only one way to find out, ladies.”

“I have to be honest. You’re a little intimidating, darlin’.”

You cock an eyebrow at the man as he takes a seat next to you. “Darlin’?”

“I’m sorry. You’ll have to excuse me. I don’t know what to call you by,” he says in a low voice.

You stare at him waiting for him to finish his incomplete thought but you hear nothing. “I’m sorry too,” you reply bluntly, “You’ll have to do better than that. You want to know something? You ask. I don’t take too kindly to hints. You’re a grown man, aren't you” you ask as he shifts in his seat, repositioning himself, “Speak up,” you challenge as your finger traces little, seductive lines on his rested hand on the bar top.

Thomas looks at you keenly. “What is your name?” He says each word deliberately and with such purpose.

“y/n. y/n y/l/t.” You echo back.

“y/n,” he tries out your name on his tongue. Thomas abruptly flips his hand over to catch yours, his quickness of motion similar to the the killing of a stubborn fly. He secures your hand in his and just holds it there for a second giving you the time to break the contact if you wanted to. Except for the fact that you didn’t. Just the mere touch of his hand felt intoxicating, fulfilling even. He brings your hand to his lips and places a single, chaste kiss. His eyes showing the true nature of intimacy behind his action. Your breath hitches at the smooth, cool feeling of his lips and immediately wished them elsewhere. Just as the contact breaks, Thomas looks up in search of something but doesn’t let go. His contagious smile slashes the silence. “I love this song so much. I heard it all time in France while I was working on my masters,” he conveys with an airy tone. Although his timbre was soft, the waves of sound radiated loudly through your hazy feeling chest. ”y/n, may I have this dance?” And you don’t even think twice as you’re following him.

“So, France, huh? I’ve never been. I bet it’s absolutely breathtaking.” The singing voice playing through the bar begins to sooth your ambiance.

“I’ll have to take you some day. Only then will you realize what this song means.”

“Enlighten me.” The light singing voice of Thomas Jefferson and Ottis Redding become one. He lightly guides your head to rest on his chest, pulling you in closer to him leaving no space between you two. His chest begins to lightly vibrate in the act of him singing along into your ear giving you the best kind of chills.

“These arms of mine, they are yearning. Yearning from wanting you. And if you would let them hold you, oh how grateful I would be.”

“Thomas!” Madison pushes his friend’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I asked if you knew y/n.”

“Why--- Why would you ask that? What makes you say that?” Jefferson speculates.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Are you okay? You’ve been off since we lef--”

“Madison! Jefferson! Come join us,” a slightly drunk Washington yells from across the room with his arms around y/n and Hamilton.

“Dear god. Is that Washington or John Laurens right now?” The pair make their way to the center of the room.

“y/n, you simply must meet Thomas Thomas!” The other Virginian lets go of Hamilton to leave room for Jefferson, pushing him out of the makeshift half circle and at this he feels secretly joyful no matter how hard his poor heart was pounding. “y/n is simply wonderful! I knew from the moment we met that she belonged right with us. Angelica is to be delighted, I’m sure. She’ll be glad there’s finally another woman on the board. Absolutely unrelenting, that one,” he goes to salute the air with his drink only to realize its emptiness. “You’ll have to excuse me. Duty seems to be calling.” And in one swift motion, Washington leaves his place between the two past lovers leaving nothing blocking their view from each other.

You hadn’t seen Thomas since that night at the bar. You were not a person of many regrets but never having the itch that was Thomas Jefferson scratched was one of them. God, destiny, fate... whatever high power that seemed to be controlling their lives just decided it simply just wasn’t their time. The following morning, you received an urgent call from a close connection back in Boston summoning your return for a far better schooling opportunity. And although it pained you to leave, you knew you had to do best for your career. You always made it abundantly clear that no one was to ever get in the way of your manifestations and your weren’t going to start then. On the way back home you couldn’t help but to recall the conversation at the bar with your friends. And seeing the look on Thomas’s face only confirmed what you had been thinking: you did eat him alive.

#thomas #jefferson #thomas jefferson #hamilton #daveed diggs #daveed x y/n #daveed diggs imagines #hamilsquad

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harveywritings92 · 5 years

Text

Batboys Scenario 1: secret model girlfriend. 2/2

They get you back!

Warning Jason and Tim’s scenarios contain mature situations so if that makes you uncomfortable in anyway skip them.

Dick Grayson: it had been six weeks since the whole S/n incident and Dick was wreck, he gotten rid of his posters and the magazines because every time he looked at them he'd see Y/n crying would cause him to feel angry and ashamed of himself.

and if that wasn't enough to add insult to injury he's hearing rumors that Y/n [S/n] had gotten back together with her ex boyfriend.

A beefcake model named Arden Silva apparently there were pictures of them both together... But Dick never bothered checking to see if it was true, it made his chest hurt thinking that she'd moved on from him so quickly...

While in reality Y/n wasn't dating Arden far from it actually; early in their careers he came out to her, and she pretended to date him to keep his family from finding out he was gay; till he was ready to come out publicly about it. They 'Broke up." after he met his boyfriend Daryl and both were kind enough to let her stay with them, until she could figure out what to do and where to go from here...

The last thing she wanted was to run into Dick he tried contacting her, but she blocked him; every night consisted of her getting drunk crying over him or being dragged to some wishy-washy party by Arden which of course caused rumors of them rekindling their relationship.

No, doubt Dick had heard about it. the mere thought made Y/n wanted to pick up the phone tell him wasn't true...But it hurt hearing how he really felt about her; it did a real blow on her self-worth made wonder how other friends saw her.

Kori of course told her it didn't matter if she were S/n or not; Y/n was Y/n and she was beautiful and the kindest person the alien was happy to call her friend not matter what! Hell even Damian who was usually cold towards Y/n told her that there's more to her then just a pretty face and Grayson is a fool for not seeing it, She was touched by that she really was but it still stung.

"Hey guys, I'm going for a walk." she called out to Arden and Daryl who were cuddling on the couch looked up at her concerned. "Are sure that's a good Idea?" Daryl asked having born and raised in Gotham he knew that was a very bad life choice especially at this time of night, After some debate Y/n sighed "Yeah, I'll up on the roof..." The blond man nodded and tossed her the key to elevator.

"Be Careful." the H/c nodded and made her way up to the roof for some air the h/c shuddered as she stepped out of the elevator she should've brought a jacket. Y/n hugged herself as she wandered around the pool area staring up at the sky when someone came up behind her "Y/n-" the h/c yelped and fell backwards into the pool.

Y/n couldn't swim so naturally she freaked as she started to sink, till pair of hands grabbed her by the arms and pulled her out. The h/c wheezed and coughed out water whilst trying to breathe, all while who ever was up on the roof with her rubbed shoulders and apologized.

when she could finally get air into her lungs Y/n looked up to see who the mystery person was, and was befuddled to see Nightwing looking down at her concerned. Her brows furrowed over why Bludhaven's resident hero was doing in Gotham, and what could he possibly want with her?

It didn't take long for Y/n to find herself under a pile of towels and the glow of a patio heater as Nightwing cut to the chase and said he was a friend of Dick Grayson's, the H/c's mood dropped lower then her current body temperature.

"Oh, I'm not special enough for him to come find me himself?" She hissed trying keep her voice leveled the hero tense as She said this, his lips formed thin line as he thought his words out carefully.

"It's not like th-"

"No, it's exactly like that! he made it abundantly clear! so, whatever lie or excuse he script you into saying? He can go shove it up his a-"

"He thought you were cheating!" Nightwing cut her off causing to Y/n to flinch then look at him confused. "What?" she spat obviously skeptical about this sudden revelation. As the masked man sighed frustrated he wanted nothing more then take her home and talk about this as Dick Grayson, but beggars can't be choosers.

"The date cancellations, the hush phone calls, the guy he saw kissing you while leaving ou- your apartment, after you told him you were at work? What does that look like to you?"

Nightwing chided as Y/n though this over...that look bad to anyone in Dick's shoes. "That man was Arden's boyfriend." she mumbled Nightwing's head whipped around to looked at her surprised *B-boyfriend? Arden is gay?...s-So she's not with him?!" as happy he was to hear that, they still solve this mess they gotten themselves into.

"And that made it okay to flirt S/n and say those things about me?"

She croaked as Nightwing shook his head "No it didn't...Truth be told he's a real Dick and crappy detective for not putting it together." The raven haired hero chastised himself for missing how obvious it was.

Y/n canceled a date because her editor says she has go France; S/n has a show in France! hell S/n even had the same freckles/birthmark on {spot} as Y/n and he was too caught up in the 'She's cheating' scenario to even notice.

as for why Dick said what he did? there was no excuse, he was hurt and just wanted to be mean and let Y/n hurt for betraying his trust. He regretted every goddamn word once Kori told him who he was talking to.

"Look, just go home...Please? He misses you." Y/n started crying causing Nightwing to pull her into tight hug. "And trust me, he is very sorry for everything..." the hero said pulling away from her Y/n nodded and eventually left the roof, not fifteen minutes later Dick Grayson got a text his heart rattled nervously in his chest as he check his phone.

{Are you awake? I want come home.]

[I'll be waiting..}

[I love you...}

{First ILY, Milestone and it's over text, way to make a girl blush.]

Dick snorted to himself as he put his Nightwing gear away hopefully one day he'll be able to tell her about his Stage name.

[Warning attempted sexual assault! Skip is it make you uncomfortable!]

Jason Todd: If someone ever told Jason Todd that his nerdy ex girlfriend turned out to be the hottest model in Gotham with a fan-base reaching international levels, he would laughed in their face and called them delusional.

Well too bad the universe decided to make that scenario a reality, And delivered it to Jason via sloppy hay-maker to the nose! At first he didn't understand what had happened one second he's flirting with his idol! the next he's on the ground holding his bloody nose and gawking up at his sobbing girlfriend.

That was the last time he saw Y/n, she didn't come home that night or return any of his calls, She was still in Gotham or rather S/n was still Gotham he'd see articles on her shoots or see and interviews on TV... He tried getting Artemis to tell him where she went, but the Amazon gave him a dirty look and slammed her door in his face.

leaving Jason to wallow in his anger and guilt, There he was Jason Todd: Red-Hood, former Robin trained by Batman to be a detective and he couldn't even figure out that his own girlfriend was the pin-up model!, he's such damn idiot! the signs were right there staring him in the face.

Cancelled plans, the e-mails,hushed phone calls, her being able to afford such a nice apartment despite being on a Librarian's salary,and the damn diets! Jason would always give Y/n crap for those back in high school because as he said.

"You don't need to go on a diet, you're a still growing teenage girl who's barely [y/weight] soaking wet and perfectly healthy." He chided before pushing a plate of Alfred's cookies towards her.

then tried to coax her into telling him who said she was too fat/skinny, cause he was gonna see just how much they weighed after he shoves his boot up their ass!

"T-two months ago, when you left me at the mall? there was this talent-" She was so close to telling him about her being S/n, but they were interrupted by Bruce calling Jason for a mission, Y/n let him go...

Jason smiled bitterly at the memory as he got ready for patrol, Currently Red-hood was staking out a shady modeling firm, that might be front a trafficking ring. Girls would go in... But never come out, he looked through the binoculars at the activity when he caught something out of the corner of his eye...

A woman with a familiar mop of y/hc being dragged inside, Jason blood went cold it couldn't be Y/n, but he had to be sure! he silently infiltrated the building through an old service entrance, what he found in this building made made Jason sick.

Women and girls in cells they were filthy and hooked up to Iv's being pumped with drugs so they couldn't run and they all had prices tattooed to their arms. he checked around for any signs of the girl he was looking for.

when he saw something small glittering on the floor. Red hood crouched down and felt his heart drop it was a necklace, Y/n's necklace! the one he gave her in high school before he died, she never takes it off.

Jason heard a door open and a man walked in and noticed the necklace on the floor, he crouched down and to look at it when the click of gun's safety going off caused him to tense, the man stared dead ahead as a modulated spoke up. "I'm not even gonna give ya a choice, where do they keep the new girls?" Red-hood snarled keeping his gun on the guy's head who was shaking.

"the basement, with the boss! if he sees one he likes he-" He didn't get a chance to finish as Jason snapped his neck, and made his way down to the basement. and stopped when he heard two men talking. "See that h/c broad they brought in?" the other nodded "Yeah, if she tweaked her hair and ditch the glasses she'd looked like S/n..."

The first one hummed agreement." probably why the boss wanted her so god damn badly, she's his dream girl after all.." the Jason let out a low growl so, it was Y/n neither men had noticed the vigilante silently approaching as other man snorted "Well, hell he can keep her, did you see what that bitch to Ernie's hand..."

Instead of his buddy he saw red not that he was angry or anything; Red-Hood just headbutted him knocking him to the floor, before stepping on his neck. "where's the boss?" he hissed the dazed man pointed at the office. "thanks." was all the vigilante said before popping a cap in his skull no doubt altering his boss to his presence.

