Chapter Text
“I want to up the ante.”
The raucous noise of the ship dies down in the lantern light. Tim steels himself, leaning against the back of the chair in a display he hopes is casual but resolute. Captain Todd appraises him, a feral grin giving nothing of his thoughts away.
Tim is sitting at the dubbed ‘pro table’ for gambling, perched in the mess hall of Captain Todd’s ship. He’s under Roy’s supervision while away from the brig, and while he’s confused about being allowed out, he suspects that it’s a scheme of Captain Todd to test him after the fiasco regarding the stupid dress and the three meatheads. Roy claims that Tim's allowed out under his watch for the night because ‘I don't want to miss gambling night for the spoils of victory babysitting a runt,’ but Tim’s positive that’s an excuse although Roy’s lackadaisical attitude would back up the claim. Still, Roy can’t be Captain Todd’s first mate for nothing, and he resolves to learn as much as he can. Tim is still uncertain as to how he didn’t end up dead after that particular mess in the brig and his paltry explanation, but it doesn’t matter now. He has to focus on the task at hand.
The whole evening, while the pirates had drank and partied and gambled loot from Tim’s former ship, Tim had watched those at Roy’s table play poker while he quietly learned the rules. A taboo game in the socialite world, poker irresistibly drew Tim’s undivided attention. The highest hand he’d seen so far was a four-of-a-kind, the win awarded to the redhead woman. There’re many rules, almost too many to keep track of, and Tim had been content to quietly munch on dinner and steal bread rolls when no one was looking, all while observing the proceedings.
Until Captain Todd had pulled out the Drake ring. He’d kissed it devilishly, tossing it onto the center of the table to increase his bet. Grinning smugly at him, Captain Todd had cracked some insult that Tim couldn’t even recall anymore. Regardless, it had worked its intended effect. Infuriated, Tim had seen red. He doesn’t recall challenging Jason for the ring, doesn’t recall slamming his fists on the table loud enough to attract the full attention of the mess hall, but now everyone is clustered around the table to watch the amusing display of the still manacled prisoner challenging the captain in a single hand of poker. Tim had given up his belt for the ante, and while everyone had raised an eyebrow to ogle him unbuckling his pants in public (he couldn't blame them, it had looked ridiculous), they had stared at the belt covetously when he announced that it was genuine leather and that the design was inlaid with silver.
“Interesting. What’re you proposing, rich boy?” Captain Todd asks, a gleam in his eyes that fills Tim with equal amounts of unease and determination.
“It’s Timothy,” he retorts back. “And I want safe passage to Hispaniola.” There’s a ripple through the crowd at that, some murmurs, some derisive snorts, some exclamations, but they all fade quickly.
Captain Todd only raises an eyebrow. “That’s a lot you’re asking for, for me to go off course just for a lad. You’ve got nothing of equal value to match that and nothing I want from ya.”
“The Drakes will compensate you the cost of the voyage and for any repairs required,” responds Tim, refusing to look away when the pirate leans forward intently. This is beyond stupid, his mind screams at him. He knows better than to play a high-stakes game without complete knowledge of all the rules, but Tim’s tired of being treated like dirt, and since he still miraculously retains possession of his life after the meathead-dress debacle, he figures he doesn’t have much left to lose.
“You got nothing of value on ya at the moment, rich boy, and I don’t need an aristocrat’s empty word. There’s no guarantee you can make I’d trust that you won’t report us to the relevant authorities the second you’re on dry land. And,” here Jason leans forward further, his grin morphing into a wolfish smirk, “even if you became my woman, that still wouldn’t match what you’re asking o’us.” Taunts and jeers fly in Tim’s face, but he doesn’t bat an eye or blush. Jason raises a hand and the voices extinguish once again. “However, how about this? You win, we’ll set you down near a port. And ‘cause I’m generous, it’ll even be inhabited. If I win…you’ll let me do whatever I like to you for a week.”
Catcalls erupt once again, and Tim keenly feels the loss of his belt and the realization that he does in fact have a lot at stake after all. Jason smirks, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head before balancing on the back legs of the chair. “C’mon darling, I don’t bite. Much. It’ll be a good time.” He jerks forward to suddenly snap his teeth in Tim’s face teasingly. Tim jolts backward a bit, scowling furiously at the reveal of weakness. He sees Roy poorly conceal a mirthful grin from the corner of his eye. Tim glares, knocking back a shot of something that burns all the way down. He viciously slams the glass on the table much to the pirates’ amusement.
“Three days,” Tim counteroffers stubbornly, resisting the urge to gag from the whiskey’s effects.
“Kiddo, this is a ship, not a market stall. Bargaining isn’t a courtesy I have to extend,” rebuffs Jason. “One week. Take or leave it before I raise it to a month.”
Tim’s teeth grind together. “Is there anything else you want?” Tim asks, hiding his desperation behind frustration. If he stops to think about it, he’d realize the two are one and the same.
“Nope.” Captain Todd pops the ‘p’ loudly and as obnoxiously as possible. A tiny growl slips out of Tim’s throat before he can rein it in.
“Fine. So if I win, I get my belt, the ring, and my freedom back?” Tim squares his shoulders.
Captain Todd nods, swallowing down more rum. “And you do whatever I ask of ya for the week if you lose, kid. If I tell you to bend over, you’d better damn well bend over.”