Meanwhile Y/n mind was starting to slip into unconsciousness, she kept struggling to push this disgusting man off of her. but she was getting weaker, what ever was in that needle he jabbed in her was starting to take effect, she felt tears welling in her eyes as she tried think of something, anything that would take her away from this situation!

the man had gotten her shirt and bra off when a loud bang caused him to pull away, "I'll be right back sweetheart..." He cooed kissing her cheek if Y/n could gag she would, She watched her kidnapper pull out a gun and cautiously walked towards the door. a shadow appeared under the door, the guy didn't even opened it he just fired at the door.

there was a thud and a noticeable give against the door's metal surface. he smirked and opened it only for the body of one of his thugs to drop in a heap at his feet. The trafficker gasped in shock and started backing towards Y/n, only for the window shatter in a downpour of shards the trafficker grunted as he was sent to the floor.

Y/n's eyes widened as a large man in a black leather jacket and tactical gear came into view, it took her a moment to realize it was the Red-hood. who slowly stood up and started walking towards her kidnapper. who was begging for his life as the vigilante approached him "no,no,no please!...the girl!" He pointed at Y/n frantically.

"y-you can have her man, just don't-" He was cut off by Red-hood pointing his gun at his head "that's kind of the point pal." the vigilante said before shooting him in the face splattering blood on his suit, as he turned Y/n and immediately made his way over to the semi conscious girl.

Y/n saw Jason take off his jacket before covering her with it. He lifted her off the desk and carried her out of that hellhole, the last thing she saw was Red-hood looking down at her while calmly telling her.

"You're alright N/n...I got cha...I got cha..." he soothed holding her close before everything went dark.

When she woke up Y/n was confused as to where she was and how did she get there, then she remembered being kidnapped and what that guy almost did to her...the Red-hood, Jason saved her?

She looked and saw a familiar helmet on the room's nightstand and noticed the familiar figure in Kevlar sitting next to the bed watching her intently "Jay?" she croaked still trying to understand what she was looking at.

she couldn't tell if he was a hallucination from what that trafficker injected her with, or if her ex really did come and rescue her? the raven haired man sighed in relief. "Hey...Looks like we've got a lot talk about? he said numbly before reaching into his jacket and gave her necklace back. "I would've never found you without it."

The two just talked and told each other everything, how she ended up being S/n, while he told her why he was acting like an ass to her the last couple months, was because he saw he out with one of her Co-workers a male model and thought she was two timing and planing to leave.

and his plan was two could play at that game...only to be blindsided when the girl he chose; turned out to be the love of his god damn life and he screwed everything up like always! Y/n immediately berated him for blaming himself!

"This was more my fault then yours! I'm the one should've told you about S/n then this would've been avoided." she said as Jason took his gear off and crawled into bed with her and wrapped his arms around.

"We're both Idiots..." he mumbled tiredly into her shoulder as one of his hands roamed under her shirt, his thumb made circles on her hips. "That that we are.." she hummed holding his free hand. "I love you." she mumbled Jason kissed her neck "I know, go to sleep." they drifted off...

[Note: Tim and the reader are like college aged in this: 19-22 years old just to make that clear!]

Tim Drake [light smut]: *How, the hell did this happen?!* a red faced Y/n frantically wondered as her naked body was pressed against Tim's who was trying to hide the h/c from the other men in the locker room, How did this happen? Y/n came to the school to ask Tim for the key to her apartment back, but she didn't know college layout...

and got to asking if anyone knew where Tim Drake was? Well some girls who were fans of Tim pretended to take her to him and "Accidentally" spilled their drinks on her; since Y/n didn't go to this school, they easily tricked her saying it was the women's room. they stole her clothes and the e/c eyed girl was trapped!

After sitting in that shower stall scared and freezing her ass off. The model breath hitched when she saw the stall door opening and realized she hadn't locked it. the h/c immediately tried to grab the handle only to come face to face with Tim Drake who looked very stunned to find her there!

"Y/n? what are you doing in-" Y/n thanked every deity out there that it was Tim who found her and not some creep, She started crying and threw herself at ignoring the fact that he wasn't exactly dressed, the raven awkwardly hugged back as he was still trying to process what was going on?

Tim although stunned was also very upset to find his Y/n naked and scared in the men's locker room; where anyone could've found her like this! his first thought was someone already had. "What happen, did someone bring you here?..did they-" Y/n shook her head "No, I was looking for and some girls said they'ed take me to you then spilled their drinks on me, and tricked me into going in here." she quietly explained unfortunately for them a group of men started pilling in!

Causing Tim to curse under his breath he climbed inside the stall with Y/n and locked the door. The raven haired man held her close to him, in an attempt to try and keep anyone from seeing her...thank god the shower stalls had tall dark tinted privacy doors instead of curtains, and no space for anyone to crawl under or they would both be screwed!

Y/n gulped when the raven haired boy pressed closer to her, she held her breath as the outline of a man appeared and the door jiggled a little. "It's busy dude..." Tim said hoarsely his voice rumbled against Y/n's ear who let out a tiny whimper hoping they'ed leave, whoever was out there huffed annoyance and tried to look into the stall through the door "Are you even Showering in there?" the man asked clearly suspicious.

Tim had reached over the y/height girl and turned the water on; to a least look like he's busy so the others wouldn't be curious. "Yeah, these old showers take a while to turn on when they're all in use." another voice explained all while Tim and Y/n were trying their hardest not look at each other or touch anything. whoever was at the door huffed and walked away along with whoever told him about the delay in water pressure.

the couple relaxed, Well Y/n was relaxed until...She felt something poking her inner thigh.

Tim's jaw set and awkwardly looked down at Y/n who noticed and averted her gaze to the wall, the raven haired boy swallowed hard feeling her boobs pressed against his chest, it had been almost a month since they were this close to each other...Clothed and otherwise. So, can imagine how quickly Tim lost his battle with the beast...

then Y/n did the mistake of looking up at him again, with that look in her eyes, because next they knew they were making out against the tiled wall any gasps or whimpers Y/n made were drowned out by the men loudly talking or the locker doors slamming.

The h/c bit her lip trying not to moan as Tim's length slowly entered her needy core. "Don't make a sound..."Tim growled lowly in her ear she whimpered into his shoulder as he began to thrust into her roughly, needless that was possibly the hottest sex they've had in a while!

15 minutes later after all the guys had left...

the two girls who had tricked Y/n were still waiting outside very confused over why they did't hear any hooting and cheering or see a naked girl run out of the locker room, the blond was annoyed glaring at he phone, while the brunette who was holding a bag with Y/n's ruined clothes inside sat nervously next to her. "Um, Shelly y-you don't think the guys did something, do you?" she asked scared that they may have helped someone get assaulted or murdered.

"Shut up Britney." the blonde hissed causing her friend glare at her "I'm not gonna shut-up, and I ain't going to jail for-" They were cut off by Tim Drake walking out of the locker room holding hands with a flustered Y/n who was in his spare gym clothes. He noticed the two girls gawking and held his free hand out whilst giving them a stern look the brunette sheepishly handed him the bag, the couple walked off seemly lost in their own world.

earlier

in the locker room after making sure everyone was gone, Tim helped Y/n dry her hair off get dressed, the two got to talking about everything that happened like how and why Y/n kept her modeling career a secret from him.

She said she kept all of her S/n stuff at the studio clothes, make-up etc. and reason she hid was because she didn't want to be S/n all the time, nor did she want her fans harassing her and knowing where she lived and try to get with her. "It's happened, they were waiting in my living room."

Tim tense up a bit luckily this was before they dated, but that still didn't make it alright "has anyone tried following you since we-?" He asked handing her his red windbreaker to wear Y/n shook her head, and explained that they usually tried anything security would toss them out.

They usually ignore her because they're looking S/n not some plain coffee gopher. that and if they ever give up on S/n and went after Y/n, those self-defense lessons Tim gave her, told any unwanted guests that maybe they should back right off! After that said and done Tim wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

"I'm sorry I was a jerk."

"I'm sorry for keeping secrets from you."

Tim went quiet for moment before making a very big decision "...Yeah, Do you want spend the night at my place? I need to show you something." Y/n looked up at him curiously. "What is it?" As the two got up from the locker room bench, Tim snorted and grabbed her hand and started walking to the exit.

"It's kind of personal, Just... Don't freak out." the h/c's face turned red she wanted say *we just had sex in a crowded locker room without getting caught! nothing could surprise me at the moment!* But, all that came was a meek "Alright." as Tim led them out the locker room, Hopefully she takes him being Red Robin, better then he took to her being S/n...

Adult! Damian Wayne: 4 week...4 weeks since he'd last saw Y/n and Damian was goddamn wreck! He was subtle at first almost like he didn't care, he thought Y/n would come back after 2 or 3 days...but when she didn't? the usually cool and collected Wayne was unnerved, clumsy and irrational.

Often finding himself lashing out at his brothers or being too violent on patrol. He finally opened up to Dick after figuring out his oldest brother knew about her double life and demanded to know why she would tell him, but not her boyfriend!

However, Dick had very choice words for his brother he was still livid that Damian lied to him. "She was going to, but after the stunt you pulled? Hell, I'm surprised I'm even talking to you." The younger man looked at his brother stunned as Dick continue to scold him.

"You used brag that you weren't like Bruce! You'd never play with a woman's heart, that you were waiting for the right girl to come along, and you had her!" the raven haired man ran his hand through his hair trying hard not to deck Damian in the face.

Don't get him wrong, Dick loves his little brother, but right now, he was too disappointed and angry! "And instead of having a night to show her off? you chose to lie and be shallow about her looks and took some money grubbing bimbo to parade around as your girlfriend!" Damian went to say something, But Dick wasn't finished, he had to go there...

"What if You and Y/n had gotten married? What then, were you going to pay some actress to be her while the real one sat alone in a room? while everyone's congratulating you and whats-her;" The younger man slammed his fist on the metal table denting it "I Fucked up! I get it alright?!" he snarled causing Dick to cock a brow.

He knew full well that Damian was planning to propose."Now, would you please help me find Y/n and fix this?" the green eyed man asked desperately as Dick not entirely sure if he was making this better or worse...

"She's in L.A., probably staying with Robbie Reyes, the guy you saw leaving with her." The acrobat paused for a moment reading Damian's face the mix of jealousy and confusion was evident; making it clear Y/n never mentioned Robbie before.

"Be careful around him, He's the kind to hold grudge when someones wronged his family." Dick met Robbie once by accident the same night he found out about Y/n's double life.

Although he seemed like a nice guy, there was something off about the Latino boy, in some ways he reminded Dick of Jason...but that's putting it mildly! whatever Dick had seen in that boy's eyes made Jason look like small potatoes in comparison....

Meanwhile...

"You really didn't have to do this N/n.." Robbie said as he helped carry the groceries Y/n had bought, the h/c just waved her foster brother off. "After all your family done for me it's the least I can do!" She greeted Gabe who looked up from his homework a for brief moment.

"There was call while you were gone!" the teen rolling his wheel chair to the two and taking one of the bags from from and immediately dug in a found a bag of Reese's mini pieces. "Oh, for me or your brother?"

Y/n asked grabbing a package of ramen, The teen had teared the bag open and chowed down on the candy. "For you some dude, named Damian?" The rooms temperature seem to drop a few degrees there was a loud pop caused by Y/n squeezing the ramen packet, as Robbie felt his stomach flop thinking all the hard work he's put into bringing Y/n back on her feet was about to be blown to pieces.

"And what did, he say?"

"That he's sorry for the gala?"

"tsk* anything else?"

"He's staying at his family vacation house, and isn't leaving until you go see him."

Y/n let out a bitter laugh "Well he's gonna be waiting a long time!" She spat as Gabe tilted his head befuddled before Robbie could divert the subject or tell his brother to finish his homework the younger Reyes spoke up. "He lied and did a bad thing but so did Y/n, isn't it only fair that she gives him another chance? or at least hear him out?" the boy asked innocently.

Robbie awkwardly looked between his siblings before grabbing the handles of Gabe's wheelchair and pushed him out of the room, "10 minute break! go play Skyrim or read comics!." The older Reyes brother said frantically as his brother protested, then there were two.

"Y'know Gabe is right, You need closure and to achieve that you need to talk to him." Robbie said as Y/n tossed the ramen packet away. But before she could say anything Gabe' voice came from the living room.

"Awesome! it's Batman!" the h/c tensed up and went out to see what the teen was watching and saw the news, it showed Batman fighting Bane! what was Bane doing in LA?! Y/n flinched as she watched Damian get thrown around she turned towards Robbie, who was watching the screen he slowly looked at her and it was like having mental conversation, before it clicked the Latino silently mouthed out *Your Ex is Batman?!* she winced and nodded and with that Robbie grabbed her hand and to two slipped away.

With Damian.

Damian was getting the tar kicked out of him, each of his brothers offered to come with him, but no! he had to regain his beloved on his own accord. He really was a prideful bastard and he was paying for it! big time! Damian was exhausted black dots were starting to paint his vision.

He briefly wondered if this is how his father felt moments before Bane broke his back? The news helicopter would've made an efficient getaway, but it fled the second Bane started throwing pieces of train parts at it. The new Batman tried reaching for smoke bomb try to escape while he could still stand.

however Bane got a hold of his arm and lifted him off the ground. "I broke you once, I'll break you a again!" the drug lord roared and got ready to pull Damian's arm off only for the loud thunderous roar of an engine broke through the silence. And in an instance Damian was airborne as something black and on fire crashed into Bane sending the venom charged hulk flying into some cargo containers.

Damian lifted himself off the ground to see what saved him it was some kind demon car? a 69 charger...that the car Todd's been sobbing over and the car he saw Y/n speed off in...

He wasn't prepared for what happened next he saw Y/n step out of the flaming vehicle dressed in all black and wearing a domino mask she borrowed for Halloween, but never got around to returning.

She ran up to Damian and pulled him off the ground as Robbie got out of the car they heard Bane roar with rage in the distance. "Stay in car...I'll take care of the big guy." the mechanic hissed as his eyes began to glow, Damian watch in awe as the man's body ignited in flames burning away his flesh and down to his skeleton.

"Aim for the hoses connected to the dispenser on his back, it's how he's injects himself with venom." Y/n explained the skeletal creature nodded at the y/height girl as she helped Damian into the car the vigilante looked between Y/n and whatever the thing was.

"Wh-what the hell is that?" Damian croaked in pain and concealed fear as Y/n helped him into the backseat. "That's my brother Robbie, He's the spirit of vengeance the ghost rider." The masked girl explained as the two watched Robbie kick Bane's ass, Using his chains to burn through the hoses on the drug lords back.

When the rider was done with the power-house of a villain, the rider tore Bane's mask off. "Look into my eyes...Your soul is tainted with blood of the innocent...feel their pain!" the rider hissed as Bane was subjugated to the horrors he had inflicted on all his victims over the years. causing the drained crime-lord to scream in agony as the ghosts of the many tormented him causing Bane to flee in fear, straight into a metal beam. Knocking himself out.

The rider then turned back to the hell charger and got in the car."Where too?" Robbie inquired as he slowly turned back into his human form. "Normally the hospital, But in this case...how good is Gabe at keeping secrets?" Damian quizzically while the mechanic nodded.

"Pretty good, Just don't make-out or bleed out on my couch!" Y/n snorted at her brother "Trust me making out with guy who ashamed of me is the last thing on my mind?" She huffed looking out the window, as Damian sat himself up in the back seat. "I'm not ashamed of you." he hissed in pain holding his dislocated shoulder Y/n sucked her teeth at him.

"Right, you just went with some whore, because I'm so fucking gorgeous I turn people to stone when they look at me?" Robbie whistled awkwardly and put his headphones in to listen to music as the couple talked, Damian swallowed hard as he looked at Robbie then at Y/n trying to figure out what to say, he tapped into his inner Grayson.

"Okay, I'll admit I wasn't thinking about you or your feelings, I was thinking about myself and my reputation when I asked that girl to gala and not you, And it was selfish and scummy of me." He winced feeling his bruised ribs constrict, coughed shallowly. "But your no better than I am..." Y/n slowly turned to look at him in disbelief. "Excuse me? I'm not the one who cheated!" She hissed venom dripping on every word.

"1. I didn't cheat, I just paid I a girl to hang off my arm and look pretty."

"You lying-"

"2!..We've been together for five years and never once have you talked to me about meeting your family, You've met mine hell, you lived with us after Grayson accidentally burnt your house down. And as that alter-ego of yours? I told you about my secret because I trust you, I thought same the same of you! but clearly I was wrong."

Damian chided as Y/n felt rotten realizing that he right, She knows almost everything about Damian's life vigilante and civilian. But never once has she talked about her family as for telling her secret? truth be told.

Y/n honestly thought Damian was playing with her using her as a cover even after five years; she kept expecting him to just drop her out of the blue and never talk to her again. And that stunt he pulled at the Gala pretty confirmed her apparent false assumptions...

"Oh, for the love of-" Robbie suddenly cut in "look! You're both stupid for each other, so either make-up or shut-up! c'os I'm getting real sick of this Donna/Eric bull-shit!" The Latino snapped causing the couple to flinch as he eye were ablaze, Robbie took a deep breath pulled over and got out of the car to take a break.

Both Damian Y/n sheepishly stared at each other. "I was looking for you," He let out a bitter chuckled "Grayson finally told me where you were, after telling me how much I screwed up." the man removed his cowl and his appearance caused the rot to spread as Damian was pale his green eye were sunken and dull it was clear he hadn't been taking care of himself since the break up.

to be fair Y/n wasn't either... She hardly slept and when she did, she could hear Damian bad mouthing her and that girl laughing at her! if she was alone with no one was watching, she would go hide in the bathroom or garage and cry while staring at Damian's number on her phone conflicted she wanted to call but...

She didn't know if she wanted to scream at him or just cry more. Robbie eventually figured it out and started bugging her to call Damian and talk; if he's not sorry then move on...If he is give him chance.

"Are you really sorry?" She croaked as Damian grabbed her hand squeezed it. "Yes, I am." He said firmly as the h/c eyed him still unsure. "what about that girl?" She mumbled suspiciously as the raven haired winced from shifting his weight causing his ribs to protest.

"Like I said she’s someone I paid, she meant absolutely nothing to me." He rested his head against her shoulder, like he used to when he came back from a long mission, the h/c bit her lip as she thought this over then swallowed her pride.

"One chance..." Damian looked at her hope visible in his eyes. "One more chance Dam, If you pull any sort of crap like this-" She cut off by Damian kissing her passionately before pulling away. "I won't..." He promised as Y/n smiled at him shyly, as Robbie got back in the car. "Did you resolve your problems?" the couple nodded Damian keeping his hand on Y/n's.

"Good, now we're going home and you're going introduce me and Gabe to the guy whose banging our sister." the mechanic said seriously while giving Damian a cold look "Can it wait till' Damian's ribs aren't breaking everytime he breathes?"

Y/n pleaded obviously trying to at least let Damian heal before her brothers try to intimidate him. "No." Robbie huffed as the couple slouched against the seat "Sorry, Damian." He kissed her hand smiled painfully at her."Don't worry beloved, I'll soldier through it just for you.." Y/n smiled gently at her boyfriend as her mind tried to work through how Gabe was gonna react to his sister dating batman, hopefully he takes it better then Robbie is a the moment...

#batboys #xreader #Marvel x DC crossover #Richard Grayson #robbie reyes #Jason Todd #Tim drake #Damian Wayne #batman! Damian Wayne #Nightwing #Red hood #red robin #ghost rider #batbros #this took way too long #my writing #these are long!#light smut

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 5 years

Text

Chapter 5

We’ll Meet Again by George deValier

Sunday 30 January, 1944

Dear Arthur,

I hope this letter reaches you all right. Just a quick note to let you know that all is well. I can't say much… the censors monitor everything we write, and they might cut it out.

We arrived here the other day. Pretty messed up landing but we are getting on our feet. Hope you are well!

From Alfred.

Sunday 6 February, 1944

Dear Arthur,

Things getting better. This place is amazing, but I miss… England. Yeah. I think about England all the time. I can't wait to get back to… England.

Still can't say a lot, but… let's just say the Krauts have good reason to be pretty darn scared now that the Americans are here! Oh, and the Canadian too. Matthew sends his greetings!

From Alfred.

Tuesday 15 February, 1944

Dear Arthur,

Sorry these letters are so short - we're not supposed to say much.

The weather is good. Food terrible. Still miss England.

Yesterday was Saint Valentine's Day. Next year I will send a real Valentine. Until then…

Lo... From Alfred.

Thursday 17 February, 1944

Dear Arthur,

Getting this sent with the officer's mail so hopefully it gets past the censors.

These Krauts fight pretty damn hard. I've taken down four of em already - that's the most in the whole squad! Their Messerschmitts ain't no match for our Mustangs!

Our song came on the radio this morning. I was singing along until the guys in the squad started throwing empty cans at me for no reason. I guess they're just jealous that I've bagged more Krauts than any of em.

I still miss England. Oh, and in case you're confused, when I say England I mean you.

Love, Alfred.

Monday 28 February, 1944

Dear Arthur,

I found out today that the Krauts have a name for me. They call me - you're gonna love this one - the Magician. Because I appear and disappear like magic. Great, isn't it! Lady Beth and I are the terror of the skies! Matt is really jealous, even though he says he isn't. I always said I was the hero of the squad!

I keep your handkerchief close to my heart every day. But I can't say too much. Even though this is sent with the officer's mail there is still a chance it'll be seen by the censors.

Love, Alfred.

P.S. Just to prove I really am a Magician, I'm going to do something AMAZING - add an extra day to the month! That's right! Just you wait, I'm gonna make February twenty-nine days long this year!

Tuesday 29 February, 1944

Dear Arthur,

Abracadabra! 29th of February, told you I'd do it!

Love, Alfred.

Thursday 9 March, 1944

Dear Arthur,

Things aren't going as well as planned, but we've been told to expect that. Matt and I are fine but some of the squad… well…

I have to be careful of the censors.

The higher ups tell us that things will get better once reinforcements arrive. Guess we just have to hold out 'til then.

On a brighter note, bagged me another Kraut today, which makes me officially a fighter ace. They say I might get a medal. Funny… I thought I would be happier about that.

But if I fight and defeat them here, that means they won't get to England. That's what I think about every time I go up.

Love, Alfred.

Wednesday 15 March, 1944

Dear Arthur,

Two of my squad were captured yesterday. No sign of those reinforcements we were promised. We've been told we might be moving out soon but no word on when.

Knowing that you are safe and waiting for me gets me through each mission. Right now it's the only thing that does.

Love, Alfred.

Sunday 19 March, 1944

Dear Arthur,

Well, we were told we'd be heading to France but no sign of that… just stuck here day after day going nowhere. The countryside would be pretty if it weren't for the burnt out tanks and flattened barns everywhere. And the villagers are friendly enough but they seem so damn scared... and I don't blame em. And the assaults keep coming, and we go up and do our job, but it don't seem to do nothing.

Getting sick and tired of this place. God knows how long we'll be here.

Lost three more of my squad this morning. Three in one morning… Damn sick and tired.

There's nothing I wouldn't do right now to hold you for just one minute. I want it so much it hurts. Damn the censors, I don't give a damn anymore. If you're getting these letters it means they got through. I pray you're getting these letters.

All my love, Alfred.

Thursday 23 March 1944

Dear Arthur,

It's funny. I've shot down more of the enemy than anyone out here and yet… it doesn't feel like I thought it would.

We bagged this German pilot today. Flew like an eagle, all power and strength and grace, you know. Took a pack of us to bring him down and he still survived. He told us his name - Ludwig something or other - his rank and his number, and that was it. We bring him into the base and one of the guys takes the German's wallet. He pulls out this photograph and starts laughing, showing it to all the guys… and the German just stares at them with this look that is both the most terrifying and the saddest thing I ever saw. I didn't think it was right, so I take it off the guy, thinking it's a picture of Ludwig's wife or something. It's not. It's this young guy, smiling this bright laughing smile, this young guy with dark eyes and dark hair that sticks up in this one wild curl. And he don't look like no relation to this blond haired blue eyed German. It's strange. I didn't think that I would have anything in common with the Krauts. Seems I was wrong.

The special forces arrived soon after and took the German away. Before they left I put the photograph in his pocket when no one was looking. He didn't say nothing, but I ain't never seen someone look so grateful. And I thought how strange it was… that it was people like this that I'm shooting down. Just ordinary people with dreams and hopes and photographs.

There were two words written on the back of the picture… "Bella Ciao." It means "Goodbye, Beautiful."

Love always, Alfred.

Arthur held the latest letter to his chest and let out a deep, yearning sigh. He had already read it eight times. He was not sure whether the letters helped or made things worse. Of course he devoured every word, but being left with no way to respond was almost unbearable. Each sentence stabbed at his heart. With every letter Alfred seemed to lose a little more of that naivety and wide eyed optimism that had made him so endearing and so exasperating at the same time. But it seemed the reality that had been thrust upon Alfred had also made him more open, more understanding. While sometimes painful, each letter also left Arthur a little more in love than he had been before.

It had been hard to get back to normal life after Alfred had gone. Arthur was completely unprepared for how much he would miss the bloody Yank. After the life and joy and, well, sheer bloody frustration that Alfred had brought into his life, the days without him now felt flat and empty.

Arthur waited anxiously every day to see if a letter would be delivered. The postman was slowly getting used to being practically accosted when he came to the door. And Arthur was almost obsessed with reading every newspaper he could get his hands on, talking to every returning soldier, listening to radio broadcasts day and night, desperate for any news he could possibly get on the war in Europe. Gathering information on the war had become his life, to the extent that he wondered what he ever had to do with himself before Alfred had appeared and turned everything upside down.

Arthur took one last look at the letter, folded it, and placed it carefully in a locked drawer behind the counter. He looked around to see if he was needed, but the evening was fairly slow. The evenings generally were these days, now that the Americans had disappeared. Only a few regulars remained in the pub, clustering around the far end of the bar and making small talk about the war. A few months earlier Arthur would have been bored stiff with the conversation. Now, he hung on every word.