Tim glowers, mind skimming quickly through the cards most likely to be dealt next. “I accept,” replies Tim grimly. The whispers and calls swell again like a storm as the man acting as dealer flicks out the cards. Tim leaves his remaining face down on the counter.
“Not going to look at your cards, rich boy?” Captain Todd drawls, downing a gulp of rum and slamming the empty cask onto the table where it’s immediately replaced.
“I don’t need to,” responds Tim grimly. He needs to eliminate the rest of the competition; this is between him and Jason Todd. If anyone at the table calls or raises, he’s got nothing left to match their bid, and he’s tired of having his pride getting stomped into the dust. He’s gotten a general idea of the table players’ personalities since they started gambling; if he feigns ignorance of the betting order and recklessly casts his lot, they’ll probably fold to let the foolhardy newbie get his dues and chalk his actions up to ignorance. “All in.” There’s a loud ooooh from the audience. He locks eyes with Captain Todd, folding his arms awkwardly. He forgets he’s manacled and injured sometimes. The motion was meant to be defiant. Roy glances uncertainly at Tim.
“Kid, this is your first time playing, maybe you should reconsider–” Captain Todd cuts him off with a wave of his hand.
“Let the kid live a little, Roy. It’s high time someone took him down a few pegs and taught him the meaning of being humble.”
“You saying I’m cocky?” Tim all but growls. Pot, meet kettle, he thinks in irritation. Jason barely spares him a glance.
“I’m saying, kid, that you’re smart. Too smart. That’ll get you in trouble without proper experience. Like now. All in.” He smirks at the murmurs sweeping the crowd once again. He discards two cards that are replaced immediately.
Roy sighs. “Fold.” Jason clucks his tongue.
“Bad form, Roy.” Roy only snorts in retaliation.
“This is between you and the kiddo; why else are you going along with this?”
“I fold as well.” The other black haired man at the table leans backwards, idly watching the events play out. The red haired woman only raises her eyebrows at Jason before folding as well.
“We already know the outcome of this game, Captain,” she purrs in amusement, getting up. She pats Tim on the head, which makes him bristle inwardly at being treated like a child. “I shall retire for the night. I wish you luck, little rich boy, though it won’t save you now,” she laughs before disappearing.
Jason grins at Tim lazily, taking another swig of rum. “You heard Kory, brat. Still want to do this?”
There’s no backing out, not at this point, and everyone in this room and outside knows it. Tim narrows his eyes in defiance. He shouldn’t be wrong. It’s his first time playing this, it’s true, and this is incredibly risky and dumb, but he runs his head through the mental lists in his head of sequences and possible combinations once again. If his calculations are right, Jason has junk. Nil. Zilch. He doesn’t understand why Jason’s still matching Tim’s wager, doesn’t understand what sort of bluff Jason is trying, though he had expected Jason to discard three cards. It doesn’t matter. The cards Jason is holding are worthless, and the die has already been cast. He spares Jason an insolent grin of his own. “Positive,” he answers.
“Reveal,” calls someone. Tim shows his hand. There’s a quick murmur of ohs and ahs.
“Not bad, kid, not bad at all,” hums Captain Todd. “Ain’t quite just beginner’s luck that snared ya that four o’a kind.” His eyes parse Tim knowingly. Tim blinks innocuously at him, feigning ignorance. Then the pirate’s smile becomes triumphant, eyes gleaming brighter than ever. Tim grits his teeth. He can’t be wrong.
“Sorry kiddo, better luck next time.” He flips his cards over.
“Huh?” Tim blinks at Jason’s hand, eyes furrowing in confusion. Tim had been right, Jason’s cards were garbage. “You don’t even have a pair –” The crowd erupts in cheers, laughter, and provocative whistles before Tim can finish his sentence.
Roy snorts. “That’s a royal straight flush, kid. Best hand in the game. You done goofed.” He stands up, pushing his chair backwards with the movement. The black haired man pats Tim’s shoulder sympathetically.
“Enjoy your night you two,” he says dryly. “Go easy on the kid, Jay.”
Captain Todd snorts, collecting his earnings. Tim's belt and ring vanishes off the table. “That’s Captain to you, Dick.” The swarm of pirates witnessing Tim’s stupendously ridiculous defeat begins to disperse, leaving Tim humiliated and still gawking at Jason’s hand, trying to process the facts of his defeat.
“What’s a royal straight flush again? Or, well, a flush?” he asks weakly, face burning in mortification at his stupidity. His pride is shattering even as he speaks and he can’t even try and pull himself together. Jason grins hugely at him, deliberately stalking over to Tim’s seat like a cat cornering its prey. Tim fights two urges: one to smack the stupid smile off Jason’s face and another to hide his flaming face in his hands. Instead he sits stiffly, his lips pressed tightly together and hands clasped together in his lap. He struggles to maintain his poker face as Jason’s arms cage him against the chair. At this distance, Tim can smell the rum and aftertaste of cigarettes on his breath.
“Well kid, I’d have to say that the latter term rather aptly describes the rosy color in your cheeks,” the pirate captain murmurs, face so close to Tim’s that the younger man hardly dares to inhale. Abruptly Captain Todd propels Tim onto his feet. The younger man bites back a yelp when he’s spun around, back pressing against the captain’s chest. “But, those are questions for another time. You’re mine, kid.” The last word is breathed hotly into Tim’s ear, and Tim swallows thickly as he’s steered in the direction of the captain’s quarters.