"They say the landings in Italy went appallingly," said one of the men, a gentleman in a suit who tapped his pipe against the bar and sent ash flying everywhere. Arthur barely noticed, too focused on the man's words.

"Of course the Americans would make an awful great mess of it," agreed an elderly regular, who looked disapprovingly at the pipe ash settling on the bar.

"I heard the Germans were tipped off somehow," added another patron, tapping his glass to be heard. "Seems someone was in on it."

"Well I hear the Germans are about ready to pull out of there. Just about had enough," said Arthur. Well, an English soldier had mentioned something to him along those lines earlier in the week. Arthur wasn't sure how reliable the information was, but he wanted to believe it.

"Smartest thing they've done in the whole bloody war, I say," said the regular. "Although certain sources of information would have us believe otherwise."

"Oh! That reminds me." Arthur reached for the wireless and fiddled with the dial. He smiled wryly to himself, remembering how only several weeks ago he had told Alfred that he couldn't stand the radio. Now he was practically glued to the thing. He scrolled through the endless static until he found what he was looking for.

"Germany calling, Germany calling…"

The grating voice was met by a chorus of groans. "Why are you listening to that traitor, Arthur?" asked the pipe smoking gentleman.

"At least we get some information from him," said the elderly patron.

"Bah! All lies, you all know that. He'll be hanged, that Lord Haw Haw, you wait and see."

"And good riddance to him! Doesn't mean we can't hear what he has to say right now."

Arthur ignored the men. He listened to Lord Haw Haw's every radio broadcast. As difficult as it was to listen to the traitor's posh, smarmy voice night after night telling the English nation they were fighting a losing battle, talking about the superiority of the German nation and spinning obvious lies about the war, occasional truths got through and Lord Haw Haw's broadcast was one of the only places to get information on the fate of Allied troops.

A heated debate quickly sprung up among the pub patrons, but Arthur was too busy trying to hear the radio to get involved. Most of the time the broadcast held nothing of interest, but over the din Arthur managed to hear a few words which caught his attention. Italy… American… pilot… "Ssh," said Arthur, holding up his hand. "What's that he's saying?" He turned up the radio and the men fell quiet as Haw Haw's jarring voice filled the room.

"The New York Times reported today that an American fighter ace over Italy has shot down nine German planes single-handedly in the midst of an ambush. This is, of course, an absurdity. The pilot, whose name was not released but who is referred to as 'The Magician,' was unable to take down a single Messerschmitt before his plane, a P-51 Mustang named the 'Lady Beth,' was shot down over the Italo-Austrian border…"

Arthur ceased to hear anything. The radio faded to a distant hum as black waves pounded through his head. The phrase repeated in his head over and over… a P-51 Mustang named the 'Lady Beth' was shot down… Arthur looked around for a chair but, not finding one, sank to the ground. Alfred's plane shot down over enemy territory… Alfred's plane… Alfred…

Arthur couldn't breathe. This wasn't real. He had imagined it… surely he had imagined it… The distant hum snapped back into focus and that awful voice droned on above him, cutting into him, slicing his heart and his sanity into pieces. The cruel words refused to stop.

"The pilot was captured barely alive by German forces soon after being shot down. He is believed to be a valuable officer in the American Army Air Force and thus in possession of a vast amount of important information. He has been taken into official custody by the SS and will be questioned extensively before he…"

The radio faded into pounding black waves once again. SS… questioned extensively… before he... oh God before he what… "I can't breathe…"

Unrecognisable voices thrummed through the thick air around him.

"Get some water."

"Someone call a doctor!"

The room tilted dangerously. Arthur didn't even notice he was screaming until someone appeared before him, taking his hands and trying to calm him. Arthur couldn't hear anything clearly but those terrible words. Lady Beth… shot down… barely alive... questioned extensively… SS…

Arthur tried to nod. He tried to say he was all right. But he wasn't. Of course he wasn't. Alfred was captured and soon to be interrogated. And after that… the SS weren't exactly known for letting prisoners go free. Arthur swallowed a wave of nausea and fought to stay conscious. He barely noticed the people around him.

Of course Arthur wasn't all right. How could anything ever be all right now?

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#We’ll Meet Again chapter 5

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qqueenofhades · 7 years

Text

The Rose and Thorn: Chapter II

summary: Sequel to The Dark Horizon. The New World, 1740: Killian and Emma Jones have lived in peace with their family for many years, their pirate past long behind them. But with English wars, Spanish plots, rumors of a second Jacobite rising, and the secret of the lost treasure of Skeleton Island, they and their son and daughter are in for a dangerous new adventure. OUAT/Black Sails. rating: M status: WIP available: FF.net and AO3 previous: chapter I

Sam awoke to the strong smell of brine and fish, the sound of a loud argument in what he thought might be Portuguese, and a dog licking his face, which made him curse and push it away. He understood the principle of having a cat on board ship; they kept the rats down, tended to themselves, and stayed out of the crew’s way, but a dog must eat as much as a sailor while doing none of the work (what did it do, bark at dolphins?) This seemed a seriously questionable decision on the part of his current vessel, but as the theme of his adventures to date appeared to be shaping up, he had not been left with a great deal of choice. He had approached one of the tender boats on the beach, thinking that he could pay for it to take him out to one of the Navy frigates in the harbor. He had reckoned without the – in hindsight, blindingly and idiotically obvious – fact that all the small craft ashore were Spanish, and had absolutely no interest in transporting this pair of gormless English striplings anywhere. So in sum, to start off Sam’s vital interception mission on which the very future of the war might hang, he had strolled up and volunteered himself to be abducted. Wonderful. Just bloody wonderful. If Nathaniel –

At that, Sam’s eyes flew open, even as his skull was still aching from the smart blow that one of the Portuguese pricks had administered to the back of it. Trying to avoid moving too fast, he glanced around cautiously, forced to console himself with the fact that at least Nathaniel had not thought of this beforehand either – fine pair of secret agents they made, the both of them. As it happened, the dog was now licking Nathaniel instead, slumped against a coil of rope across the way, and after a few more moments of the mangy mutt’s devoted attentions, his eyelids fluttered. He groaned, opened them, stared at Sam with the maximum amount of umbrage it was possible to convey in a facial expression, started to say something, then bit his tongue.

Having reassured himself that he had not – yet – gotten his friend killed, Sam edged slowly toward the sound of the argument from above. The one possibility he could see was that he was increasingly certain that they were indeed Portuguese, and not Spanish. While somewhat of an afterthought in the scheme of things, not quite to the class of the heavyweights England, Spain, and France, Portugal did hold the vast colony of Brazil and other possessions in the Indies and the Main, and while they more or less cooperated and allied with Spain in doing this, their allegiance to Madrid would not be guaranteed. That, now that Sam thought about it, was likely the cause for the argument. Half of the crew must want to hand them over to the guardas costas right now, and pocket a nice reward for their trouble. The other half (well, hopefully it was at least a half) must favor keeping them around, seeing if there was some further use to them, maybe even make Spain pay handsomely for the service of returning them.

It occurred to Sam that if so, he could possibly still salvage this. Convince them that he was important enough to be taken to Havana directly, as that was, after all, where he was trying to go. It might be harder if none of them spoke English, and how exactly Sam would pull this off without actually dying remained a sticking point, but that was a problem for later. As long as he was right about all this speculation as to their disagreement. If they were just squabbling about whether to drown them or shoot them, that, well, that lengthened the odds a bit.

At that, Sam pawed at his jacket, and discovered to his astonishment that the sack of money was still there. Evidently their captors had not even bothered to search them before knocking them over the head, confiscating their weapons, and tossing them in this fish-smelling predicament, and that was a morbidly hopeful idea. It might mean that the kidnappers were as thoroughly amateur as the kidnapped, and while they would still have the money if they wanted it – Sam could obviously not stop a dozen brawny sorts from helping themselves – its presence might at least convince them that there was more where that came from, or that he was rich enough to fetch a good ransom. And while Sam did not speak Portuguese, he could just barely scrape along in Spanish, and they would have at least one man who knew that. He was feeling more hopeful than he had five minutes ago, despite still being summarily abducted and held belowdecks of an enemy vessel with a superfluous dog and a deeply unimpressed friend. Now they were getting somewhere.

Just then, the ladder creaked, and with a look at Nathaniel imploring him to trust him despite all good reason to the contrary, Sam sat up straighter. The next instant, several pairs of feet descended into the dimness – this was a small ketch, with only one deck below the main and a crammed hold intended for a few hammocks and stowing cargo. As their owners came into sight, half a dozen bearded faces regarded the boys with deep suspicion. They seemed surprised that they had come to (perhaps they hadn’t hit them hard enough) and one of them called sharply to the dog, which sat where it was and whined. Sam felt a brief and unexpected affection for the fleabag, and when the silence turned excruciating, shrugged and took it upon himself to get on with whatever was about to happen. “Hola,” he said, in a friendly voice. “Me llamo Samuel.”

There were snorts and a few startled looks, but nobody clocked him a new one, so Sam took that as a good sign. “Mi amigo, Nathaniel. Estamos – ah, what’s the fucking word – deserters. Wait – somos? Somos desertores. From del campamento Inglés. Yo tengo – inteligencia? Inteligencia importante. For el gobernador. En Cuba. Havana.”

He held his breath, hoping that this was not the most obvious of all ploys in the history of attempted neck-saving, though this lot did not look like candidates for the famed All Souls exam in Oxford (which Sam had briefly aspired to, before realizing that it would involve far more of the Latin master than anyone needed in their life). When there was still no answer, he stoutly plowed on. “Havana. Necessito to go to Havana. Dinero. Tengo mucho – muchas? – dinero.”

As he had hoped, that got their attention immediately. He pulled out the money sack, wincing at the possibility of losing it less than forty-eight hours into the venture, but if it got them to Havana, it would be a very wise investment. Glances were exchanged among the crew, someone stepped forward and yanked it out of his hand, and there was a murmur as they opened it, saw it was real silver – and then remembered one small fact, stopped, and scowled heavily. It was of course English currency, and that would do them no good in any of their usual ports of call, as they couldn’t spend it and they couldn’t trade it without someone getting suspicious as to where they had come by so much of it. The man who had taken the bag, coming to this conclusion, flung it on the boards with a curse, sending coins rolling in every direction, and started toward Sam with what absolutely sounded like the Portuguese version of “Get him, lads!” In that moment, Sam could only think of one thing, despite its high likelihood of backfiring in any number of spectacular ways. No time for another.

“FLINT!” he yelled. “Mi abuelo. Capitán Flint!”

That, at last, caught them short in a way that not even the money had done. Everyone across the Caribbean, regardless of nationality, knew who Flint was – and more importantly, what he had left behind. Half the £87,000, or 120,000 pieces of eight, that Charles Vane and Henry Jennings had stolen from the Spanish salvage camp in 1715 had been lost with the wreck of the Walrus, Flint’s ship, on the fabled pirate hideout of Skeleton Island, and he had also buried another chest somewhere ashore. (The other half, aboard the Queen Anne’s Revenge, had been dispersed and spent in various avenues long ago.) Rumors had long swirled about the feasibility of retrieving such a legendary stash, whether it had actually sunk or might be trapped in the ship’s decaying hulk, but had been hindered by the fact that nobody knew where Skeleton Island actually was. The remaining charts had been lost with the Walrus, if Flint remembered the exact bearings he wasn’t saying, and besides, everyone believed that he was dead. The Spanish had never stopped brooding on the insult and their desire to recoup their lost loot, and the tale of the treasure had taken on a life of its own. If Sam could possibly lead anyone to it, the Portuguese could either charge a huge price to hand him over, or take advantage of it themselves. Win-bloody-win.

There was a very long silence. Then the one who looked like the mate said, in heavily accented English, “Captain Flint – dead.”

“Aye, he is.” Sam wasn’t so desperate to save his own neck as to sell out his grandfather, but now that he’d made the ploy, he couldn’t back down. “But I told you I have intelligence for Havana, didn’t I? You want to risk telling Güemes that you had the way to reclaim the lost treasure in your hands, and let me slip through?”

The mate squinted at him, not understanding all of this, so Sam sighed deeply and was once more obligated to patch it into his terrible Spanish. The gist of it, however, was that Don Juan Francisco de Güemes y Horcasitas, Count of Revillagigedo, the captain-general of Cuba and governor of Havana, would be extremely displeased if they did not bring Sam to him straightaway, and if that lost treasure was recovered, surely there would be a generous cut of it for them. Or if they wanted, they could just die poor and stupid. No skin off his back.

There was much frowning, more muttering, and a few dangerous looks at Sam, but the end result was that someone was finally dispatched to fetch the captain. He spoke better English, and introduced himself as João da Souza, a bearded man with a somewhat misleadingly genial air; he might slap your back and drink with you, but was clearly not about to brook any challenges to his command or actually consider you a friend. Sam had gotten adept at quickly reading people, and when da Souza pressed for details, merely repeated his earlier insistence that Flint was his grandfather and this was an unmissable business opportunity. Surely this couldn’t be a terribly profitable job, slaving on this rinkidink tender boat to sell to the Spaniards at ridiculously undercut prices. Money. Just think of it. Lots and lots of money.

Da Souza clearly wanted to believe him, for obvious reasons, but not without proof. “How do I know,” he asked at last, “that Flint is your grandfather? You are a very bad pirate.”

Sam winced. “I’m a wonderful pirate, actually. If you give me a chance.”

“Yes?” Da Souza tossed a complicated twist of rope at him. “What is that?”

“That is. . .” Sam considered the object in question with all the accumulated wisdom of his family’s legendary seafaring exploits and specialized knowledge of the most arcane difficulties in the owning and operation of sailing ships. “That is definitely a knot.”

Someone snorted audibly. “You cannot be of his line.”

“My mother’s his adopted daughter,” Sam said defensively. “Him and his wife. They’re – were – my grandparents. So – “

Da Souza’s eyes sharpened, and Sam struggled not to let his expression change. He was fairly sure the captain had caught that brief slippage into present tense, the hint that his grandfather might not be quite as dead as he was trying to insist. It was thus less than entirely reassuring when the captain smiled. “Havana. Yes. Güemes, we will take you to him.”

“Er, thanks.” Belatedly, Sam supposed that his gaffe in fact might not have been the worst thing in the world – sailing in aboard a Royal Navy ship would have put all of Cuba on alert and made it impossible for him to conduct his search for Montiano’s agent in private, if he wasn’t arrested the moment he set foot ashore. Arriving anonymously aboard a humble Portuguese supply tender would attract no notice whatsoever, and if da Souza had been safely assured of mythical riches, he might even go to the bother of actively trying to keep Sam alive long enough to reach the governor. And if Sam could find out what exactly the intelligence was – Oglethorpe had not told him that, after all, just that he needed to intercept it – he could decide what to do with it, stopping it or otherwise. It was somewhat of a surprise to hear himself thinking so calculatingly about this, actively planning where it might most benefit, but. . . prior evidence all aside, he wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew this was dangerous. He had to keep his eyes open.

Sam and da Souza spat in their palms and shook hands on their agreement, Nathaniel let out a sagging breath of relief (he had certainly seen Sam talk them out of tight corners before, but that might have been the tightest) and Sam was given to wonder if, now that they were such mates, the crew might be induced to feed them. He had been constantly hungry since he left home, as subsisting on less-than-robust army rations was about the worst privation in the world for a nineteen-year-old boy (as he, like the rest of his ilk, could eat his parents out of house and home while remaining the exact dimensions of a beanpole). Asking this question finally landed him and Nathaniel with some hardtack and a weazened orange apiece. Evidently, while they may certainly die in the course of this, it would not be from scurvy. Dad would approve.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Nathaniel muttered, as they gnawed the peelings off. The crew had gone back to the deck to make ready to sail, and they could feel the ship starting to gain speed beneath them. “Next time, maybe we don’t get knocked out first?”

“Aye, maybe.” Sam chewed experimentally on the hardtack, hoping that there would not be a surprise weevil experience (that had happened to him when he was eight, which he supposed might be part of his dislike of sailing). He did not want to fall into all his successes in such an arse-backward fashion, but it was still preferable to failure. “It worked, though, didn’t it?”

“That was luck,” Nathaniel pointed out, cruelly but accurately. “Besides, I don’t trust da Souza. He’ll try to coax you to tell him the bearings to Skeleton Island before we ever get to Havana, then chuck us overboard if you can’t tell him. And I know you don’t know those.”

“Keep your voice down, will you?” Sam looked around edgily. He didn’t know who else on the crew spoke any English, and did not want to risk them finding out. He was also aware that this bluff only ran any chance of success if da Souza actually had an interest in bringing them to Cuba and assisting the Spanish war effort, as otherwise, he could indeed just throw the boys into the ocean without anyone ever knowing they had been there. He wouldn’t as long as the riches were on the table, but as soon as they weren’t, well. . .

There was, however, not exactly much either of them could do at the moment, and they settled uneasily by the bulkhead, heads still aching, as the tender boat made it further out to sea. Sam risked a peek through the anchor eyelet, clambering through the heaps of rope and sacks in the bow, to see that they were almost out of sight of land, as da Souza must have known a back route out of the harbor away from the Royal Navy blockade – probably the same one they had used to smuggle supplies through to St. Augustine in the first place. It wasn’t that long of a trip to Havana if the wind cooperated. He wasn’t going to have a lot of bloody time to come up with a plan, and the Spanish agent could be well ahead of him anyway. If so. . .

And yet, despite the admittedly uneven start to his venture, and the very real risks that remained to his family if he failed, Sam couldn’t help but enjoy himself, more than a little. Sure, he’d probably die, but he was young enough to feel immortal, invincible, and this would be enough of a ripping good yarn that he’d never have to sit tongue-tied at another family dinner while the rest of them swapped tall tales and sailing stories. He was deeply proud of being Killian Jones and Emma Swan’s son, James Flint and Miranda Barlow’s grandson, Sam Bellamy’s godson, and even Geneva Jones’ brother (though he was sure he couldn’t actually tell her that). He knew they loved him regardless, but he did not want to be the hatchmark, the asterisk, on the list of pirate legends – the runt of the litter, the black sheep. He wanted to be enough.

After a moment, Sam blew out a breath and turned away. He was still hungry, though he didn’t think any more food would be forthcoming, and besides, he had to see if he could scrounge up any of his coins from where they had rolled into dark corners. Da Souza and his crew might not be impressed with English money, but Don Juan Francisco de Güemes might, and Sam had plenty of uses for it otherwise. He was tired, but he wasn’t sure he’d sleep. He needed to think.

No comments on how well that has gone before. Sam muttered a brief prayer to Saint Jude, just because it couldn’t hurt, and went off to get started.

--------------------

At least from the harbor, Nassau Town, New Providence Island did not look like the formidable stronghold of hostis humani generis, enemies of all mankind, as the laws and tracts of all the colonial empires had – unsurprisingly – declared the pirates’ republic at the height of its influence. There were no ships flying the black flag, no roving gangs of wastrels, and, perhaps most disappointingly, no piles of treasure lying around on the beach. One John Tinker had been named the new governor in 1738, but due to the demands of the war and his concerns elsewhere, he had not yet bothered to take up residence, and nobody appeared to be missing him very much. Indeed it looked, exactly as promised, quite normal, an ordinary hub of lawful commerce. The fort on the headland remained only half-rebuilt, as Robert Gold had destroyed its predecessor during the last battle, and the Union Jack was flapping merrily overhead, which surely would have disgusted Geneva’s relations if they were present to observe. Indeed, while she hadn’t expected to arrive in some preserved bit of pirate Utopia, with rum and brawling and salty wenches and whatever else they liked, it was somewhat of a letdown. Like going to find a prince, and meeting an accountant.

Still, she did not intend to let an underwhelming first impression deter her from a closer acquaintance. She turned away, ordered her crew to put down anchor, and prepared to go ashore. It had been an uneventful voyage from Savannah, though she had veered well out to sea to avoid Spanish ships around Florida, and the mercury was holding steady, though that could never be trusted for long in the dog days of summer.

“It looks quite. . . benign,” her great-uncle said. “I suppose I had rather a different idea of it.”

Geneva had to laugh. “Aye, I was just thinking the same. Though I’m sure there is more to it than meets the eye. We might end up wishing it was as boring as it seemed.”

With that, she helped Thomas down into the boat, along with a few of her crew members, and took one of the sets of oars, pulling them toward the quays. No sooner had they bumped against the boards and disembarked, however, when a small and obnoxious individual in an excessively powdered peruke wig rushed up and thrust a ledger under Thomas’ nose, clearly taking him for the master of the arriving vessel. “Berthing fee is a shilling,” he announced. “There is the docking register and the cargo tariff to settle as well, sir, so if you would step to my office – ”

“I’m not the captain.” Thomas looked as if he was trying very hard not to laugh. “That would be my niece here.”

“You?” The man goggled at Geneva with irritating, if not unexpected, skepticism. “Are you – managing it in your father’s stead or something of the sort, miss?”

“No,” Geneva said. “I’m Captain Geneva Jones and that’s the Rose, my own ship. As for your ludicrous charges, it seems as if pirates of one bloody sort have just been exchanged for another, doesn’t it? Good to know Nassau is still a den of bald-faced thieves.”

“We are not thieves.” The port factor inflated territorially. “We charge the dues and customs as appointed by the merchant guilds and trading boards of His Majesty’s West Indian territories. Entirely lawful, I do assure you. So if you – ”

Geneva couldn’t help but flinching at the mention of New Providence being firmly back under British stewardship, no matter how peaceably it had worked out. She hadn’t expected it to affect her, since it was a fight she had never been part of except for the briefest imaginable time as a very newborn infant, but it still landed in some uncomfortable ancestral heart of her. Thomas – whose own experience of English law had been far from benevolent, even if not that of the open piracy and rebellion of his spouses – had an odd look on his face as well. Exiled to a work camp in the Colonies after his confinement in an asylum, announced to the world that he was dead, disinherited and bereft of his family name, title, and home and everything he had ever worked for in a respectable career as a peer of the House of Lords and the promising scion of a well-established family. He might be happily reunited with James and Miranda these days, and all of them had struggled to finally put the past to rest, but the wounds remained.

Still, however, Geneva – while she might have her grandfather’s advice in mind about getting into at least one fight while she was here – did not see it necessary to start off by assaulting the port factor and being shut promptly into jail. So she went to his office, paid the charges, signed the docking register, and returned to where Thomas was waiting for her in the shade. “Well,” she said, with an annoyed huff. “Being hit up for English taxes the instant we land? I suppose Nassau has changed after all.”

“Indeed.” Thomas’ cheek twitched again, but he offered her his arm, which Geneva took, and they started up toward the streets, her crew having hastened ahead in apparent eagerness to see if everything was civilized these days, or the legendary houses of booze, bawd, and bad decisions still remained for public inspection. She’d box their ears if they gambled away all their wages, or got themselves into an entanglement from which she would be obliged to extricate them. She could not blame them for curiosity, as it was after all a considerable part of the reason she herself had come here, but still.

“You’re very like him,” Thomas said unexpectedly, as Geneva pulled her skirts up with her free hand to avoid the muck – she captained a ship and managed her own trading business and took advantage of numerous other pursuits normally accorded to firstborn sons, but she still liked to wear dresses and to do her hair fashionably and to buy jewelry and trim her sleeves with lace. “Your grandfather, that is. And your grandmother. I see so much of both James and Miranda in you. I know you’re not theirs by blood, but it is easy to forget.”

“It’s never been any different for us, you know.” Geneva glanced at him sidelong. “I didn’t meet them – and you – until I was eight, but Mother and Daddy always told us about you. It didn’t feel like meeting strangers when I saw you at last. Just like family who had been away for a long time and finally came back.”

“I remember.” Thomas laughed, even as the half-sweet, half-painful shadow of memory crossed his face: the first time that Killian and Emma had seen Miranda and Flint in years, since losing them in Charlestown and Skeleton Island, respectively, and believing them dead. The introduction of them both to Thomas, and Flint and Miranda meeting all their grandchildren for the first time, as Henry, Geneva, and Sam had been fully willing to accept this in their stride and not sure why the adults were in tears. Geneva’s own recollection was of being relieved that the pirate they had hanged in the Savannah square was not actually her grandfather, hugging her grandmother for the first time as Miranda shook and shook, and being distracted with biscuits and put to bed while the adults sat up all night on the veranda. The Swan-Joneses had moved from Boston the next year, when Henry had taken his degree from Harvard, to be closer to them, to let Geneva and Sam grow up with the rest of their family, not wanting to miss any more time, and she remained deeply grateful for it.

They reached the top of the steep, cobbled street, lined with swinging signs and painted storefronts, food stands and scriveners, taverns and trading posts and other familiar features of an ordinary market town. If it was somewhat more grimy in places, it was usually down a back alley, and nobody was resorting to fisticuffs (at least not in the open). Palm trees shaded the handsomely colonnaded plaza before the governor’s mansion, which in the absence of the actual governor being in residence was evidently used as the city hall anyway, and the rich golden light slanted as thick as honey on canvas awnings and red-shingled roofs. It was. . . pretty, with a sense of being well lived in, comfortable as an old shawl or a favorite dress. Not wild, not anymore. Whether or not that had been vital to its character before, and this could only be a pale and cheap copy, Geneva could not say. Still, though. She liked it.

They went up the broad marble steps of the mansion, enquired after the whereabouts of Charles Swan, and were sent to a nearby half-timbered townhouse with a brass plaque on the door. They rang the bell, were shown in by a servant, and in a few more minutes, Geneva’s uncle – fair and blonde and retaining some of his old good looks, though his hairline had receded and his waistline had expanded – was effusively greeting them. “I had no idea you were coming to Nassau, you should have written! I don’t suppose your mum and dad. . .?”

“No, just me and Uncle Thomas.” Geneva gestured to him, as the men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. “We weren’t intending to be here long, a fortnight or so, and we won’t impose if you – ”

“Nonsense,” Charles said heartily. “There’s plenty of room, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. None of you have ever visited me before, I should mark the occasion. Indeed, business is booming, and if you’re at all interested in remaining longer, my dear, I’m currently in the market for a new ship and captain. War always tends to be good for our bottom line, so there’s that – although there’s no guaranteeing the bloody Spanish wouldn’t ransack you. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t fancy explaining that to my sister, but the offer stands.”

“Ah – thank you, but I think I’m sorted.” With that, Geneva was induced to be shown upstairs by the maid, taking one room at the end of the hall as Thomas took another, and once she had washed and freshened up from the voyage, returned downstairs to the sitting room to visit. She, Thomas, and Charles passed a pleasant afternoon drinking tea and chatting and catching up with the news, and as dusk began to fall, Charles announced that he’d take them to his favorite supper club. No better way to really meet the locals.

Geneva, who had begun to suspect that her uncle was trying to butter her up to join the family business regardless of whatever she had politely refused earlier, agreed, rather amusedly, and fetched her hat and gloves. The evening was still very warm as they stepped out, the shadows ink-black among the waving palms and the sun a spill of claret wine in the west. Crickets shirred in the distance, torches and lanterns lit among the narrow wynds, and she and Thomas followed Charles to an appealing establishment on the harbor side of the city, where they opened the door and entered a lowlit, busy common room. Charles was evidently a regular, as he was greeted by name and seated promptly, and as they were waiting for their meal, Geneva was left to conclude that the whole thing had thus far been like a pleasant holiday. She was quite sure it had not been like this when her parents and grandparents had lived here, and briefly wondered if this could be considered any sort of authentic experience. Unless she was going to just –

“Mr. Swan?”

The table looked up with a start to see a man who seemed faintly, intangibly familiar, though for the life of her, Geneva could not have said why. He was sunburned and rough-weathered, with long black hair streaked with grey, a scraggly beard, an embroidered jacket, and – most noteworthy – a missing leg, though he wore a leather and iron replacement that allowed him to stump along with a crutch, which he laid against the table. His face was outwardly friendly, but his blue eyes were cool and shrewd, the face of a man who held the cards and shuffled the deck as he pleased. Spotting the empty chair next to Thomas, he took it without asking for permission, and smiled, once again in a friendly fashion, but with a clear sense that he was not about to be sent away without an answer. “Good evening. I regret having to interrupt you with company.”

“I.” Charles looked rather like a schoolchild who had stood up to recite before the class and forgotten his lines. “Mr. Silver. Good evening to you too.”

At that, Thomas twitched slightly, a reaction which the newcomer – clearly not a man who missed much – caught out of the corner of his eye. He turned to them. “Friends of Charles?”

“Family. This is his niece, Geneva, and I’m her great-uncle, Thomas.”

Likewise, a very strange expression crossed the man’s – Mr. Silver’s, as it evidently was – face. Something shock and curiosity and wonder and vindication and suspicion and fascination all at once, like the unearthing of a mysterious skeleton or fabled treasure from the ground where it had lain in secret for years, and was only now coming to life again. “Correct me if I presume,” he said slowly. “But you wouldn’t be – you could not possibly be – Thomas Hamilton?”

“Do you know me, sir?” Thomas was startled and wary, as any sudden arrivals with apparent familiarity of his past were far from reassuring. “Have we met – ?”

“We have not. You are him, then?”

“I am. Can I be of service?” The words were polite, but the tone was cool.

Silver did not answer immediately, continuing to regard him with an interest so intent as to nearly be rude. He realized it and glanced away, but could not help but looking back, as if Thomas was a museum exhibit or rare curio on which he intended to compose a lengthy treatise. At last he said, “I was well acquainted with a particular friend of yours, in the past. If he’s still alive – if you’ve crossed paths again – then I don’t suppose he’s mentioned me?”

“You’re – ” Just then it clicked, for Thomas at least, even as Geneva and Charles remained utterly baffled. “You’re him. John Silver, Long John Silver?”

“I’ve been called that in the past, yes. Even at times in the present.” Silver shrugged. “Well, then. This is – I scarcely know if serendipitous is enough of a word. And a great-niece?” He glanced back at Geneva. “No, wait. You’re theirs, aren’t you. Hook and Swan’s daughter?”

“Killian and Emma Jones are my parents, yes.” It was an unsettling feeling to be sitting across from someone who clearly knew far more about you than you did about them, and who might put that information to work in any number of ways. Geneva thought she might recall her grandfather mentioning someone named Silver, but he never said much about his old life, not to her and Henry and Sam. Kept it locked away, the old and wrathful mantle of Flint that he could never shed entirely, but which he had grown to master to the point that he could leave it where it lay, and just be James McGraw to his family. “You – you must have served on my grandfather’s crew. On the Walrus.”

“Your grandfather?” That seemed to intrigue Silver nearly as much as Thomas. “Captain Flint bouncing fat babies on his knee, letting them pull his beard and feeding them bonbons? I can’t see it.”

“Is it your concern?” Geneva did not feel obliged to disclose her personal history to this man, somehow both old friend and unsettling stranger, and she rather wished he would be on his way. “Do you go around bothering all the relatives of old business partners at supper, or just us?”

“Business partners?” Silver seemed amused. “That’s one word for it. I was his quartermaster, yes, so I suppose it is not entirely inaccurate. But as it happened, I was looking for your uncle. Charles, I have a venture, and I need a ship.”

“Most of my ships are abroad.” Charles fidgeted. “Indeed, all of them. I am grateful for your assistance in the past, of course, but I don’t think I can – ”

“More than assistance, wasn’t it? I daresay the Nolan enterprise on Nassau would never have gotten off the ground if Madi and I had not extensively facilitated it. There were also repeated loans on favorable terms of repayment, when your own difficulties cut into the profit margins, and introduction to those men who knew more about the Indies and the Caribbean and the general merchant business than you did. You have done well with sustaining the momentum once it was begun, certainly, but starting it? No.”

Charles, who had been about to take a sip of wine, choked and put it down, as Geneva glanced accusingly at her uncle. She was not about to say that he was openly trying to take advantage of her unexpected arrival, but this did explain quite a bit about both the warmth of his reaction and his determination to get her to stay, if Silver was holding him over a barrel for some favor that he either had to offer up, or watch his life become very difficult as a result. Thomas seemed to have come to the same conclusion, though his expression was very wry. “Well,” he said. “You are just as James described you.”

“Ah, so the two of you have been reunited. That is. . . touching.”

“I don’t believe you have a sentimental bone in your body, Mr. Silver.”

Silver smiled again, but with less humor. “We will have to agree to disagree about that, then. But given the arrival of you and your niece, surely there must be at least one ship at hand?”

“Aye,” Charles said uncomfortably. “Hers, the Rose, but – ”

“The Rose?” Silver looked as if he could barely believe his luck. “The ship which began her life as a Royal Navy sixth-rater, formerly under the command of Woodes Rogers himself, which – thanks to my own and extensive efforts – was captured and placed under the pirate flag on Skeleton Island? Which your mother then took over as captain, Miss Jones, and seems to have passed along to you? To speak of fortunate and fitting turns of fate, seeing as you owe ultimate possession of that ship to me, and given this venture’s own association with the place where that happened, that is as close as a clear-cut sign from heaven as any of us can ever believe in.”

“What venture?” Charles demanded, agitated. “What are you talking about?”

“The reason Rogers found us on Skeleton Island,” Silver said, “was because of the betrayal of another of our crewmates. Billy Bones went to Rogers and gave us up, in exchange for them both pursuing their mutual vendetta against Flint. So far as everyone knew, Flint killed Billy in their last fight there. But it has come to my attention that, rather like Flint himself, perhaps that death was not so final after all. That Bones is still alive, has emerged from whatever obscurity he has lurked in for the past twenty-five years, and may have taken ship to England to provide the coordinates and intelligence to reach Skeleton Island, and the Spanish treasure that remains lost there. Such an action would, needless to say, sharply swing the entire balance of the war, and to who knows what end. Do you follow?”

Geneva, Thomas, and Charles opened and shut their mouths in unison like a trio of goldfish, while Silver seemed gratified by the effect, but not enough to rest on his laurels. Geneva herself knew that Billy Bones had been a friend of her mother’s, at least before his betrayal of the pirates to the English crown, but everyone had likewise considered him to be dead, the loser of his final face-off with Flint, fallen into the water and drowned or stabbed or shot. Finally she said, “Why would Bones give up the location of Skeleton Island to the English now, even if he did survive? Whatever old quarrel he had with any of you, with my grandfather, it was years ago. Why just emerge from hiding and rekindle the feud? What would he have to gain from it?”

“Why, indeed?” Silver looked pleased. “Billy was – is – an utterly stubborn, blockheaded, self-righteous blonde bastard, but he wasn’t stupid. Nor was he overly burdened with a sense of loyalty to England. He was kidnapped by the press-gangs as a child, as he was out selling pamphlets for his parents – political activists, printers, the exact sort of thing that His Majesty does not want upsetting the apple-cart among his subjects. So if he is offering intelligence on Skeleton Island to the English authorities, he wants something in return for it. And since you’ve just confirmed that Flint is still alive, living out his days in happy retirement with his loved ones and family, perhaps that explains quite a large part of his motivation.”

“My grandfather has no interest in returning to the pirate life,” Geneva said, feeling slightly panicky. “Even if Bones learned that he was alive, he wouldn’t decide to just – ”

“Would he?” Silver sounded wry, almost sad. “Billy and I were also friends, once upon a time. Allied together to protect the crew, and our own interests, from the worst of Flint’s madness. But that, like much else, came to an end long ago. If he’s lived this time as a penniless mendicant, exiled and disgraced by pirate and English alike, taking work on this ship or that one, suffering, dwindling to nothing – can you really not think that learning this would make no difference? Suddenly, a quarter-century since his life was ruined, the man who ruined it has risen from the grave. He is in reach, a tangible flesh-and-blood entity to strangle with one’s own hands, a final and damning victory when Flint would altogether not see it coming, or have any reason to expect another attack, especially on this front. To make his joy turn to ashes in his mouth. That is the sort of prospect to give a man a new life, a possession of a cause, one last worthwhile thing to do before he dies. So aye. If Bones knows your grandfather is alive, you’re all in danger.”

Thomas started to say something else, then stopped, frowning and troubled. “But he – ” he began at last. “James has been reported dead half a dozen times, at least. How would Bones have any idea that those were a fraud, and what was the truth?”

“Again, another question that one might consider it imperative to investigate.” Silver leaned back in his chair, picked up Charles’ wine goblet, and took a sip, raising an eyebrow at Geneva. “But of course, your uncle cannot spare a ship?”

Charles winced, looking at her with a guilty expression. It was reasonably clear that he was hoping for her to volunteer the Rose, rather than suffer the awkwardness of being strong-armed into doing it for her. She was aware that her family had come into possession of a Navy frigate by thievery, though not that Silver thought he was entitled to all the credit for it – yet she had no way to say that, born liar as he might be, he was fibbing about that. Thomas was not disagreeing, at any rate, which meant that whatever James had said to him about his old quartermaster and uncertain ally and ultimate friend and enemy alike, it must correspond at least roughly to this. The silence was excruciating. Then, gritting her teeth, Geneva said, “Well. I have a ship.”

“You do? Wonderful news.” Silver glanced at her with such nonchalance that it was almost impressive, despite the shameless operation of this entire little manipulation. “Available for our use, perhaps, if I was to find us a crew?”

Geneva glanced at her uncles for help, though she wasn’t sure how much to expect from either of them. Charles was clearly allowing this to happen if he wanted to stay in business, and Thomas wouldn’t argue against investigating this mystery, if there was a deranged and vengeful ex-nemesis of Flint’s out there who very much intended to see to his unfinished business. Finally she said, “We’re not provisioned for a crossing to England, we’d – ”

“That would be attended to.” Silver finished off Charles’ wine and put the cup down.

“So you want to stop Billy, do you?” Thomas looked as if he had been too well warned about Silver’s true nature to accept this explanation at face value. “That is what you’d have us believe? To prevent him from reaching Westminster with this kind of information – why?”

“I don’t believe that was the issue under discussion.” Silver’s tone remained polite, but his eyes were as guarded as castle walls. “The benefits for your family are obvious. I suppose your niece would have no objection to bringing you along. You are, after all, intimately and unfortunately familiar with the operation of English politics. You might have an old connection or two in Parliament you could approach – discreetly, naturally. It would be quite embarrassing for them to receive the disgraced and twice-dead Thomas Hamilton, banished first to Bethlem Royal Hospital and then some work plantation in the Americas, in public.”

Thomas’s fist clenched on the table, even as he fought for the poise of a lifetime diplomat and nobleman who knew he was being baited and had to resist the urge to take it. After a moment, he managed a gracious, if strained, smile and nod. “Yes. Of course.”

“Splendid. I’ll call at the house tomorrow to discuss arrangements.” Silver wiped his mouth and stood up. “So if that’s all, I’ll be – ”

“What does Mrs. Silver think of this?” Charles seemed to have taken himself aback by this interjection, but could not retreat once it had been made. “She is in accord, of course?”

Silver’s smile this time was the frostiest of all. “As we have never been married in the eyes of English law,” he said, “she is still customarily known as Madi Scott. As for her sentiments, I am afraid I would not know. Good evening, Miss Jones, Mr. Swan, Mr. Hamilton.”

With that, he took up the crutch from where it rested, tucked it under his arm, and made his determined way through the tavern crowds and out the door, leaving Geneva and her uncles in a state of mild shock. At last, she turned to the former of these in considerable outrage. “Why didn’t you tell me that this was why you were so pleased to see me?”

“I. . .” Charles trailed off under her stare. “To be fair, I had no way of knowing what exactly he was proposing. This was the first I heard the details as much as you. And, erm, if you and your great-uncle could see your way to doing it, I’d be very grateful. I would write to your parents, of course, mention that it was only a small errand and I would reimburse you for all reasonable expenses. I. . . really do not have any other candidates, and Mr. Silver has been helpful in the past, and it, well, it does sound rather serious. If you might. . .?”

Geneva chewed this over. She did not particularly want to say yes, but she was also not sure it was wise to say no, and if this did have to do with Bones and some revived revenge plot against her grandfather and by extension her family, it was best that she get to the bottom of it. She had wanted to make a trip abroad, after all. Might be able to fit in a side excursion to Paris to see her uncle Liam and aunt Regina, though she had meant to bring her parents along on that one. But as it would take more time to make another trip to Savannah and back, and as time was plainly one thing Silver did not want to waste, it did not look likely that she could pop by to pick them up. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, not that she needed her parents’ permission to sail as she pleased. She was a grown woman, and the Rose’s rightful captain. It was her call.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it. But you owe me really bloody marvelous Christmas presents for at least the next ten years.”

“Ten?” The relief that spread across Charles’ face was palpable. “My dear, I would say twenty.”

------------------

Killian and Emma did not say much on the way back from the harbor. They had to drive James and Miranda home first, and as they pulled up and Flint climbed out of the buggy, thus to offer his hand to Miranda with somewhat stiff courtesy, they all knew him well enough to see that he was ruffled. Not necessarily at any of them, but Nassau was quite clearly a sensitive subject, and one which he could not help feeling haunted by. As Miranda took his hand and stepped down, she said, “Are you going to tell us what is troubling you, my dear, or wait for me to draw it out?”

“I still don’t know if it was wise to let them go alone.” Flint glanced at Killian and Emma, as if to say that surely they must have an opinion on letting their only begotten daughter walk into a nest of vipers without due and extensive preparation. “Who knows what scum is lurking around there, waiting for an opportune moment? Thomas doesn’t know the place like you and I did. If he or Jenny get themselves into a situation they can’t escape – ”

“They are both very clever people, and doubtless will endeavor all they can to remedy it.” Miranda squeezed his hand comfortingly. “If you really thought it was so dangerous, you could have said otherwise, or – ”

“I couldn’t have gone, we both know that.” Flint was still vigorous enough that he rarely looked his age, but just now, the weight of nearly seventy hard-battled years had settled on his shoulders. “And I didn’t want to leave you alone. It’s not that I think Thomas and Jenny can’t handle themselves, but we all know what that place made us, and how. It’s . . . easier to bear it yourself, than to watch.”

“Aye,” Emma said quietly. “Sam said something much the same to me once.”

There was a communal heavy silence, as all of them knew that she was not referring to their son and grandson, but to their late – well, there was never any easy word or way to define what Samuel Bellamy was to them, even in the comparatively brief time he had been in their lives. Sometimes Emma thought she had only ever loved Killian more, and the notion that they were now going on twenty-five years without him was an almost unbearable crime. Sometimes Sam seemed half a dream they had all had together, and still lingered at the edges of waking, never quite banished or sent to rest. Flint and Miranda could not regret having Thomas back, but she knew that sometimes they wondered if it would have been so easy to choose, if Sam had lived. They had shared him with each other, and their grief with him, and his death, coming so soon after Miranda’s apparent loss in Charlestown, had been the final heartbreak to push Flint over the edge and into his desire to seek his own end and cessation and the drowning of his burdens in the sea. Even now, Killian, Emma, James, and Miranda were careful with Sam’s memory, the moments at which they conjured him, the times at which they did not. They could not fail to hear his name spoken every day to the boy who carried it on, but that was different. Sam Jones was his own self, not a shadow of his godfather, and they were all grateful. And yet.

“Well,” Miranda said briskly, rousing everyone from their reverie. “I doubt even Nassau can wreak too much mischief in a fortnight, now can it? And I rather suspect you enjoyed the opportunity to tell Jenny to embrace her pirate roots, James, even if you won’t admit it. Come, help me inside, and let Killian and Emma be on their way.”

Flint looked briefly as if he was about to respond to this, but waited as Emma leaned down to kiss her mother. “We’ll be in touch,” she said. “If Sam comes home soon, we’ll all be by for supper, how does that sound? I’m sure he has a great deal to tell us.”

“Aye,” Flint said cynically. “Best hope he’s not wearing a red coat when he does.”

Emma shot him a look, as while Flint was generally very fond of his younger grandson, he had not ceased to offer his disparaging opinions on the vastly ill-conceived decision to take part in an English war on any side except that of their enemies. “I just want to see him safe.”

“Of course.” Flint nodded to them both, then took Miranda’s arm and walked them up the path to the house. He let them in and shut the door, and Emma paused, shook herself, then took up the reins and wheeled the buggy around. They had a few things to pick up on the way back, so she’d best get there before the shopkeepers all went to lunch. It would also be good to have something to take her mind off Geneva and Sam alike. She was likewise confident in their ability to take care of themselves, but trouble, especially for a Swan-Jones child, was rarely too far away.

They drove back into downtown Savannah, as Emma parked the buggy at a hitching post and went into the grocer’s with her list, as Killian stepped down to enjoy the shade. She stood out among the flurry of sensibly mob-capped, plainly-skirted women jostling to the counter and vying to attract the attention of the grocer or his apprentice. For a lady of her status – not ridiculously wealthy, but between the portion of the Spanish treasure they had invested, the income from Nassau, Killian’s owned shares in several ships, and Geneva’s trading business, more than comfortably off – doing one’s own errands was clearly déclassé.

Once Emma had been apportioned her goods, Killian appeared to help lug them out to the buggy, causing another stir among the women – whether for a gentleman hauling heavy flour sacks, his missing hand, or his striking good looks even in his mid-fifties, it was hard to say. Emma had just returned inside to fetch her potatoes when she overheard the grocer arguing with a particularly persistent customer who wanted two parcels of sugarcane, not one. “Miss, there’s no telling if there’ll be sugar next week or not, not if the Spaniards come marching up from the south! I need to be sensible about what I’m buying and selling, if they – ”

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” Emma leaned over. “Was there news about an invasion?”

The grocer squinted at her, but gave in, as Leroy Small could rarely resist the urge to do, to gossip. “Aye. The Spaniards, they might be here soon. Oglethorpe’s in full retreat, he’s even left his artillery behind, some said. Take my word on it, sister.”

Emma raised an eyebrow, as she did not want to be so pompous as to snobbily correct his assumption that she was another of the maidservants, but found it slightly irritating nonetheless. Especially as Small had been responsible for crying wolf several times in the past, she was not sure she entirely trusted a loud-mouthed purveyor of public hysteria, yet wanted to know just how bad the situation might be. “So he’s retreating with his army, then? Do you know when they left St. Augustine?”

“Week ago? That and a bit?” Small shrugged. “You have a son in the ranks, then?”

“Actually,” Emma said, “yes, I do.”

“Well. Hope he’s not dead, sister.” Evidently viewing this as a positive remark on which to close out the interaction, Small nodded chummily to her and went back to his argument about the sugar, while Emma rolled her eyes heavenward and hoisted the potato sack. She went out and put it with the others in the buggy, then got up with somewhat more emphasis than she intended. The confirmation about the retreat was grim, but at least Sam would be back soon. He was fine.

“Hey, love.” Killian put his hand on hers. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, just something he – Small – said.” Emma forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

Killian’s lips went thin, as he and the grocer had not been on the most spectacular of terms since Leroy had interrupted a romantic supper Killian and Emma were having on the waterfront for their twentieth wedding anniversary by shouting that the market was on fire (the market had not been on fire). “That short noisy bastard? I’ll sort him if you like, Swan.”

“No, no, nothing like that. He said Oglethorpe’s all but running out of Florida with his tail between his legs, and the Spaniards could be hot on the trail after him. You know him, it could be entirely hot air, but – ”

“You’re worried about Sam, and us if the Spanish get here,” Killian completed, reading her thoughts as usual. “Well, love, no need to panic until we hear it from a more reliable source. Come on, let’s get home before we melt in the heat.”

Emma nodded, banishing the faint chill that had touched her neck despite it, and prodded the horses into motion, clip-clopping the rest of the way home, up the drive, and into the carriage house to unhitch, while Killian unloaded the groceries. Once Emma had splashed some water on her face and dusted the mud off, she fetched her quill and inkwell and paper from the desk, sat down, and began to draft an advertisement to be sent off to the Gazette. Two household staff, a maidservant and footman, sought for a modest family estate. Pay would be generous and treatment fair, references and discretion appreciated. Address all correspondence to Mrs. E. Jones, care of the City Hall, Savannah, Prov. of Georgia.

Once Emma had folded it and set it on the side table, she went to the kitchen to start supper. Still unable to banish a certain lurking disquiet about Sam, she distracted herself with reading the letter from Henry and Violet that Geneva had brought back from Boston. Her grandchildren, Richard and Lucy, were eight and five years old respectively, and while Philadelphia was not much closer than Boston in the scheme of things, Emma thought it might be nice to have them continue to progress in a southward direction. She had missed so much of Henry’s childhood that she wanted to be there in some respect for the second generation, but time and distance made that difficult. They seemed to be happy, doing well. She would just have to take that for comfort. All of her children felt very far away right now, physically or otherwise.

Emma slept intermittently that night, woke early, and decided to take the letter to mail both in hopes of shaking her melancholy mood, and finding out if there was any more news to be had about Oglethorpe’s retreat. There were certainly other mothers anxious for word of sons, wives for husbands, and Emma felt a peculiar, shameful gratitude that Killian’s missing hand kept him at home – the thought of having to worry about him and Sam was too much to contemplate. For the same reason, when Henry had ventured the prospect of a visit last Christmas, Emma had advised him not to, fearing that he would be caught up in the militia recruitment. Henry was a scholar, not a soldier, and could barely fire a gun straight, but that would not have mattered.

Emma hitched up and drove into town, dropping the letter off with the packet boat that made the weekly trip between Savannah and Williamsburg. She was not quite so desperate as to subject herself to a return to Leroy’s, but she did not need to, as there were knots of worried civilians congregating in the square; this was clearly now the number one topic of public concern. There was no way to know if the governor was going to come rushing in to fortify the city for an expected attack, if this was just a prudent or even overly cautious strategical decision, or if the entire coast was burning behind him.

Emma debated joining one of these groups, but it felt rather too much like congregating at a wake, and she shook her head again, furious with herself. Yet the fact remained that the last time she had had one of these feelings, explainable only by motherly intuition and a strong sense of things simply being not right, was when Sam was eight years old, out too late on a stormy night, and when she had finally taken the lantern and gone to look for him, she found him trapped under a broken log, a few hundred yards out in the trees, the wind blowing his shouts for help in the wrong direction. He had a badly twisted ankle and was rattled and cold and upset, but otherwise right as rain by the morning, and she had always been grateful that it was not anything worse. But if she had ignored it for another few hours, if someone or something had happened by, if the storm had gotten worse, if anything. . .

Still, short of riding straight down to Florida herself and getting into the middle of whatever mess might be going on there, there was nothing for Emma to do, and she finally gave up and went home. Killian was sitting in the garden, reading another of the books that Geneva had brought back for them, but when he sensed her presence behind her, he marked his place, set it aside, and held out his arms. “Come here, love.”

Emma hesitated, then went over and sat down on his lap, settling her head against his shoulder as he linked his arms around her waist, brushing a blonde-grey strand of hair out of her face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Aye, well, I do.” He pressed a light kiss against her collarbone. “I’ll promise to give Sam an extra-good bollocking when he comes home, for making you worry. If that would help.”

“If we did. . .” Emma trailed off, half-ashamed of herself for even suggesting it, but not enough to stop. “If we did go try to find him. . .”

Killian kissed her palm. “You know I want him back as much as you do, and Christ knows I’ve spent plenty of time thinking of all the terrible ways he’s likely gotten himself in hot water. But Sam’s a man now, not a boy. A young one, but still. You have to let him flap his wings a bit – aye, and crash, if only since it’s the only way he’ll ever learn. It’s hard for you, with the way you are in wanting to protect everyone, and being his mother to boot, but for better or worse, we can’t rush in and pull him out of every tight corner he ends up in. You know I’d take you seriously if you thought he was badly injured, or worse, but. . . do you feel like that, love?”

Emma considered. “No,” she admitted. “Just that something’s wrong.”

“That’s his usual state of being, isn’t it?” Killian said wryly. “You can blame me for that, if you wish.”

“I’m not sure, I think we might share it equally.” Feeling somewhat better, if still not entirely reassured, Emma nuzzled his cheek with her nose, then kissed it, and they sat in comfortable silence for some while, until a knock on the front door, echoing through the house, startled her. “Are we expecting someone?”

“Not that I know of.” Looking surprised, Killian slid her off his lap, and got to his feet. Both of them must have had the thought at the same instant that it might be one of Oglethorpe’s officers, or one of the militiamen, or – ”I’ll come with you, love. If you. . .”

“No,” Emma said, as firmly as she could. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll be right back.”

With that, leaving him in the garden, she went back into the house, crossed the front foyer, had to swallow down a brief and unwelcome nervousness, and convulsively straightened her hair. Then she opened the door. “Yes? May I help you?”

“Are you Mrs. Jones?” The man on the other side was a rough-hewn sort in a homespun brown coat, with callused hands and a faint whiff of the stockyard. “You put in a notice for a footman?”

“I did.” Emma was taken aback. “But I only sent it off this morning, it hasn’t even left Savannah yet, much less reached the Gazette. How did you – ?”

“The master of the packet boat is my cousin. He saw it, knew I was searching for work, thought to send me along. A chance you’re free to discuss the position, ma’am?”

“I. . .” Emma supposed this was possible, even if this individual was rather slovenly for a prospective footman and there was something about him that put her on guard. “I’m actually rather – maybe not at the moment, but if you return when the notice is published, we could – ”

“No, ma’am, I’d really like to.”

“I don’t think that will be – ”

With that, quick as a snake, he moved. He slammed one hand over her mouth, pushed her backwards through the door, and fumbled in his jacket for a knife – an ugly, ill-kept thing which he was currently trying to plunge between her stays. Emma grabbed his arm, wrenched it over his head, and slammed her knee up through her skirts to catch him smartly between the legs, then twisted him off her as he let out a yelp. She forced his fingers open, making him drop the knife, though he continued scrabbling for it. Emma knocked it away, worked up enough momentum to throw him off her, and both of them dove for it at the same instant – she had not fought like this in years, but it came to her without conscious thought, a deeply ingrained old reflex. She opened her mouth, about to yell for Killian, then panicked about him being caught in the middle of this, if someone who was certainly not a footman had turned up apparently for the express purpose of murdering her in her own front hall –

Just then, a pistol went off at close range, Emma’s ears rang, and the next thing she saw was her erstwhile assailant crumpling to his knees, a bloody hole blown through his forehead, and a grisly amount of brain and bone splashing the whitewashed wall behind him. He folded forward, then hit the floor facedown, as she whirled to see Killian pointing his flintlock with cold and deadly intent, making sure the bastard was not about to get up again. Then when there was no sound but the echoes of the gunshot, a slow crimson trail seeping out in all directions, he demanded, “Bloody fucking hell, what was that? Are you all right?”

“I’m – I’m fine, I – ” Emma discovered that her legs were shakier than she thought as she attempted to get to her feet. It had all happened so fast that she wasn’t sure she hadn’t dreamed it, except for the indubitable presence of a dead man on her nicely swept floorboards. “Killian, he tried to kill me, I don’t – ”

“Aye, I saw, hence why I made sure he couldn’t!” Killian’s eyes flashed, until for the first time in years, she could glimpse the dangerous blue-heat glimmer of Captain Hook. “Or did he – ”

Emma steadied herself on the banister of the stairs, took a deep breath, and went over to the corpse, swallowing down her revulsion. It certainly wasn’t as if she’d never seen a man abruptly shot to death – just not, again, for a while. She knelt down and went through his pockets, and finally pulled out a small knotted sack that when opened, spilled several freshly-minted golden guineas into her hand, Georgius II Dei Gratia stamped cleanly on the face around a portrait of the king in laurel-wreathed Roman style, the inscription continuing on the back to frame the royal coat of arms. This was more money than a humble tradesman might see in a year, or several, and Emma sucked in her breath. “Killian. Look.”

He leaned over her shoulder, catching her drift. “Bloody hell. Someone paid him.”

“Someone paid him a lot.” Emma put the coins back, having an unpleasant sensation of déjà-vu to when she had been recruited in a dark tavern in the Turks Islands, to the aim of capturing HMS Imperator and destroying its commanding officers – one of whom she had now been married to for almost twenty-five years, coincidentally. “To kill us, or at least to try. For this price, you think they could have found a decent hitman.”

“Unless they did,” Killian said, very grimly. “You advertised for two servants, didn’t you?”

“What do you – ”

“If you hired two assassins, one much better at their job than the other, and sent one here knowing he’d likely be killed, but considering it a useful diversion, and that you’d get your money back as soon as he was dead anyway, where might you send the other?” Killian was already grabbing for his boots. “Especially when he made a public appearance yesterday for the first time in bloody years, so if you were paying attention to such things, you’d know he wasn’t really dead?”

Emma remained blank an instant longer, than horrified. “What – Flint? You think someone sent this one over here to distract us and make sure we couldn’t interfere, so the actually competent one could – ?”

It was reasonably plain that that was indeed what Killian was saying, and there was no time to hitch up the buggy. Leaving the problem of the dead man in their front hall for later, they grabbed a pistol apiece, flew to their feet, out to the stable, saddled the horses as quickly as they could, and leapt astride, thundering down the road, avoiding the city proper, and out to the Hamilton-McGraw residence. They dismounted almost before they had reined in, ran up the walk, and Killian kicked the door in. “Hey. HEY!”

They could hear the sounds of a struggle coming from the back of the house, and raced in just in time to see Flint being pinned against the wall by some colossal – and colossally unfriendly-looking – man in a tattered black coat. He was snapping and punching and kicking like a shark on the line, but wheezing as his throat was progressively crushed, and Miranda was bleeding from the forehead, looking as if she had been thrown back against the bookcase. She struggled to her feet and threw a very heavy copy of Dr. Faustus at the man, clearly trying to get him to drop Flint and come after her, but even this literary ambush did not succeed in diverting him from his purpose. Miranda then looked set to charge him, but as a sixty-five-year-old woman who needed a cane to walk and who was already disoriented from being hit, she would not have done much good. Fortunately, Emma and Killian had arrived in the nick of time to do it for her. Emma rushed to cover her, while Killian – evidently deciding that one dead man was going to be hard enough to get rid of and doubtless wanting to press this one for more information – snatched up the fallen Marlowe and brutally concussed Flint’s attacker with it. He wavered, then staggered back, which gave Flint just enough opportunity to wrench free, snatch the heavy pistol from the desk drawer, and shoot him anyway. As he went down, it was just possible to see Killian slap a hand to his face. “Mate! No!”

As the ruckus belatedly quieted, everyone gasping for breath and struggling to regain their bearings, Flint sprinted across to Miranda, whom Emma was just helping to sit up. “Fucking hell! What just – are you – ?”

“I’m all right.” Miranda winced, pressing Emma’s offered handkerchief to the gash on her temple. “You know, I really did think we were past all this.”

“So did I,” Flint said darkly. Having assured himself of her safety, he spun around to glare at the corpse, then at Killian, as if blaming him for its presence. “The fuck was that all about?!”

“I was going to ask him, before you shot him!” Killian was clearly not about to be blamed for his father-in-law’s trigger-happy ways. “And there’s more, one of these bastards came by our house as well, I shot that one, which is why I was trying to keep this one alive for questioning. Seeing as if someone is paying them a handsome sum to kill us, I’d like to know why!”

“They came after you. . .?” Flint’s blood was still too up to focus on much beside the presence of someone who had tried to kill him and his wife in their own sitting room, but that at least made him frown. “What the – someone knows we’re here? That all of us are here?”

“So it would seem,” Emma said, wiping the last trickle of blood from Miranda’s cut. “I doubt there are odds long enough to cover this being a case of some other notorious ex-pirates that someone wanted dead, and we just happened to be in the way.”

“If we now have a pair of dead men in our houses, that is going to be a further difficulty.” Miranda pushed away Emma’s hand and looked around for her cane, struggling painfully to her feet. “Murder, no matter how justified, is not the sort of crime to make the authorities turn a blind eye. If our real names and identities are uncovered, there will be a trial and a spectacle. We’ll have to dispose of the bodies at once, and hope no one comes searching for them.”

Flint gave her a look as if to say that this was exactly why he loved her, that she could shake off an assassination attempt and then coolly plan how to hide the evidence. It was true that any run-in with a magistrate’s court or any other instrument of justice was not going to end well for the men, especially as they had only their own word that the killing had been in defense of themselves and their womenfolk – the victims, after all, were dead and not able to say otherwise. Any jury would be quick to suspect the worst of former pirates, especially two as notorious as Hook and Flint, the legendary terrors of the Caribbean. This was exactly what they did not need.

They had to wait until dark to proceed, at any rate. Then – with Flint armed to the teeth and keeping extremely vigilant watch until they returned – Emma and Killian rode back to their house at what they hoped was an unsuspicious speed, swung down, and while Emma hitched the horses up to their cart, Killian went inside and wrapped the dead man in an old sheet. They hefted him into the back – already smelling ripe from the heat – and tossed a few things on top, so they would not be very obviously out for a nice evening drive with a corpse. It was a nerve-wracking trip back to Flint and Miranda, who, having ransacked their own dead man for any potential evidence, and finding nothing of use, had likewise unceremoniously bundled him up for burial. Flint was not leaving Miranda by herself at the house with the slightest chance of more killers on the loose, so they all climbed aboard and rode as nonchalantly as they could into the woods, flies starting to buzz above their pungent burdens.

Once they had gotten far enough outside the city limits that they were not likely to be discovered or inopportunely interrupted, Emma reined in the horses, and Killian and Flint jumped down, found a suitably soft bit of ground, and pulled out the spades. Killian wasn’t the fastest at digging with one hand, so Emma took over, she and Flint laboring in the thick, sweltering blue-black night, intermittently pricked by the glow of fireflies. The lantern hung on the spar wavered in the haze, dancing like a will-o-the-wisp, as Emma struggled not to recall several memorable ghost stories she had heard about dark nights in remote woods. God, this was not good. Even if they could hastily bury the bodies and return to town with nobody any the wiser, someone still knew they were alive, lived here, and had made a serious attempt to have them killed. If so, Oglethorpe’s retreat was the very least of their problems.

Once Emma and Flint, sweating and swearing, had hollowed out a hole of suitable size, they crawled free, got the bodies out of the cart, and dumped them in. Emma felt a faint impulse to say a prayer, not out of any real concern for the souls of the not-so-dearly-departed, but to ward them off from any desire to stay around and haunt her. Not that she believed in ghosts, not really, but any good seafarer did not take superstition lightly, and Killian had already turned in a circle three times and tossed some dirt over his shoulder. Emma herself had a brief and horrible conviction that one of the dead men was stirring in his shroud as she and Flint began to throw on shovelfuls of rich damp earth, and had to fight the urge to just pile it on all at once and run away. Maybe set a boulder on top, just for good measure. Bloody hell, she was not sleeping tonight.

At last, they finished their macabre task, and climbed back onto the cart, uncorking the water skin Miranda passed over and taking a long guzzle apiece. The stench of decay and grave dirt clung to them both, so that Emma would need to wash thoroughly in the near future. Killian had led the horses away to stop them being spooked by the dead men, so he brought them back and they hitched up again. Emma did her best not to wheel them around and lay tracks back to town, but she wanted out of that place, and badly.

“I think perhaps you two should stay with us tonight,” she said, low-voiced, as they rolled through a stand of whispering trees, moonlight casting weird shadows on the ground. “I’d feel better about it. At least until we find out who was responsible for this.”

“Aye, I’d feel better about it as well.” Miranda glanced at her, the troubled look on her face plainly visible in the silver glow. None of them wanted to discuss the dread prospect of losing their home here in Savannah, everything they had built for many years, but they could all sense it hanging over their head like the sword of Damocles. It was almost a good thing that Sam was off wherever he was, that Geneva and Thomas were in Nassau, as at least it kept them at arm’s length from whatever ugly flower had started to bloom here. “But we must be very careful at pulling at any of these threads. We may find the answers, and wish we hadn’t.”

“I want to know who’s trying to kill me,” Flint said flatly. “These days, at least.”

“Of course. But anyone who knows about us is just the beginning of the danger. Anyone they told, any way they could spread it. . .” Miranda trailed off. “I’m not sure they’ll do us the favor of barging into our parlors to be conveniently shot.”

“But who would want us dead?” Emma asked. “The Georgia authorities know who we are, or at least who Killian and I are, and as long as we pay our taxes and live quietly, they’ve never troubled us. Why would that have changed? Under who?”

“I don’t know.” Miranda continued to regard her gravely. “Who?”

#captain swan #cs ff #cs au #the rose and thorn #black sails #it has been 84 years #but i finally have a computer again #and three chapters to catch up on posting #so yes #FINALLY #cs next gen

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